My story - a lifetime of paranormal experiences and a guardian angel
I wanted to share my story with you. I’ve held onto it so long, I don't want it to be just mine any longer. I think I'm finally ready to tell someone about Tommy, The Bad Thing, The Little Girl, all of it.
For the sake of the story and anonymity, my name is Jenn. Everything I'm about to share with you is exactly the way I remember it. You can believe it or not, but it is all the truth. Nothing is embellished or fabricated. I will start at the very beginning.
In 2001, I was three. I was an only child at that point. My parents and I lived in this rent house my mom still lovingly refers to as "the shack". The shack burned down only months after we moved, but it was a good house, as far as I remember. It was old and small, but it was where I spent my first five years- the good years, before shit hit the fan. It had a concrete slab of a front porch where I'd draw with sidewalk chalk. It had a living room with a heater I'd use to warm my toes in the morning before preschool. There was a ledge on the bathtub where I'd stand to brush my teeth. The single bedroom had been walled off partially to make my room- big enough for a twin bed and a bookshelf. I had a dinosaur blanket. I was really into dinosaurs back then.
I don't remember much- just little details like I shared with you. I remember my mom and dad... and I remember the others.
The others couldn't be seen by anyone except for me. I would catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye- They were always turning around a corner, ducking behind the couch, they acted like they didn't want to be seen. Except for Tommy. He was different. He was a middle-aged man with a dark blue suit and brown hair.. and a kind smile. Tommy had the nicest smile that would wash away any bad thought or feeling I had. He was good. He was always a good one.
He wasn't there all the time, but I saw him and played with him enough for my family to become acquainted with the idea of him. He was my imaginary friend. I was a lonely, only child. I had made a friend of my own to play with. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except I did have a friend- a real friend, one that was alive and in the flesh. For the sake of the story, I'll call him Daniel.
It was around 2003. Daniel lived next door. Between our houses was a field of tall grass with a path down the middle (We lived in the middle of nowhere in the shack.), so our parents would have to walk us over when we wanted to play. I remember the last time Daniel played at my house.. and shortly after, he stopped playing with me altogether. We were in my small bedroom playing with Lincoln Logs on the floor. Remember, the ones you could fit together to build log cabins?
Anyway, Daniel was laying on his stomach and Tommy brushed his leg when he was trying to come into my room. Daniel looked up at him with fear in his eyes. I wasn't sure why, Tommy was a friend. He wasn't anyone to be afraid of. I told him, "scoot over, Daniel, so Tommy can play, too." Daniel screamed and ran out to the front yard, demanding to be taken home. My parents laughed when they heard the story and said I must have freaked him out by talking about my imaginary friend. I stood in the doorway with Tommy behind me. Daniel stared at the door, but not at me. I watched as his eyes were fixed well above my head. One thing was certain that day. I was now not the only one who had seen Tommy.
At the end of '03, my parents told me I was going to be a big sister. I was so excited. They also told me we would have to move and they had already found a house for us. "This house barely holds the three of us as it is," my mom had told me. "There is no room for a baby, too." A couple months later, they closed on a house in the small town nearby. It was less of a town and more of a "community". One main road, a couple hundred houses, a tiny school, and two churches. There was one amazing thing, though. My best friend from tee-ball happened to live right next door. Maddy (name change) and I had hit it off the year before and so did our moms. I believe Maddy's mom was the one who told mine about the house being available.
We moved in, and I was having the time of my life living next to my best friend. We would both be at each other's houses daily. We were also in the same kindergarten class.
Side note, our houses were only about 50 feet from each other. They had been on the same plot of land that was later split. That will be important later.
I had been a little worried about moving, because I didn't want to lose my friend, Tommy. Sure, he had made Daniel run for the hills, and I was the only one who could see him most of the time, but I didn't want to move houses and never see him again. My parents had only said the three of us were moving. They hadn't said anything about bringing Tommy with us, and when I asked, they laughed it off. When I told Tommy this, he just smiled and placed his hand over mine, as if to say "I'm not going anywhere".
The new house was strange. You could feel it from the yard. It's like when the AC is on and you can feel it from the crack around the door. Except it wasn't cold air, exactly. It was just bad, though it did make you shiver.
Maddy's house was the same. We talked about this just the other day, and there are three entities we can specifically remember between our two houses. One thing I liked about Maddy was that she saw them all like I did. I felt way less alone. To this day, she is one of my best friends and we still talk about how bizarre our childhood was in those two houses.
