When I was about five, I got my own room. It was a medium sized room with a large window. It had a light hanging from the ceiling, a nice, soft, white carpet, and a large, mirror closet. It didn’t scare me at first, but by the second night of sleeping in that room, my feelings changed.
On the second night, something frightening happened. I was woken up in the middle of the night by the mirror closet opening and closing. I sat straight up in bed and rubbed my eyes. I blinked a few times so my eyes would adjust to the dark. In the dim room, I saw a figure of an old man standing there. His back was facing me, and it looked like he was crying. I got freaked out, and screamed.
The man disappeared as my parents ran in and switched on the light. “What’s wrong?” My mother asked. I pointed at the mirror closet, shaking in fear. “I saw an old man!” I squeaked. My father sighed. “Don’t, worry, honey. It’s just your imagination.” He said. My parents thought I was making it up, since I was only five. I shook my head. “No!” I snapped. “He was there! The old man-” “Go back to sleep.” My mother said. She tucked me back in, kissed my head, and turned off the light. With that, my parents left.
Soon after, I heard the sound of the closet opening and closing. I squeezed my eyes shut. I heard sobbing. A soft, mournful sobbing. I tried to ignore it. About an hour later, the sobbing stopped, and I heard footsteps. I felt a hand on my head. The hand was gentle. I was about to scream, when an old, raspy voice said: “Shush. I must only ask you a question. Have you seen my granddaughter?” Too scared to reply, I ignored the voice and tried to fall back to sleep. I heard a sigh and footsteps heading back towards the closet. All was silent after that.
In the morning, I told my parents. They thought I was making up a story. I overheard them say how five-year-olds had great imaginations. I assure you, it wasn’t my imagination. For the next year, the same thing happened every night. The man sobbed, asked me a question, then left. I told my friends. They told me it was a ghost. A few months later, my little sister was born. Me and my parents exchanged rooms. My parents room was big with four small windows in it, and one large window. It had a bathroom and a small closet. I shared that room with my sister for a few years, until my ninth birthday. By then, I realized I could see and communicate with the paranormal. I would speak to them and try to help them. As I was saying, on my ninth birthday, we added on to my house, and I got my old room back. My sister got her own room, and my parents got their old room back.
The first night of sleeping in my old room, I heard talking coming from the mirror closet. A few minutes later, a hand on my head. The same question was asked. “Have you seen my granddaughter?” I was still scared, and didn’t reply. A heard a sigh, then everything was silent. For the next year or so, nothing happened. Until my eleventh birthday. My friends came over for a sleepover. One of my friends could communicate with the paranormal, too. Her name was Mo. Me and my friends stayed up until four in the morning. At about twelve o’clock, midnight, the mirror closet opened a bit, not making a single sound. Only Mo and I saw it. My other three friends kept talking. Mo and I stared at the closet. Soon after, it closed just as silently as it opened. Confused and scared, we told the others. They got freaked and hid under the covers. Mo and I did the same.
About an hour later, my friends got hungry. I told them to help themselves to anything they wanted in the kitchen. They did just that. Mo and I stayed alone in the room. Suddenly, the nightlight we had on died. Mo offered to go change the battery. I let her. She too, left the room. All alone, I laid there. My eyes had already adjusted to the dark. I heard the mirror closet open, then close. I heard footsteps, then felt a hand on my shoulder. Being brave, I sat up and looked towards the closet. There, in front of the closet, was a figure of an elderly man. He was see-through, but I could still see his facial features. “Have you seen my granddaughter?” He asked. “What’s her name?” I stammered. The old man sighed. “Her name is Kate. I never got to meet her. I died the day she was born.” He replied. Hearing my name pass from the spirit’s lips, I gasped. “How old would she be now?” I asked. The old man smiled. “Today would be her eleventh birthday. The day I died.” He replied. It hit me. My father had once told me that my grandfather died when I was born. “I am your granddaughter.” I replied. The spirit’s smile grew and he said: “Happy birthday.” Then, he disappeared. My friends came in shortly after. They laughed when they saw me smiling like an idiot.
Later, I learned that mirror closets can be used by spirits as portals. To this day, I’ve never told anyone about this experience. I simply know they wouldn’t believe me.