( 40 year old me thinks this guy is a total hottie.) blog.AL.com
You'd probably think "neat". If you're five years old, and you see a vague impression of him standing in your bedroom door looking in on you in the middle of the night, not so much. Seeing the Indian was the catalyst for me blocking out my "visitors".
I was so happy when we moved into our new house. I had a bigger room with actual carpet and newly painted walls. Best of all, there weren't ghosts walking through my room all day and night. " Crazy Hippie Lady" was nowhere to be found. My bed was my own again, and finally, I could sleep through the whole night. That lasted about a week, I think.
This time, however, instead of droves of random people, it was just one guy that I call " The Indian". As an adult, I'm not afraid of him at all, but back then, he was the proverbial straw. There I was, fast asleep in my brand new bed, tucked safely between two rows of about forty stuffed animals, when I woke to the sound of lightly shuffling footsteps.
My eyes popped open, and I lay there, frozen, listening as the footsteps moved around the house. At first I thought maybe my dad was up wandering around, but pretty soon, the steps started moving down the hallway towards my room. I could only stare at the open door as this guy in this crazy outfit looked in at me and simply stared.
Had I seen him when I was three or four, I probably would've just said " hi", but the incident with the two Charlies had shaken me. I now understood that I wasn't just seeing people, but was actually seeing ghosts, and outside of Casper, popular culture tends to vilify all things that go bump in the night. Five year old me had not only become terrified, but also fearful that I was crazy and possibly evil.
My upbringing was very strictly Southern Baptist, and as far as the Baptists, (AKA my whole family) were concerned, people who saw ghosts were at best nutballs with loose screws, or at worst, Devil worshippers. Decent people paid no mind to such things, and if they even THOUGHT something supernatural MIGHT be occurring, the correct response was to pray to Jesus until the feeling went away. So, that's what I did. Every time I saw the Indian, I'd close my eyes and repeat to myself over and over that he wasn't really there.
It took a while, but it worked. Eventually, by the time I was around seven, I couldn't see the Indian, or anyone else for that matter. I could still feel them, and even hear them occasionally, but any time I did, I just reminded myself that "good" people didn't believe in ghosts. It felt like I was missing a limb, but the relief I felt at not having to worry about being woken up by weird visions in the night helped me overcome the sensation. By the time I was nine, I'd pretty much gotten used to it. And then one of my dad's friends introduced me to a psychic...
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