"imaginary" Friend

I am a lover of all things paranormal. It has interested me my whole life. However, I have not had many first-hand experiences or encounters with the paranormal... Besides one.

I was young, maybe about 5 years old at the most. I lived in a two-story apartment in Dayton, Ohio with my mother and father at the time, before my sister was born. I am going on 26 years old now, there isn't much of my childhood that I can clearly remember. It seems over the years every thing becomes more and more fuzzy like I am trying to tune the static out of an old T.V. But I will always remember this about living in this apartment; I had an imaginary friend.

I remember having an imaginary friend. Very distinctly. My imaginary friend was a boy. He didn't have a name that I can recall. I remember locking myself in my room for hours and playing. Jumping on the bed, playing with dolls. Talking to him. But that is the extent of what I can remember about him.

It wouldn't be until years later after we moved from that apartment and I was older, that my parents would share a story with me that haunts me to this day.

They knew I had an imaginary friend. That was all I did day in and day out. I developed this imaginary friend after we had moved into this apartment. According to my parents, I started doing bad things. Things that I normally did not do prior to having this imaginary friend. I would have accidents on myself and pee on the floor in my room like a dog. I would lock my cats in the trunk that sat outside of my door in the hallway. My attitude and the way I talked to my mother seemed to get worse too. When confronted about my actions and the things that I was doing, they said I would blame it on my cousin Amber (who had never even been over before).

My mother in particular has always told me that she hated my room in that apartment. She hated to be in my room by herself, as she would always feel as if something was watching her.

There was one day in particular, where things got really strange.

My father was working a third shift job at the time. He had worked some over-time that day and came home and wanted to go to sleep. He walked up the stairs, past my room where my door was shut, and into his room across the hall. My parent's story about what happened has never faltered or changed as many times as I have heard it.

My dad could hear me in my room playing with what seemed to be another kid. He heard two voices. I suppose I could have easily been replying to myself in different tones to give my imaginary friend a voice, except he claims there were times our voices over-lapped and he could clearly tell he was hearing two different children. Laughing, playing, being kids.

He called for my mother to come to their room so that he could tell her to go tell me and "that neighbor boy" to keep it down so he could sleep. My mother insisted that she did not hear anyone else with me, and that there was no other kids in the room except me. Sure enough when they checked, I was alone.

Not sure when we ended up moving from that apartment, but we did. My parents claimed like flipping a switch, as soon as we moved out, I no longer had an imaginary friend. I can not sit here and tell you that yes, it was ghost! Because, well, I just don't know. I for sure know, and remember, the imaginary friend. I can't ever re-call that anything weird ever happened to me during this time, like hearing him, or seeing him. I only remember the act of acting like there was someone with me to play with, and speaking at this thing that I could not see. But to my parents, there was definitely something more than just a child playing make-believe.

To top it all off, a few years later, a friend of my dad's moved into the same apartment with his daughter and son. They knew nothing of the experience we had in the home. Imagine how my parents felt to learn that this friend's daughter took my old room, and a few weeks upon moving in, she had her very own, imaginary friend. She continued to have an imaginary friend until the day that they too, moved from the home.

This story is one of my most prized-possessions. When the topic of ghosts is on the table, it is the one I whip out. It is eerie, and some-what unsettling. But it one-hundred percent, true.

This apartment is relatively close to where my grandparents currently live and have lived for many, many years. Over all these years there has been a handful of occasions where we have drove, or walked, past it. I find that every single time, I find myself looking up into the window of what used to be my old room, wondering if he might be looking back at me and remember me.