I've never told anyone about my experiences but my parents. I was always worried that everyone would think I was going mad. Heck, even I'm still convinced I belong in an asylum. When I finally admitted that I could see ghosts, they didn't seem surprised. When I was only three I would come into the living room and tell my parents a full conversation I had had with my deceased grandmother. I remember one morning, waking up to hear an older woman's voice greet me. I whispered an answer back, not realizing anything unusual and not telling my parents. After my little sister was born, I didn't hear from my grandmother again.
My family always lived in strange places. When we tried to move out of the house that we had moved into after I was born, my dad felt a hand grasp his leg tightly. As our car pulled away from this particular house, my mother saw the face of a little girl glaring through the window. This little girl was the same child my older sister had described playing with alone in her room, even though there was no such child in the neighborhood.
And if you asked my parents opinions on Furbies, they'd tell you a chilling story. Just to keep it interesting I'll tell you this story, as well as my own:
My parents had gotten my older sister a Furbie, thinking it would be a fun toy for her to have. After a few months, the Furbie started talking. Nothing bad at first, until it started swearing with words even my potty mouth parents didn't dare say even out of range of young ears. After that, my dad took the Furbie, ready to get rid of the thing. When we went to throw it out, it began to scream curses at us. My dad took out the batteries, hoping to stop the onslaught of words. It began talking backwards. Or at least, gibberish. My dad threw it down the hallway as hard as he could, but when it hit the wall, it only began screaming at us again.
Yeah, we're not allowed to have Furbies anymore.
But this isn't why I wanted to share my story. Even today I still see ghosts roaming around our house, unaware that I could see them. Night after night people came and went through our room. We would stare at eachother for hours. I would watch from my bed, and they would sit next to the closet door. After three or four hours of me mumbling words to them so I wouldn't wake my little sister, I would lay down and fall asleep, aware that the spirit had moved to the foot of my bed, watching me.
This has happened for the full four years we had been in this house. Most people who come across a spirit become afraid to be alone or afraid of the dark. I found the dark the most comforting, though. Some nights, a strange ghost would enter the room and I would stare at them. I would talk to them, warning them that if they hurt my family, they'd be sorry. I don't know why they were afraid, what could I do to them?
Eventually, I was only afraid of looking at reflections in the dark. They always showed more that I could see with my own eyes. The old TV at the foot of my bed didn't help. One day, I made the mistake of looking at the screen for a second.
My eyes locked with another set. He seemed to be looking through the screen. It felt like hours before he turned away and I was able to move again, but I looked at the clock to find it mad only been a couple minutes. I turned to the door to see a long black hand slide out the door, following the rest of the body.
Every night I saw the long fingered hand open the door slightly. The figure would always walk in, and disappear from my sight. I always knew the only way I'd see him was to look at the TV screen, but I couldn't make myself do it. I'd fall asleep, the sliver of a face watching from the front of the closet door. It never bothered me that he was there. He never tried anything, just watched me.
It could have been a dream. I could have been seeing things, convinced that every night a hand opened my door slightly just so a dark creature could watch me drift off into a dreamless sleep. I would wake up every morning looking for evidence. The door would always be more open than how I'd left it the night before. One night, I woke up to my lip bleeding badly. This wasn't abnormal, my lips were always cracked and making them bleed was something I did often. I left the room and went into our bathroom, leaving a bloody fingerprint on the door handle. I took care of the lip and went back to bed. When I woke up, the blood spot had gone, but my cut lip was still there.
It could have been my overactive imagination, I was paranoid... I would see the figure out of the corner of my eye when we passed my bedroom door, but I wasn't afraid. Ghosts never frightened me, they were there for company, as was I.
But it was yesterday that I began to worry for my family's safety. My little sister and I were preparing lunch in the kitchen when she turned to our doorway. I asked her what was wrong, but she seemed to scared to reply. After she turned away from the hallway, she looked up at me and whispered so our parents wouldn't hear, "There was a dark man in our room." She described the man I saw every night, the long hands, the tall body that reached to the ceiling, and the dark eyes that stared back at her.
I want her to be safe, but what can I do to a man that doesn't have a body to be hurt?
I'll see him tonight. But I won't look away from the screen until he knows I will not tolerate him hurting my family any longer.
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