Hi! My story begins shortly after we moved into the house on Holcomb Ave. in Reno, Nevada.
It was just me, my fiance, and our son who was about sixteen months old. Well, this story is shortly after our son's second birthday. I was pregnant with our first daughter. Our son, who never had problems sleeping, and had slept all night since he was about two months old, started waking up in the middle of the night screaming.
We just thought he was having a problem with Mommy's growing tummy, and the baby that was going to take away all of the attention from him. Anyway, the morning after one such night, I was laying in bed because I was feeling really sick, and Timothy was running around the house. We kept a baby gate up between the hall and the living room so that when I wasn't feeling well, he couldn't get into things in the living room and kitchen.
This house had some of the original things in it, like glass door knobs, old thin glass windows, and things like that.
Anyway, Timothy was running back and forth between my room and his room when he tripped and hit his head on the corner of our water bed. He was sleepy and grumpy after that, so I decided that it was time to take him to the doctor's office. Maybe I was a little overprotective, but anyway, when my fiance came home from work to take him to the doctor's office, he still wasn't quite ready, so he helped get his dressed to go. He noticed a small, child-sized hand print on his chest, as though he'd been slapped, or pushed very hard. He'd been home alone with just us for about the three weeks before that, so he hadn't come in contact with any other children. We had the doctor look at it, and he measured it and our hands, because he had a legal obligation to do so, and said that there was no way that we could have made that mark. Our hands were too big.
Well, we got our answer a couple of months later as to who did it. I was doing some dishes in the kitchen, and my fiance was going into the hall on his way to the bathroom. He heard Timothy talking and playing in his room. Well, he was still talking when my fiance was done in the bathroom, so he looked in on him. The door was ajar, so he didn't have to look in. What he saw chilled him to the bone. Timothy was sitting on the floor on one side of his room playing with some cars and trucks, and on the other side of the room, interacting with Timothy, were more cars and trucks that were moving by themselves.
We were never able to get any history about the house, so we don't know anything about the ghost that our son was playing with. It never harmed him again, and we believe that it was pushing him down to keep him from getting hurt by the thing that was in his closet and the basement. I always got a really bad feeling down there and in his closet, but never had a problem with the little guy that we've named Robbie.
We've moved from that house. We'd moved into an apartment also in Reno, a house in Missouri, and now a house in Delaware, and Robbie is still with us. He now plays with our youngest daughter, Jaimee, but has played with all four of our children. When things happen after the kids are supposed to be in bed, I just tell Robbie that it's past his bedtime, and that he needs to go to bed, and the things stop happening. We've grown rather attached to him, and would be sad to have him to away.
He also used to play trucks on the only person that we trusted to baby sit our kids. He'd play with the volume on the TV, and turn it on and off. I couldn't leave the room without him turning off the TV after I left the room, even if I left for only a minute.
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