I can't remember exactly when these events took place, but it was no more than two or three years ago. I realize that many people may find it hard to believe, or might even chock it up to freak coincidence. Personally, I can't explain it, nor am I going to try. Rather, I'm going to leave it up to the reader to determine for themselves what they think happened. Unlike make-believe stories, this one happened quite ordinarily, I think.
It was before my mother got married, and we were living in a very small trailer at the time. The place was overcrowded with our belongings, and my room especially needed a good cleaning out. So one day I decided I would try to move a lot of our junk to the old, abandoned house next door. I often jokingly told people that I lived next to a haunted house, but I was never serious.
My mother worked long hours, and so I started spending most of the day moving boxes and old stuff to the other house's back porch. I got pretty lonely sometimes, and I'm not sure how it started, but I began to talk and socialize with what I referred to as my imaginary friend. In my mind, I pictured a woman somewhere in her 50s or 60s, and wearing an old-fashioned pink dress that reminded me a little of a nightgown. She was quite nice, but very old-fashioned. I remember that she didn't like my dogs "going potty" in her yard when I walked them. (That's when I began walking the dogs around the border of her yard.) I also recall that she didn't like the fact that I wore pants rather than a dress (as she believed was proper for girls), but she appreciated my celibacy.
Sometime within the first week of "imagining" her, I started calling her Miss Adaline or "Addie". As I spent more and more time over there, talking to this imaginary lady, I actually grew kind of close to her, and interacting with Miss Addie became easier and easier. Oftentimes, I didn't even have to use my imagination.
One day, I can't remember why, but I had to go next door to one of my neighbors. Mr. Jones (I changed his name) was the type that didn't get a lot of company, and really enjoyed talking to those he did. So it was common to stay over longer than I intended. He was in an especially talkative mood that day, and the conversation went something like this:
"You been going in that house over there a lot?" he asked in his thick Maine accent.
"Yeah, just moving some stuff out of my house."
"Ya do know it's haunted?" He grinned.
"My mother still lives over there," he said. "Ah, but don't worry, kid. The dead can't hurt ya. It's the living you should be more worried about." He gave a hearty chuckle at this. I started to leave, but something stopped me quite suddenly. I turned to face him again.
"If you don't mind me asking... What was your mother's name?"
"Uh, it was Addie." He started to smile, but stopped. "Are you alright?"
I realized that I was probably quite pale at this point, but assured him that I was fine. I very quickly and politely excused myself and went straight home. His words had shaken me, and for a very long while the thought of visiting Addie again terrified me.
In the following days, I noticed that whenever I went past her house with my dogs, she seemed almost sad that I wasn't coming over to talk with her anymore. I still feel guilty.
Since then, we've moved on the other side of the county, and I hardly ever see the old house anymore. I'm not really sure whether I believe in ghosts. I tell people that I don't. I also realize that Mr. Jones couldn't have been messing with me because he lives too far away from the old house, and 99 percent of my conversations with Addie were either whispered or not spoken out loud.
Even to this day, I have no idea what exactly took place in that house. It's also worth noting that this is neither the first, last, nor creepiest unexplained thing that's ever happened to me. This event was just one of the more believable ones.