Ever since I was a child, as far back as I can possibly remember, I've had certain abilities. Now I'm sure this sounds a little hard to believe for some but it is true. Everyone is different after all. Not all of us like and dislike the same things, not all of us excel at sports or in academics. So why can't some be born with different abilities, like hearing spirits, seeing spirits, or being able to communicate with them? As a matter of fact, who's to say that these abilities can't be learned or taught? So to begin, let's start with the first encounter that I can remember. I was 6 and I lived in an apartment with my mother and older sister, who was 9 at the time. Our block had lost power for whatever reason, so the house was dark except for the bedrooms, which my mother had placed candles in. Before bed I had to use the restroom, so i stepped out of the room and into the bathroom, which was the next room over. I had left the door open from my bedroom, so that the light emitted by the candle could shine into the bathroom. As I was lifting my pajamas and getting off the seat, I noticed a strange shadow across the hall. He was standing behind a potted plant, but I could see his eyes vividly. Naturally, I ran screaming into my room. "There's a man in the hallway!!!" I yelled to my mother. She immediately retrieved a knife that she kept hidden in a drawer and ran out into the hallway, closing the door behind her and leaving me and my sister alone. We could hear her searching the house and a door slamming, but something else drew our attention. In front of our door, across our beds stood a man. A man that both me and my sister saw. He was not someone we knew, and he had formed out of thin air. But for some reason we knew not to scream,because we felt no danger. The man's presence was reassuring. He was dressed in khaki slacks, a buttoned up shirt with a jacket, and he looked to be in about his late forties or early fifties. He never moved and he spoke very quickly, though it felt like he spoke into my mind rather than out loud. He simply said " you'll be all right" and then he was gone. My mother walked in not a second later and she called the police. Apparently someone had broken into our house and ran out when I screamed. We spent the night at a relatives house just to be safe. It wasn't until a couple years later that my sister and I both realized who this man that we had seen that night was. It was our grandfather, on our father's side, who had died two years prior in a plane crash. He and my grandmother were flying in to meet us for the first time but never actually did make it. The clothes he was wearing were the clothes he was photographed in before boarding the plane. Sadly, this was the only time I have ever seen my grandfather. However, the same can not be said of my grandmother.