I see her everywhere I go these days, and just recently it got worse.
When my friend Jeaneen invited me to a meeting of The Minneapolis Paranormal Research Society (mprsminnesota.com) last week, I accepted immediately, though I wasn’t sure why.
Now’s it’s sort of obvious.
What I suspect is that a couple weeks ago when the weather first turned cold, I conjured her, rattled her bones, dragged a tin can across the bars of her gilded ghostly cage, and now I feel her cinnamon skin and avatar eyes all over the place — in coffee shops, co-ops, creeks, cash machines; in the faces of the shoppers and gawkers and barflies and the maid at the hotel and the farm girl at the Fair.
“I want to be haunted by the ghost of