Ever since I was little I've been able to see ghosts. I thought it was normal... When I first started seeing them I told my mum about it, she said they were imaginary friends, I believed her and carried on playing hide and seek with them. When I was 11 my mum finally snapped, she told me that they weren't reel, hence the 'imaginary'. She said I needed to grow up, to get rid of them. I knew by then that they weren't imaginary, they were ghosts. They were there to help my through it, they told me what I needed to do.
I'm now thirteen, living in a metal hospital for the young. They said I was a murderer, but I don't understand. The only company I've got is my ghosts or my 'imaginary friends' as my mum would call them.
She should be happy that I didn't move on, stop believing in my friends. I mean she is one of them now, I made her one of my friends.
YOU ARE READING
My book of horror stories
Short Story❝𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔❞ Currently rewriting
