I’ve looked for and found tons of articles debating the existence of ghosts. Some say they are real, others call it a psychological phenomenon. I would argue that they are real in one form or another. When an otherwise sane person has a terrifying mystical experience, they tend to become believers.

This is why I am a believer.

It was twenty years ago now at the time I’m writing this. My family had just moved into a new apartment in Saco Maine. The place was pretty nice actually, spacious, a large back yard that was fenced in, behind which was a huge and well kept cemetery. It was a wonderful place for an afternoon stroll with the kids. They would run around hiding behind the bushes and gravestones, jumping out yelling “Boo!” when the adults finally caught up.

However, it didn’t take long for us to realize that there was something very strange going on in there. It all started when my four year old son Michael, started playing with an imaginary friend who he called Emma. At first it was cute and we didn’t think much of it, figuring that it was just a vivid imagination brought on by the change in living space.

At night, every now and then we would be sitting there, reading a book or watching television when we would hear something fall off the counter in the kitchen. At first you didn’t think much of it.

Over time, however these occurrences increased. After a few months, there was absolutely no shortage of strange happenings. There were cupboard doors opening and closing, items falling off counters or shelves in other rooms, etc. There was a thing for spoons. We couldn’t leave a spoon on the counter or a table ever. It would end up on the floor with a clank. We would come home and things would be moved. One time we even called the police because we thought that someone had broken into the place. The police found no evidence of a break in though.

Michael would often be there to say “Emma did it. Emma did it.”

At several points my wife would say, “Ok Michael, enough about Emma. She is not real.”

But she was real alright, either that or we were both crazy, because after a year of living there, we were convinced. The creepiest thing that would happen, you see, was every now and then, late at night, there would suddenly be the pitter patter of little feet running down the hallway. Both of us would hear it at the same time.

My wife and I would get up, in a sort of tired frustration from a long day, asking which kid is up now? Only to find out that both were sound asleep in their beds. This began happening more and more often.

It was enough to drive you nuts.

Michael was just about to turn 6 when we moved. We told him that we were going to live in the new house. He said “Bye Emma,” as we left.

And then all of this stopped.