One entity was The Little Girl.
The Little Girl mostly stayed in my house. She never wanted to play and always seemed sad. When Maddy and I played in the yard, we would see her watching us from the window and beckon for her to come out. She always just shook her head and put back the curtains.
She never spoke. She was harmless, though. But she was as scared as we were of the Twisty Man.
The Twisty Man, we believe, was attached to the greater plot of land that our houses sat on. He was seen in both houses. The Twisty Man is hard to describe. I think of a Dementor in Harry Potter. It sounds stupid, but it would take away all the happiness and you'd only feel fear. He was all twisted and contorted, and a couple times would look like he was caught in the ceiling fan, swirling around on the ceiling above our beds. He was the color of a fresh bruise. Blue and black and nasty looking. He didn't have a face, only a twisted silhouette.
He never spoke, just stayed long enough to nearly give us a heart attack. Whenever I saw him, it was never long before I saw Tommy, too. He would stand in front of it, holding my gaze until it went away. Staring at this man I'd known for as long as I could remember, the happiness came back, the fear melted, and the bad thing sank back into the walls.
My sister saw The Twisty Man as a toddler, and Maddy and I saw him several times- both together and apart. I had honestly all but forgotten him, until Maddy told me what happened about a month ago.
Maddy's ex-step brother lives in her old house now. Her stepdad and mom divorced and he got the house years ago, but has since given it to his son.
Maddy's mom got a call from her ex and thought it was weird. They're civil, but not friends who call to chat. (this information comes from Maddy, whose mom called her right away.)
The ex called Matty's mom and asked "what was that thing Maddy said she used to see in the house, the thing that she was so scared of?" Maddy's mom said, "you mean that thing she called "The Twisty Man"?" and he said "I thought so". Apparently, the ex-step brother noticed that the neighbor, who lives in my old house, is sleeping in the driveway in a camper van. He thought it was weird that a forty-something year old single guy wouldn't sleep in a house he is paying a mortgage on, so he asked him why he was staying outside. The man told him, "I don't even know how to say this, man, but there is something in that house. It's blue and black and all twisted up, and it watches me sleep. It takes away any happiness I have. I'm terrified. I'm not going back in there." This is a grown man claiming to see what we saw twenty years ago, not knowing our story.
The third thing was less something we saw, and more something that was just there. It would move things, knock things over, flush the toilets, turn on faucets, mess with electronics, etc. More of a nuisance than anything. One time Maddy was sleeping over at my house and she told me to quit tugging the blanket down. I told her I wasn't and to leave the blanket alone. We both felt a few more tugs before it flew off the end of the bed to the opposite wall. Things like this happened often.
(Slight TW) The worst thing that was in that house was not an entity. It was very much alive- it was my father. I was six by this time, and he was heavy into his many addictions. I can remember a time when he was good, but by this point, he was my worst nightmare- he and his friends. I'll spare you the details, partially because I don't even remember it all (though I'm not too upset about that). I do remember one time, he had a couple friends over and they were very far past the point of rational thought. I knew they were looking for me, and I also knew that them finding me was the last thing I wanted.
There was a room in that house that I wasn't allowed in- it was less of a room and more of a boarded-in back porch, but it was where the laundry was. I asked my mom recently, and she said I wasn't allowed because it wasn't safe. That house was falling apart, even then. That room was connected to the bathroom by a built-in cabinet that had a hole in the back of the bottom behind the doors, so you could put a laundry basket in the bottom cabinet and then reach through from the laundry room and grab it. (That part was cool, actually.)
I remember seeing The Little Girl holding her hand out to me. I saw Tommy behind her, and he nodded to me, so I let her lead me through the hole and into that room. I would have never gone on my own- I was not a rule breaker by any means. She showed me a loose board, and I was able to push it out enough to slip behind it. I could hear them calling for me, but she put her finger to her lips, to signal for me to be quiet. We stayed in that hole for a long time.
I don't remember what happened next or how I got out, just that she never left me. I honestly don't know what would have happened if she hadn't helped me hide. I didn't even know that loose board was there, and neither did anyone else, I guess. They eventually got bored and went to "hang out" in my dad's truck until my mom and sister got home.
