A few weeks ago, I was babysitting my little cousin Gregory at his house while his mum went out with a few of her friends.
Normally I’d be thrilled to hang out in their house, since it’s nice and all, but that night it just seemed really freaky. I decided that Greg and I would just have to stay in one room together since I was way too scared to go into any other place in the house.
Gregory fell asleep fairly quickly, and it wasn’t too soon before I started dozing off as well, so I just began to watch the TV, to keep from falling asleep.
After a few hours of mindlessly surfing the television, I heard laughter and chairs being scraped across the floorboards in the kitchen. Thinking it was my aunt come back, I got up to greet her.
The only thing I saw was open cabinets and chairs pulled out from the table.
Frantically, I looked around to see if there was someone hiding. There wasn’t anyone to be found. Thoroughly spooked, I hurried back into the living room, where Gregory was now full awake and giggling to himself.
When I asked him what he was laughing at, he only replied, "My friend."
Now when he said that, I was thinking an imaginary friend, but the next thing he said chilled me to the bone.
"His name’s Marcus!"
About sixy years before that, the townhouse had burnt down in the middle of the night due to an electrical problem. The entire family died, save for the oldest daughter, who managed to get out in time.
I’d been told a few times what their names were, and Marcus was definately the boy’s name.
I wasn’t sure if I should pick up Gregory and run, or if I should sit down and shut up, but I managed to get some information out of him before my aunt walked in.
Gregory had assured me that his "imaginary friend" wasn’t imaginary at all.