Your True Tales
July 2003 – Page 1

A Young Boy's Footsteps
by Mike

When I was six years of age (this was in 1996), my family and I (my mother, father and our four cats), moved from Edmonton (my place of birth) because my parents had bought a house in Shawnigan Lake, British Columbia, Canada. At the time, I knew very little about paranormal activities, for I was at a very young age. My father Randy had left Edmonton two months before we had moved to do some painting and other repairs on the home before my mother and moved into the house.

He had just moved in and was sleeping in a sleeping bag in our soon-to-be living room. He was lying there on the floor at 7:00 p.m. (he had, had a very long day), when he heard footsteps coming from the soon-to-be master bedroom. Thinking that it was just the cats, he settled himself. Then he realized that the cats were still with my mother and me in Edmonton. He quickly got up, thinking that there was someone in the house (my dad can be kind of paranoid sometimes). He walked toward the stairs and looked. And there was no one there - just the sound of footsteps walking down the stairs. And they came closer and closer, until the last step... where they stopped.

For the two months until he came back to Edmonton, at around 7:00 p.m. it would happen every single night. He never told us, and so we moved in. Once again, just like before, at around 7:00 p.m. every single night, we would hear the footsteps and would sometimes also look. But that didn't even compare to what happened when guests came.

We never saw the spirit. As a matter a fact, we never thought of it as a spirit at all. Actually, we never even thought about it. After a while, we got used to it. One day, my grandma and grandpa (along with my five-year-old cousin) came and visited us from Edmonton. Being the respectful people that they are, my mother and father let them have the master bedroom upstairs. So that night my grandma woke up and saw a little boy sitting on the edge of the bed, just starring out the window. My grandma thought it was either my cousin or me and asked if it was either one of us. The boy looked at her... and then disappeared.

The next day, when my cousin wasn't around, she told us about what she saw. In return, we told her about the mysterious ghostly footsteps. Of course, we never told anyone else about the boy or his footsteps. But then my mom and dad let some other guests have the master bedroom, and the next day, they told us the exact same story.

We lived there for six years and then moved out into a nicer house, but during our stay there, all six guests who stayed in the master bedroom claimed to see the little boy. And the question that always strikes my mind is: Why only when guests were there?

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