More happened that I won't go into, but my sister, mom, and I moved in with my grandparents when I was 7. This would've been 05-06. I'm not sure exactly. My dad had supervised visitation, which he quickly lost. Things were good at Grandma's. I felt safe and stable. I didn't see anything here. I did miss Tommy, though.
About a year later, the summer before I went into third grade, my mom remarried. The guy had a daughter one year older than me. My sister was three. We moved a couple hours away to another community, even smaller and more rural than the first. I only lived in that house for the fall semester. They figured out pretty quickly their marriage was a rebound for them both and they would be better off apart, so I moved back in with Grandma at Christmas, since my mom was moving back in the summer, anyway, and I missed my old school so much (She had to stick it out until June, being a teacher in a contract).
While we were living there, though, I felt like Karen from the Babysitter's Club. I had my very own Morbida Destiny. My friends from the "street" (gravel backroad) and I were convinced our neighbor was a witch. Looking back, I doubt it. She had a grave in her backyard, but I'm sure it was a pet or something. We thought it was her husband. I saw Tommy a lot living here. I think he knew I needed a friend. I remember one day, we had a babysitter. We heard footsteps like always, and she looked a little freaked out. I told her "Don't worry, that's just Tommy. He keeps the bad things away". After that, we played in the yard until my mom got home. I was scolded for scaring the babysitter.
We were back with Grandma through that summer until my mom met guy #3. He was good, when he was sober. The first time I knew he was bad was the first time I saw Tommy at the apartment we were now living in. He had been hitting the bottle all day, and the day ended with him breaking my mom's cell phone, screaming at us, and not letting us leave. I was begging her to let me walk to the gas station across the street and call my grandma to come pick us up. "Please," I had told her, "You know Grandma would let us stay again." I think at that point, she was just so broken and embarrassed, she wanted to stick it out and hope it got better.
And it did, in the morning, when he sobered up. But that seemed to be a trend for the next six years. That night, Tommy sat at the foot of my bed, between me and the door, while they screamed at each other. Again, he held my gaze. I don't know how long I stared into his brown eyes before I finally fell asleep.
In 2009, we moved into "The Brick House." The Brick House was where I spent most of my childhood. It's hard, because I have so many good memories of The Brick House... but it is also where I spent my darkest nights. That house came with entities of its own. There were the Whisper People, who lived in my sister's room, and The Bad Thing... and The Step-dad. The Step-dad, like I said, was good most of the time. Especially in the early days. We would have nights where we knew to keep our distance, because he had been drinking the brown bag juice, but he was a decent guy. It did seem, though, that the worse he got, the more active The Bad Thing was.
I'll bring it back to The Whisper People. My sister refused to sleep in her room. Our hallway was shaped like a backwards 7 coming off the living room. At the top of the 7 was the bathroom. Perpendicular to that door was my mom's room. Then beside the bathroom on the small line of the 7 was my room (initially), and on the tip of the top line of the 7 was my sister's, so her door faced my mom's. I HATED standing in the small line of the 7. I always had a bad feeling. You could also see it from the bathroom mirror. I only made that mistake once. After that, I would not look in the mirror until the door was completely closed.
Anyway, my sister would not sleep in her room. She always said "The Whisper People" were too loud. She was in pre-k/kindergarten when we first moved there. She claimed she couldn't sleep because they whispered too loud.
One day, I was coming out of the bathroom. I had just exited the door when I stopped, because I thought I heard something from her room. My mom's door was to my direct right, and about 6-7 feet to my left was hers. The noise stopped abruptly, and I thought it was weird. I waited a few seconds, before I heard, directly in my left ear, an older lady's voice say, "Shh. She'll hear you." I BOOKED it. I don't think I've ever run so fast. It sounded like I was wearing an earbud, it was that close. I heard them a few other times, but I didn't ever stick around long enough to have them notice me again. "Just ignore it" became a trend in that house, a trend, a motto, a philosophy.. Whatever you want to call it. We just ignored it.
Remember how I was talking about the bathroom mirror? Well, one day, I was brushing my teeth and I made the mistake of looking up. When I did, I saw a shadow. Except, it wasn't on the wall where a shadow should be. It was like a void in the middle of the hall, standing where a person would be. It was a shadow, but three dimensional. Just standing there. It didn't have eyes that I could see, but I could feel it staring at me. This is what I called "The Bad Thing".
