That weekend my paternal grandmother had a heart attack and went to the hospital. She passed away about a week and a half later. I knew the moment it happened, I sensed it and told my best friend at school. She asked how I knew that and I told her I had felt it. Funny, she never acted like it was out of the ordinary.

That afternoon when I got home from school my mother was waiting for me and my sister in the front yard. She told us Grandma had passed away that morning. I told her I knew and that I also knew when it happened.

My parents freaked!! I can see why; they believed it was something evil, this "gift" of mine. I don't judge them harshly or at all for that matter; they believed they were helping me, but what happened next didn't help- it traumatized me.

They spoke with their pastor and he put them in touch with a self-proclaimed demonologist. He came to their church and prayed over me in the pastor's office with my parents, the pastor and all the deacons of their church. He tried to pray the evil out of me, but what it did was scare the shit out of me.

I wasn't possessed or in need of saving. In my 13 yr old mind, since nothing came out of me while they all raised their hands and prayed over me I must have been their evil and that meant the Christian god hated me because He hates evil.

I couldn't accept the "evil" thing, I figured I would know if I was or not.

After that I didn't talk to my parents about my dreams and I didn't share them much with anyone until I was older.