A Gifted Child "How much longer?" Julia whined from the backseat. The drive up Interstate 75, from Cincinnati to Detroit, was a long one--especially for a six-year-old only child. "We're almost home, honey," said her mother, Tonya Mindor. She had made the trip to Ohio with her daughter and husband just two days ago. It was a rare weekend visit to see Julia's grandparents. Now, as they neared the fourth hour of their trip back home to Detroit, Tonya remembered why these visits were such a rarity. Still, it was nice to get away. Thanks to Julia's "gift," the house they lived in kind of gave Tonya the creeps. In a lot of ways, Julia was a typical child. She loved to read books and to play with dolls. She dreamed of owning a pony. And she fought against baths and bedtime, tooth and nail. However, in one very distinct way, Julia was quite different from other children. It was shortly after she turned three when the child first mentioned her paranormal acquaintance. "Mom," she had said. "There's a girl in my closet." At first, Tonya and her husband assumed it was Julia's version of an imaginary friend. But the "friendship" quickly grew strange and macabre. Julia claimed her companion was a ghost, and as the relationship became darker and more intense, the Mindors began to wonder. According to Julia, the ghost wore red and orange. It liked to play tricks and frighten her. The hallway and Julia's bedroom were the favored spots of the specter, whom the child claimed to see even when her parents could not. There were times when Julia refused to walk down the hallway or to enter her bedroom. On other occasions, she might start toward her room, stop and hurry back, saying, "Nope. Ghost!" Tonya, herself, had a couple of strange brushes with her daughter's ghostly guest. "Julia, can you grab a shirt from your closet?" her mother asked, as she folded clothes in the living room. "No way," replied her daughter, defiantly. "The ghost is there now." "Don't be silly," said Tonya. Julia crossed her arms and stomped her foot. "Mommy, I'm not going!" Sensing the onset of a tantrum, Tonya quickly defused the situation. "I'll help you. Come with me." She led her daughter into the bedroom and flung open the closet door. "See? No ghost." Tonya reached inside and picked out a shirt for Julia. "How's this one?" The then four-year-old subtly nodded her approval. But she still looked scared, her face pale and her eyes turned away from the closet. Tonya closed the door and started to say, "What's wrong?" But she stopped. Knock. Knock. The woman heard and felt two taps on the other side of the closet door. She quickly pulled it open again. No one was there, and everything was in place. Nothing had fallen against the door. A few weeks later, Julia was again complaining about the mean-spirited spirit. "Have you tried telling her to go away?" suggested Tonya, trying to hide the frustration in her voice. "Maybe if you tell her to leave you alone, she will." Julia yelled toward the bathroom, "Go away. I don't want to play with you!" Crash! An explosion of noise echoed from within the distant room. Tonya hurried to investigate. She found Julia's mesh toy bag at the bottom of the bathtub. It had released itself from the shower wall, spilling its contents everywhere. Yet another possible sign that Julia possessed a sixth sense was her fear of weeping willow trees. She said that she saw ghosts in them. At first, her parents thought it to be a bizarre claim. But later, they learned that some American Indian beliefs held that spirits live in such trees. Julia's terror didn't seem so peculiar anymore. Now, as the Mindors cruised up Interstate 75, on the outskirts of Detroit's metropolitan area, their daughter was about to surprise them again. Two police cars screamed past the family, breaking the trip's monotony. The speeding vehicles stopped a few miles up the road. By the time the Mindors reached them, police officers were directing traffic off the freeway. As the family neared the top of the ramp, Julia began to whimper. She curled into a ball and covered her eyes. Tonya turned to check on her daughter. "What is it, honey? Why are you crying?" Julia pointed out the window with one hand, shielding her eyes with the other. "There's a ghost lady on that bridge," the girl cried. "She's looking at me, and I don't want her to!" "What does she look like?" asked Tonya. "She's tall and skinny. She has dark hair, and she looks really sad." Tonya immediately felt guilty for asking. Julia was clearly upset. The mother reached back and patted her daughter's arm, dropping the subject for good. Later that night, safely at home and with their child sound asleep, Tonya and her husband tuned in for the local news. Their suspicions were confirmed. Earlier that day, on Interstate 75, near the spot where the Mindors had been rerouted, a tragic accident had occurred. While multiple cars and several people were involved, there was just one fatality: A tall, thin, dark-haired young woman. Excerpted from Ghostly Tales of Michigan by Ryan Jacobson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.