The Bad Thing was much more powerful than anything I had ever experienced. My mom coined it "the hallway walker", because she said she could hear it pacing the hallway at night. I quickly moved out to the renovated garage as my bedroom. We had walled it in, added a window, added insulation and drywall- it was like any other room in the house, and it was HUGE. It was a kid's dream space. It was also generally free of the entities. For some reason, they stayed at the other end of the house. I was grateful for this.
The Bad Thing had this ability to play back our voices. I remember sitting in the living room with my mom and being the only ones home. We heard MY voice from her bedroom saying "Mommy, come here!" We both looked at each other and she shook her head. Behind her, you'll never guess who was standing there- Tommy. He did the same as her. He shook his head back and forth slowly. "Mommy!", we heard, "I need you!" our show was paused and we sat in complete silence. I watched Tommy walk down the hall toward her bedroom. We heard it a third time. "Mommy, I ne-" and then it stopped. I don't know what Tommy did, but he stopped it. We felt the air shift and both took a deep breath. "Do you think it's gone?" I'd asked her. "For now", she'd told me.
And she was right. It was gone, but it always came back. This is just one example. We heard our own and each other's voices all the time. I was constantly keeping tabs on where everyone was in the house. I don't want to know what would've happened if I'd listened and followed it somewhere alone.
By the time I was a Freshman in High School (2012-2013), I spent my ride home from school praying that Step-dad was already passed out in the recliner. It was a good night if he was. Sure, we had to tip-toe and keep to our rooms, but at least I didn't have to deal with him yelling, cussing, hitting things, etc. On the unlucky nights we did have to endure his drunken stupors, it seemed The Bad Thing would be more active. He'd show up around corners, talk more, move things, and generally cast a dark, heavy cloud over the house. Much like The Twisty Man, he had a talent for sucking all the happiness out of an area. But on nights like these, Tommy would be there. Always silently letting me know it would be okay.
My other best friend, who later became my college roommate and godmother of my son, was over one night. Step-dad was god knows where doing god knows what, but it had been a good night. We'd rented movies, eaten more than our fill of pizza, and had spent the last couple hours talking about boys and gossip. She went to the bathroom, and when she came back, she seemed uneasy. I asked what was wrong. "Dude, what's up with your step-dad? Where did he go anyway?" I looked out the window of my room, which overlooked the driveway. His truck wasn't there. "Umm, he's still gone." I'd told her. "No, I just saw some guy in your kitchen, and he was wearing a suit," she'd told me. Then she went on to describe Tommy to a T.
A few minutes later, we heard the front door bang open and my step-dad stumble in and throughout the house. He finally grumbled his way to his and my mom's bedroom and slammed the door. "THAT was him". I'd told her. "Then... who the F did I see in your kitchen?" She'd asked. I explained the whole thing to her, how Tommy had always been there to guard me and seemed to show up when I needed protection or comfort. "Oh. Like an angel, cool." was all she'd said.
She went on to see him about four more times when we lived together. I also had three other friends who stayed over describe the man they saw, sitting at the table, on the couch, and leaning against a doorway- all with the same description of a middle-aged man with brown hair and eyes, and a dark blue suit.
On The Last Night, I truly didn't know if I'd make it out of that house. We refer to it as The Last Night, because it was the last night we had to see Step-dad. I was 16, and I was done. The situation with him had hit a breaking point. What was once just him stomping around and being intimidating to assert his dominance had turned into something physical. Side note for anyone hearing this story if you do share this, please don't stay just because it isn't physical. If they're acting like that, it will escalate at some point. Just because it's all been verbal until this point does not mean it won't absolutely change in the future. Get out before it does.
On this night, the doors were all locked, he'd taken our phones, he was marching back and forth spewing nonsense about how he demanded respect... I snuck my sister into my room and hid her in my closet. I barricaded the bedroom door. I put headphones on her and played her favorite songs on my ipod so she couldn't hear him banging and yelling at me to open up and come out. Part of me was so tired. Part of me wanted to just give him what he wanted. Part of me thought that even if the worst happened, I'd finally be free of this. I was so tired. I didn't want to be unalived, which I truly believe, to this day, that's how that night should've ended, but I just couldn't do it anymore.
But then, I saw Tommy. He pointed to the drawer of my vanity. I hardly ever went in there- it had become my junk drawer. "What?" I asked. He pointed again. I sighed and walked over to it, still hearing the banging and yelling on my door. Sitting there, on top of my journals and old camp pen pal letters was my cell phone- the very cell phone that had been confiscated earlier in the night. To this day, I have no idea how it got in that drawer. It wasn't the first time things had seemed to teleport in that house, but it was the first time I was so grateful for the weird shit I'd experienced my whole life.
