The dead boy that comes to play with me

gallow(c) Original Artist. All images remain the property of their creator.

I was quite a quiet child, my introspective nature was probably apparent to other people even then. I spent a lot of time in my room doing whatever young children do. My mother told me that she would often hear me talking to myself when I was supposed to be asleep and she told me later that one or twice she was sure she heard someone speaking back, so would come to check on me and all was as it should be.

I dimly remember my teacher once asking me about my drawings after art class. Years later she told me that they seemed to be of a man hanging from a scaffold on a hill but we need to make allowances for my age and lack of drawing ability. I simply told them that they were pictures of Mark, ‘the dead boy that comes to play with me’. I’m unsure if I followed it up with the line, ‘I see dead people,’ but I’m sure that was implied.

At this point I should say that there is a history of this sort of thing in the family, albeit it in different ways. My mother once refused to board a bus as when touching the handrail she said it felt like a coffin handle. As you may have guessed, the bus crashed. My grandmother also had some history with this sort of thing.

My mother told me once that she woke up on the sofa and thought she saw a teenage boy standing by the television watching her, but she put it down to waking up suddenly. The house did have a strange atmosphere. I hated walking around in the dark, especially late at night when everyone was asleep and my room was the worst place of all. I can’t remember Mark at all, but I do remember waking up many times over the years feeling as though someone was leaning over me stroking my hair. I never told anyone this at the time, but the night before I moved out I had left some ornaments on the floor that I couldn’t fit into the boxes I had. When I woke in the morning they were smashed into pieces, as though someone had stamped on them. No one had come into my room and the cats had been locked out due to all the boxes.

I don’t believe in fortune tellers, but there was one I saw that did seem quite accurate with some of the things she predicted for the future. I won’t recount them here as they are quite personal, but one of them relating to this story was that the spirit of a boy was attached to me and followed me around. She later said that someone with a name beginning with M was important to me. Another woman approached me on the street and told me that I was being followed around by the ghost of a boy and then she just disappeared back into the crowd without asking for money, as they normally do.

I’m not sure what I believe to this day, but I can say that I still wake up sometimes feeling like someone is leaning over me stroking my hair. It could be psychological now that I know the story from my childhood, but afterwards I always feel very sad and it can take days to shake it. Once or twice I have also thought I heard someone calling my name even though I was completely alone in the house. 

tl;dr: I may be Hayley Joel Osment

Story credit: This one is mine.

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