This is My House

Back in 2009, my son was not quite two years old. I was newly married and living in my in-laws' basement while we searched for a home. My son slept in the room just down the hall, about fifteen feet away from our door.

One night around 12am, we were relaxing in bed and about to turn in when my son burst into the room, hysterical and terrified. He leapt onto the bed and started crying that there was a dead guy under his bed. I was confused and shocked by this because of his age and having had no exposure to death or the concept of death up until this point. We quickly attempted to calm him, and after twenty minutes or so, he finally settled and fell back asleep.

The next day, I tried to take him to his room to assure him that nothing was there. I walked in, checked all the corners and hiding spaces, and told him I found no scary guys. He nervously crept as far as the doorframe, squatted down, pointed under the bed, and said, "No, dead guy under there, scary!"

That was enough for me. I closed the door and we steered clear for a few days. Eventually, he started sleeping in there again but would still complain on and off about the scary dead guy.

We purchased and moved into our first home a few months later, January of 2010. For several months, he didn't complain about the dead guy again. I was relieved and thought we'd moved on. Until one night when he wouldn't settle down for bed and said he was scared of the dead guy who stood in his closet at night.

This turned into an almost daily complaint. Sometimes he was in the closet, sometimes he floated above his bed, sometimes he stood outside tapping on the window. He wasn't yet three at this point.

We encouraged him to advocate for himself, and that if he ever felt threatened by the "scary guy" he should tell him, "This is my house, and you're not welcome here!"

One day, just the two of us were home alone. He was playing in his room, and I was in the kitchen making lunch. Suddenly, I hear, "This is my house and you need to get out!"

I froze, and my stomach dropped to my feet. I rushed in and asked him if everything was okay. He proudly told me, "I made him go away!"

If only that had been the end.

This continued for another year or so. Things would be quiet for a few days, maybe even a few weeks, but then the Scary Guy would be back. I asked him to describe what he looked like. He said it was a guy, but he could only see him from the chest up. The rest was shadows, and where his eyes should be was just black holes. He would draw pictures of stick figures with black around them, and black holes for the eyes. Absolutely unnerving.

One day, I mentioned what we'd been dealing with to a coworker, who relayed the story to someone she knew that ran a paranormal team. He approached me one day and asked if we would be interested in having them come check out our house and see if they could help. I gladly accepted, and they came out a few weeks later.

They spent a good forty-five minutes in the room trying to connect with the Scary Guy and felt that they had found something: a "neutral" spirit who didn't seem to be harmful, but maybe not always truthful, either. Who was attached to my son, not the house. He seemed more curious and lonely than anything. They felt it was possible my son could be a medium.

After they left, things were quiet for about a week. But then... Not only was he complaining about the Scary Guy, but several others. I knew this was a possibility, but it was so frustrating! I didn't know what else to do at this point. We had tried salt sprays, asking them to leave, cleansing, blessing the house.

One day when it was just me at home, I sat down and just repeatedly asked them to leave. They weren't welcome, we'd had enough. It had been around three years at this point, and while I never felt particularly threatened or uncomfortable in my home, it bothered me that my son was still scared by these things. That night, he still complained about them being present, and I went to bed feeling defeated.

Then, I had a dream. A very vivid dream. I was lying in bed, and in my closet stood a man who was visible from the chest up, with black holes where his eyes should be.

He said, "I'm your son's scary guy. I'm not here to harm him. I'm just lonely, and he can see me."

I told him, "I know who you are, and you're not welcome here. You scare my son, and you need to leave and never come back."

He vanished, and I immediately woke up. I stared hard into my closet, but nothing was there.

I didn't mention this dream to my son until he was twelve years old, but he never once complained about him or any other "visitors" again.