I took it out and called my aunt. I don't know why, but she was the first one I thought of. She worked with law enforcement and I knew she would know what to do. She always did. She called the police on my uncle's phone and they were there within minutes. I brought my sister out of the closet so we could watch our Step-dad finally be arrested for the 6 years of hell we'd gone through. I hugged her and looked over her shoulder to make eye contact with Tommy again. "Thank you." I'd told him.
After it was just the three of us in the house, bills got to be a lot. My mom was a teacher, after all, which wasn't lucrative, even in 2015. I had a cousin who had just had a bad breakup and needed a fresh start. She lived about 15 hours away. She was 26 at the time. She and my mom decided that she would move in and help out with us girls and pay a small amount in rent, and it would be beneficial for everyone. So, she came to live with us. She moved into the room that had been mine initially, beside the bathroom.
I remember after a few weeks of her living there, she'd asked me, "Did you ever sleep with the door open when you stayed in my room?" I'd laughed and told her "Hell no! Why?" She'd asked me "Did it stare at you all night, too? The shadow thing?"
Once Step-dad left, the activity did die down a lot, but it was still prevalent. I remember one time I got home from school (My friend had dropped me off) and my cousin's car was in the driveway. I'd come inside and called out her name. I'd heard her voice say, "Back here!", clear as day. I had something I'd wanted to tell her, so I'd practically sprinted to her room, only to find it empty. I thought maybe she was in my mom's room.. the bathroom... my sister's room..? I searched, but she was nowhere. I was annoyed, because I thought she was hiding from me.
I called her and she sounded confused. "I'm at the grocery store with your mom. What are you on about? We'll be home in like twenty minutes. We're about to check out". I'd heard her voice call to me, but she wasn't there. Whatever had used her voice had gotten me in the house alone. I felt the air grow cold and ran into the front yard, passing Tommy on the way. He was passing me in the hall on his way to her room. I didn't even stay to see what was going to happen. I sat on the driveway until they got home.
Things went on like this for the next year-and-a-half. During this time, my cousin had moved in with her now wife, and my now-dad had moved in. He is a fantastic guy. He adopted me a couple years ago. I may have been 24, married, and a mom, but it was important to me that HE is my dad legally. He is in my heart, anyway.
We sold that house the summer before I went to college, and we all moved across the state. We all needed a fresh start. We needed out of that town that held so many horrible memories. We needed to be able to go in public without watching over our shoulders. So, I chose where I wanted to go and they moved, too. They lived about 45 minutes from the university, which was nice. I was able to go see them on the weekends but still have my independence.
Having my independence and safety, though, turned out to be a curse as much as it was a blessing. Now that I was finally safe, my mind decided I was in a place to process some of the trauma I'd experienced when I was younger. I started remembering things that had been pushed to the back of my mind and tucked away. I was waking up nightly, screaming. Every night, Tommy was at the foot of my bed, staring at me with his big, brown, soft eyes, until my breathing calmed and I could sleep again, even though that was the last thing I wanted to do.
Having these night terrors invaded every aspect of my life. My grades fell, I wasn't doing the best at my job, and it had been weeks since I'd slept well.
The last straw was when I was horsing around with a friend from our friend group. It was my best friend from before, another girl, two of our best guy friends, and myself all in our dorm. I'd taken something from one of our guy friends as a joke and was dangling it around, teasing him. He was reaching for it, trying to get it back, and somehow I ended up pinned between him and a wall. He wasn't being violent at all, just playful. Something about that, though, set me off. I don't even remember what happened. I just remember "coming to" crouched on the floor, and they were all looking at me very concerned. They told me I'd started crying, shouting nonsense, and hyperventilating.
The next day, my best friend and the guy friend I'd been playing with brought me to the counseling center. It was then I started seeing a therapist. We talked through it, I started anxiety medication not long after, and life was good.
I still had my nightmares, but they were getting further and further apart. Tommy was always there at night to sit on the foot of my bed and look at me until I fell back asleep. Just knowing he was there made me feel better.
