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When I was 15 I had the privilege of meeting the spirit of John Paul Rademuller first hand on the steps of his lighthouse. It was a school trip, and so there were a number of us climbing the stairs to the top when we heard the footsteps about 15 stairs ahead of us. The circular staircase prevented us from seeing the source of the footsteps, but we knew we should have been alone. We joked and laughed about the haunted lighthouse, until one of the boys ran up the stairs to find the source. The mood changed drastically as the footsteps suddenly changed direction and rushed towards us. There was no sudden cold in the air and no stench as is often reported but each of us felt something solid shove past us, so much so that one of the girls was knocked down and caught by the boy behind her.

I often treated this memory as a potential trick of the imagination in the mind of a fifteen year old, but that was before I knew the rest of the story. Before I knew that Gibraltar Point Lighthouse was built on a native burial ground, before I knew the gruesome manner in which Mr. Rademuller had died, and most importantly before I knew that a part of his body had actually been found. Welcome to Gibraltar Point…

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