QotD: You've been entered in a shadow puppet contest. What's your best pose?

Do you think I was born yesterday? Here you are, on the eve of competition, posing as an ordinary journalist. Your superiors think to catch me in a display of vanity, thinking I must be eager to see my own likeness in a glossy magazine alongside gushing praise of my prowess. All to pry forth my secrets, and all in vain, I assure you, for I see through your disguise. For one thing, I noticed you shadowing me last week. Who sent you? Who pulls your strings?

Of course you deny it. Very well, let the interview begin. By the time I was six, after what must have been our twentieth relocation, I knew that my family didn’t suffer from simple bad luck in stumbling from one haunted place to the next. The shades were attracted to me. For a time, in my infancy, I found myself drawn first into one extinct past and then another. Eventually I learned to take control, which was a blessing to them as well as to me. Even incorporeal bodies get migraines banging their shadowy heads against the irrevocable walls of the past.

I realized before I was ten that I was a true shadow master. You don’t understand what it meant then; all it takes now is a little dabbling in the occult and any Tom, Dick or Mary claims the title of shadow master. But I, born gifted and with half a century of study and hard work behind me, have become the one and only, the genius, the overwhelming. Run along to your masters, dear. Don’t bother looking over your shoulder, wondering if those flickers in the dark corners mean anything. Of course they do.