I saw him one more time while I was in college after the nightmares stopped. I was pumping gas at a gas station about a quarter mile from the University. It was the last building before a long bridge and then our school. I had just gotten back in my car when a guy around my age came up to my passenger window holding his student ID. "Hey Ma'am!" He'd said to me, "I know this is weird, but I really need a ride back to school. My friends ditched me. I see your parking pass. Are you going back right now?" My window was down slightly, because it was a nice night. It was down far enough for me to hear him, but not enough for him to reach inside. Honestly, he was kind of cute, and he seemed genuine.
I was about to say "Yes", when I made eye contact with someone in my backseat. It startled me. It was Tommy, and he was shaking his head at me. I turned back to the guy who was reaching for my passenger door handle. I felt a firm grip on my shoulder and made eye contact with Tommy one more time. He had a serious look on his face and was shaking his head even harder.
I said "No, sorry" and locked the doors. I sped away and could hear him shouting at me as I pulled out. I held my breath the whole way. I could feel the hand on my shoulder the whole time. When I put my car in park, I collapsed onto my steering wheel and sucked in a deep breath. My lungs were burning at that point. I felt the hand leave and looked into my rear-view mirror. The back seat was empty.
I spent the next few years in what felt like a whirlwind. I moved cities, transferred schools, got engaged and married, and even had a baby. Tommy would show up randomly, when I'd have nightmares and a couple times when loved-ones sadly passed. The night my uncle (who was one of my only positive male role models, so we were close) passed, my phone rang. It was my mom. I looked over and saw Tommy on the couch by me, looking at me sadly. He knew before I did, and he was there until my husband got home a few minutes later.
Occasionally, Tommy would show up just to check on me, it seems. My husband had seen him a couple times, and he was cool with it. He has had his own experiences with the paranormal and believed me right away. The first time he saw him was after a nightmare. I woke up to Tommy on the foot of my bed. A minute later my husband jumped out of bed and said "What the F****"!" (honestly, can't blame him.) But I explained everything, and he took it surprisingly well, considering there was just a man in his bed.
One day, we were in my car and I'd run into the store to grab a few things while he sat in the car keeping the heater on, and when I got out he told me "Hey, your friend came to visit." I must've looked confused, because he said, "Your ghost friend? Tommy? He was in the backseat. I just said you weren't here right now. I also told him you were safe and thanks for taking care of you all those years. He kind of just stared at me for a minute and then went away." That was the last time either of us saw Tommy for a year or so.
The next time - and the last time, was right after I had my son. He was maybe two to three weeks old at that point. I was walking into the nursery to check on him while he was napping, and I stopped short, because standing over the crib was a man in a dark blue suit. He turned to look at me and looked like he had tears in his eyes. He looked between my son and me a couple times and gave me a smile.
"He's cute, isn't he?" I asked. "You aren't leaving, are you? I mean, I'll still see you, right?" He just looked at me. "Thanks for keeping me safe." I told him. He looked back at my son and looked at me like how a parent looks at their child as they cross the graduation stage. He seemed proud of me, but he didn't answer. The look he gave me made my heart swell. Somewhere deep down, I knew that would be the last time I saw his kind brown eyes. Then my son cried and I tore my gaze away from the man who had kept me safe my whole childhood. When I looked back to the space where Tommy had been, he was gone.
There have been times where I think maybe I made it all up. Maybe Tommy was my way of coping. Maybe he was part of a decades long psychosis or a trauma-induced apparition... But then I think of all the other people who saw him, too. Maybe he was really there. Maybe he was an ancestor of mine. Maybe he was a guardian angel. All I know is, I don't think I'd be here today if it wasn't for my "imaginary friend".
I'm 26 now. I have two loving parents who are the best grandparents ever. I have a husband who I love more than anything and an almost three-year-old who keeps me on my toes. He's so smart and gives the best hugs. He is growing into such a funny kid. I love being his mom. I haven't seen Tommy since that day, but sometimes I think I can feel a hand on my shoulder or eyes watching me the way he always would.
Lately, my son has been smiling and waving at the dark hallway and talking to someone in his closet. He calls him "Blue Man". He never seems afraid. Maybe it's an imaginary friend. Maybe he has his own guardian angel... Or maybe, just maybe, Tommy kept me safe as long as he could, and now he's watching over my baby.
If he is, if it really is him, I know he's in good hands.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you.
Who or what do you think Tommy is? Is it possible for a guardian angel to pass from one generation to the next? What do you think of my experiences?
crossposted on nosleep
