ALL GOOD GIRLS GO TO HELL

My first run in with death was at the age of three. My mother tells me it happened around three in the morning. She awoke to happy squeals coming from the baby monitor. Imagine her horror when she saw her three year old baby floating above her crib. Once her high pitch scream pierced the quiet night air she says I dropped down on to the floor, a couple stitches later and the doctor considered me a lucky one, "one inch over and she would have died immediately."
The second brush with death was sort of a couple years span, by the age of four I was talking. To who? No one knew, I babbled and rambled on and on again to 'Lucy'. By age twelve my parents had tried it all, therapy, medication, doctors, neurologists, you name it. But no one could figure out who Lucy was or why I chose to talk to them. And when logical answers came short my mother turned to the more illogical. A late night pay for hire tv preacher and one priest visit later my mother was convinced I was possessed by a demon. One exorcism later I lost all memory of my past life and Lucy was no more. All I have now are my stories and now as I approach my twenty second birthday the stories stayed faded in the back of my mind. A fun haunted tale to tell at parties.
Or so I thought.