Since I was a young child, I had trouble sleeping. If I fell asleep, I’d constantly wake up, not feeling like I ever had a restful sleep.
But when I would wake up, I’d see people in my room. I’d call them ghosts to make it less scary for me, but they would always be standing by or sitting on the chair in the corner of my room. They weren’t the typical ghosts you’d see with a white sheet, but at first, it scared me to death.
I’ll never forget the first ghost. When I woke up and saw her standing by the chair, I nearly screamed for my parents. But she was calm and had a sweet smile on her face so I decided against it. I threw off my covers and sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, I asked for her name.
“Winnie.”
“Hi, Winnie. I’m Beau.” She giggled at this, and I talked with her for the next few hours.
I got a couple of hours of sleep and had big bags under my eyes when I came down for breakfast. My mom handed me a bowl of cereal and took a look at me and said, “Did you not sleep good, honey?”
I shook my head. “No, I talked to Winnie for a while.”
She narrowed her eyes and said, “Winnie?”
“Yeah, the ghost who visited me last night.”
My mom pulled a chair out for herself and sat down next to me before asking, “What does she look like?”
“She has blonde hair in pigtails, and she was wearing a blue dress.”
“Not in a white sheet?” My mom teased and I shook my head once more. “Well, make sure you get a good sleep tonight, okay?”
I nodded, my eyes were droopy all day and I could barely stay awake in school. I crashed when I got home and took an hour nap. Even with the nap I fell asleep rather quickly but woke a little past midnight and saw an older man in the chair, sitting proper in a suit. He wasn’t as talkative as Winnie, but I talked to him for a couple of minutes before I fell back asleep.
“You look like you got more sleep last night. Did Winnie not visit you?” My mom asked as she gave me cereal again.
“Nope, but Bernard did.”
She raised her eyebrows at this. “Oh Bernard, huh?”
“Yep, talked to me about his kids. He used to live a couple of streets down from us. I’m sure he would’ve talked longer but I fell asleep before he got the chance.”
“Oh really? Did he tell you what street?” She smiled, amusing me until she heard what street name I said.
“He said he lived on 1410 Maple Street.” The smile on her face subsided when she got up and grabbed the newspaper on the counter behind her and read the obituaries.
Her voice shook as she asked, “Did you read this?”
“Read what?”
She crumbled the newspaper and tossed it in the trash. She ran to the phone and called around for some therapists as I’m sure she thought I was now delusional or at least making this up for attention.
It took a few weeks to get into a therapist and in that time, I probably saw nearly ten ghosts, now I’d never see the same one twice, but they ranged in age. After that one incident with my mom, I decided not to tell her about them anymore, but I knew I’d have to talk about them with the therapist.
“So, Chase…” My therapist opened a notepad and clicked her pen before asking, “Can you describe each ghost for me?”
“You want me to explain each one?”
She nodded. “Your mom told me you stopped talking to her about them, but I’m sure you’ve had more, right?”
“Yeah, I have.”
“Okay, well do you want to get started then?”
I rattled off my ghost interactions over the last few weeks. There was Agnes, Sarah, Tom, Aaron, Eric, Lilly, and probably some other names that I forgot considering there were so many, but I explained each one in significant detail, more than what the therapist was expecting. She stared at me wide-eyed when I finished and excused herself to talk to my mom outside the office.
I stayed in the room when I heard the therapist tell my mom I seemed to have an overactive imagination. The therapist still wanted to see me, so my mom set up a schedule where I’d go in twice a week after school. It was pretty routine; I’d talk about the new ghosts and then she’d debrief them with my mom.
Since I had so many, she told me to keep a journal and bring it with me. This went on for a while and since I kept having so many my therapist recommended some melatonin to put me in a deeper sleep, but it never helped.
I didn’t mind seeing these ghosts, but it clearly bothered my mom since she kept taking me. I liked learning about these ghosts, especially Henry.
I probably talked to him the longest out of everyone, even Winnie. He had on a dinosaur shirt and matching shorts, and his hair looked slightly wet.
He looked to be around my age, maybe a year or two younger, but he liked the same toys I did. He saw my racetrack on the ground and little racecars, and we played for hours. He talked about the toys he used to have in his house, he had superhero figurines, almost every Lego set imaginable, but his new favorite thing was swimming. He told me that he was still learning and required floaties, but he liked to test the waters and jump in. We talked until the sun came up and I was sad to see him go. I’ve never had a ghost visit twice but I was hoping he would.
The carpet was a little wet, which my mom wasn’t too happy about in the morning, but I was excited to tell my therapist about him. Although I knew I’d remember Henry, I wrote it down in my journal anyway. For some reason, my therapist couldn’t meet for nearly three weeks, and I had a bunch of stories to tell her.
I sat down in front of her in that massive chair swinging my legs as I explained my stories. I went through the long list and finally explained Henry. She perked up at the name and intently listened to my description of him in the dinosaur outfit and how he left a wet spot on my mom’s carpet.
She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She had a picture frame on the table next to her, it was always tilted her way, so I never got a chance to look at it, but she passed it to me and shakily asked, “Was this Henry?”
I took the frame and nodded, a smile on my face as I handed it back to her and she instantly burst into tears. I narrowed my eyes, and she ushered me out of the room, and I never saw her again.
As I grew up, the ghosts would visit less and less and now I don’t see many ghosts anymore. But I’ve always had a chair in the corner of my room just in case.
I like these kind of "not all ghosts want to scare you" stories. Can make people think.
Very sweet, I love that this kid was kind of like a therapist, too, just for the recently deceased.