Thank you?

Way back when, a lifetime ago in my mind, when I was a young adult, I lived in a series of "haunted houses". The first was a large Victorian style house, divided by the owner who rented three bedrooms upstairs by the room with a shared kitchen and bathroom, while downstairs was himself and two bedrooms used for an everchanging series of houseguests, usually artists or musicians. I was staying downstairs while finishing up my Senior year of Highschool and learning the responsibilities of adulthood. I was frequently told of a mysterious little girl seen disappearing into a hallway closet by the upstairs tenets who would inquire if I knew who's child it was. Once someone was told that there were no children in residence or that the only child in the home was the owner's 5-year-old boy who would visit occasionally but typically lived on the East coast with his mother, the girl would no longer be seen. Because rooms were rented month by month by people who seldom stayed more than a few months at a time, I know of at least 8 different people who all independently reported seeing the same unknown little girl playing alone upstairs and disappearing soon after being noticed. I never saw a thing, but the owner was concerned by the number of people who had what they described as intense feelings or the odd and uneasy feelings of being watched. He had the home cleansed by several different shamans and religious types in an effort to create a safer and more welcoming space. After that his tenets started staying longer, lasting years rather than weeks.
In college I was made aware of the usual local legends of haunted dorms and spooky houses just off campus. Despite my openness or downright interest in the topic, I was again left unbothered by these so-called haunted spaces, even when I spent the night or made conscience efforts to reach the other side while residing in former room of a deceased student.
After graduating, while I was still finding myself and discovering what I was going to do with my life, I moved into my first apartment all on my own. The building was a former hospital turned first into a retirement community, then recently opened up to the public. I was the first and only tenet under sixty-five on my hallway and floor. Many of the other residents would share stories of seeing figures walk through walls or hearing strange sounds, but again I was left alone by the other side.
Then I moved into a newer studio apartment after trying a series of shared living arrangements. This space was very small, by perfect for me as a young go getter who spent more time working and out adventuring with friends than at home. I had space for a bed, that doubled as seating. The stove only had 2 burners, and the oven could only hold a small sized pizza, even that would have to be angled to fit sometimes. The bathroom was so tiny many friends remarked about how difficult it was to use the toilet without putting their feet in the tub. It was here in this ity-bity space that I had my first and only encounter with the other side.
I had come home late, giggling in after the bars downtown had closed. I had had a 30-to-45-minute walk across downtown and up the hill into my neighborhood, so I was sobered up from the drinks out with friends and tired from a long day at work followed by a long night of dancing. I had kicked off my ridiculous platform heels and shimmed out of that evening's party dress and tights and made my way into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash off my make-up and ready myself for bed, when I first heard the odd tapping sound. I figured it must be the neighbors, perhaps not happy with my coming in so late, so I tried to be quieter as I took the three steps across the apartment from the bathroom to my bed. I snuggled down to sleep, expecting to go straight to dreamland. Instead, I found myself unable to fall asleep as I kept hearing what almost felt like breathing in my ear and odd lights floating around the otherwise dark room. After rolling over, pulling the blankets up and down and a few dramatic sighs, I'd had enough and sat up announcing, "be quiet, I'm trying to sleep. If you're going to stick around, make yourself useful and get me a drink of water, I really need to get some sleep before work tomorrow." The sounds and sparkles stopped, and I was able to get to sleep. When I woke up around 9 AM, there was a glass of water on the floor next to my bed. I lived alone. The water had some pieces of ice floating in it. I did not have an ice cube tray and my tiny fridge was not the kind that made ice. So, I did the only polite thing I could think of and said, "Thank you" drank the water and got up and went about my usual pattern of getting ready for the day.  I was never bothered again, although I did ask for help finding lost items a couple of times and sometimes those things would be set in the middle of my bed or on the counter when I came home.