I was thirteen years old when I saw my first ghost. It was at my maternal grandmother's funeral. It was a sunny summer morning. Here in North Carolina the mortuary puts a tent over the gravesite to protect the mourners from the summer sun and sudden rain showers. I was sitting on the front row with my parents. The preacher was giving grandmother's eulogy. It was hot, and I was ready to have the service over with.

I was looking up at the preacher when I noticed a young blond woman standing beside one of the tent poles. She was smiling as she listened to the eulogy. She looked familiar to me. As I was looking at her, trying to figure out who she was, a breeze moved the branches on a tree behind her. That's when I realized that I was seeing "through" her. She was transparent. She appeared solid enough that I hadn't noticed until the branches moved behind her.

I quickly elbowed my mother. But as I did that, the pretty blond ghost turned her head towards me. She smiled, placed a finger to her lips, and shook her head "no" as she made a "shhhh" sound, and then she faded away.

Later at the house, I looked through some old family photos. The picture of grandmother when she was twenty-one years old looked exactly like the apparition at the funeral. Yes, grandmother was enjoying her eulogy.

And so began my fascination and love for ghosts.

Down through the years I