I don't know the writer's name, but this is a good story.

I was introduced to the world of the paranormal when I was five years old.

I didn't understand it other than a new deep inside my gut that it was wrong and terrifying.

In 2004, I had my fifth daughter at the age of 40, and so technically all her sisters

were really old enough that they could pass as your mother.

When she was eight months old, Laura had her first epileptic seizure.

They're not what folks think of when you say the word epilepsy.

Laura will make a choking sound and her eyes will roll back and she goes limp, becoming

pale while her lips turn blue.

But we panicked the first time we experienced one of her seizures is a gross understatement.

In 2013, we moved from California to Arkansas for a more peaceful life.

We found a large two-story house built in the 1800s that used to belong to the town

doctor.

It was large and rambling with pocket doors in the parlor and a wraparound porch and

it was situated in a beautiful, quite old neighborhood.

We knew it had recently become empty because this town is small and gossip is huge, and

we had heard about a murder that had taken place in the home some eight months earlier.

It was a sad story of an adopted son killing his mother, and as usual, illegal drugs

were involved.

Before we could move in, we needed to do a major cleanup on the inside.

It smelled of death and cat urine among other things.

We had to bring in a machine that removes all the odors out of the oxygen, but the process

...