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Timmy, the Imaginary Friend



This story was told to me by my mother, a woman who has never been one to lie to her children, or have any need to make up a story. She didn't tell me this until I began to tell her strange things I had been experiencing at night.

It began when our family of four had just moved in to our new (and current) house. I was six at the time, my little brother four. After we had the bedrooms set up and we were spending our first night in the new house, my mother was tucking my brother to sleep when he burst into tears in terror. My brother and I had a collection of stuffed animals and Beanie Babies that we called "The Critters".

My brother was screaming, saying that their eyes were "staring at him." Extremely odd since he had never had any trouble with them before. My mom thought it odd, but moved them out of his room anyway and moved them into the next room over, a large playroom, under the window.

A few days later, things had been normal, but "The Critters" were never moved from under the window. Some people came to install window blinds and saw the stuffed toys. My mom explained what had happened with my brother and said they could just push them aside.

The lady, who sold my parents the house, looked at my mother in shock when she heard about the animals "staring" at my brother. What she said next was what my mom told me was the last thing she'd ever thought the woman would say. "I don't usually say this to people, but please let my husband bless the house. We felt a strong presence." My mother was quick to agree, and the next day the house was blessed.

About a week later, my brother came up to my parents and said the following, "Mommy, Dada, I have an imaginary friend. His name is Timmy. He's dead."

At the same time both of my parents looked at him and exclaimed, "What?"

His reply was even more peculiar, "His name is Timmy, he was riding his bike in the street and a car hit him. He's dead."

This was actually not my mother's first paranormal experience and the first thing that crossed her mind was to find out as much as she could so she could research. Out of curiosity she simply asked what the street was. And my four-year-old brother named a street that was not far at all from the house. It was also one of the oldest and busiest roads in town.

Over the next few weeks, my parents noticed my brother talking and playing with someone when no one was there. Then my brother came to my mom in tears. After asking him what was wrong, my brother said to my mother, "Timmy said he's going to leave. He's going to leave when I turn five."

My mother didn't know how to respond. Sure enough, when my brother turned five years old, not a word was ever spoken about Timmy. When Mom asked about Timmy a few weeks after my brothers birthday, he looked at her with a confused expression. He remembered absolutely nothing. My mom even quizzed him with the street name that Timmy was said to have died on. He didn't know the name.

Now, in case you're wondering where I was in all of this, I never had any experiences with Timmy. And if I did, then I didn't say anything and I don't remember anything. But I do believe Timmy and I crossed paths several years later.

I was 14 years old on my summer break, the summer before I was to start my first year of high school. I was about to go to sleep when I heard an odd scratching noise right about me. It last for about a minute and it stopped. I dismissed it as being an animal and went to sleep.

The next night I had been feeling a little uneasy. I had trouble breathing and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I had no reason to be scared. But I brought my cats into my room to help calm me down. I began listening to music and singing to myself when I noticed one of the cats jumping up to my desk and staring at the ceiling. I paused the music in time to hear more scratching; this time it had moved to the opposite wall. I didn't think it was anything unnatural, however.

On the third night, I was up late on my computer. It was about 1:30 at night, but I couldn't sleep. I suddenly began hearing voices outside my room. Confused, I got up to investigate. I stepped outside my room and still heard voices. They were coming from the playroom. There is a certain corner of the playroom that someone could stand in, and if someone was standing outside the room, they wouldn't see them until the other person entered the room.

The voices, now a clear conversation between two people, were coming from that corner. I sat in that little blind spot, listening to what sounded like a young woman, not much older than I, talking to what sounded like... a little boy.

I overhead this:

"You shouldn't be here anymore." (The woman)

"But I want to be." (The boy)

"You've already scared the girl enough. No one needs this."

"But I've played here before. I want to again...."

At this point, I couldn't take it anymore. I stepped out of the blind spot to see who it was. No one was there. I sat there, confused for a second when I heard an angry voice scream, "Go to bed!"

I don't think I ever ran as fast as I did in that moment. I did as the voice said and went to bed, but all the while remembering when I was around 12 how I always felt like I was being watched in that playroom. I now knew why.

I finally gave in and told my mom about what had been happening to me. And that's when she told me about Timmy. I listened in shock. If Timmy was the one I heard, then was he trying to reconnect with my brother? Had he regretted leaving my brother on his fifth birthday?

My brother doesn't believe the story at all, and still remains a skeptic. I, however, still hear voices on occasion and feel presences of something around me. Timmy perhaps watching his old friend and his sisters grow up? Who knows?

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