I don't remember having an imaginary friend. According to my parents I went one better and created an imaginary family who lived across the street. Apparently the biggest difference between the two families was that in the home across the street I was an only child.
Still, considering I was a shy child who loved reading, and who constantly created fantasy worlds and wild scenarios that kept me entertained for weeks on end, you'd think I'd have had at least one really good quality imaginary friend when I was little.
Everything changed my nineteenth summer. That's when a few people, people who have known me nearly my entire life, accused me of imaginary friendship.
I was falsely accused. I have witnesses.
I lived in an apartment tucked into the back of a working barn owned by some very dear friends. I enjoyed the situation, but ... well weird things were happening, mostly my stereo turning itself on and off whenever it wanted. Mildly freaked out, I reported this to the barn owners. They came to the conclusion that I was either A) letting my admittedly overactive imagination get the better of me, or b) my stereo had an electrical short.
A few weeks later L.A. and Leontien moved in, and all sorts of weirdness started.
We lost a few things, well, many things actually: books we were reading, jeans, videos we needed to return, an entire jar of coins, polo wraps, barn equipment, blankets, important documents. Leontien, the most level headed of the three, swore she saw a set of keys bounce from one peg to another, and one night she and I both swore we heard doors opening and closing. This was more than things getting misplaced. Sometimes we'd have the item set it down for a second turn around, and ... Poof! Some of the items turned up again, though in strange places or in places we'd looked about a hundred times. Some are still missing. It was aggravating.
It didn't take us long to decide we were living with a ghost. A friend dubbed him Charlie and the name stuck.
Through it all, the barn owners swore there was no such thing as ghosts, though watching them come up with a reasonable explanation for some of the incidents was interesting.
Summer passed, the three of us went our separate ways (though we remained close) and Charlie's antics died down though they didn't go away entirely.
Barn Ghost Charlie is, for the most part, benign. He got mad at L.A. once when she came to visit and threw my remote at her, I figure everyone, even ghosts, are entitled to an occasional temper tantrum. We've come to the conclusion he lives in the he lives in the hayloft. His kleptomaniac tendencies haven't changed, I keep waiting to stumble across his stash of goodies while I de-cobwebbing the barn. He's also moved onto pranks which I can only assume amuse him. Playing with light switches, turning hoses on, destroying a few coffee pots, causing a couple of computer crashes, and moving buckets and pitchforks. He still likes music and seems to get a kick out of scrolling through and listening to the music stored on my cell phone.The barn owners have half-heartedly started to accept the presence of Charlie after he spent an entire winter filling their coat pockets with grain (sometimes a logical explanation can't be reached, though she gave it a darn good try).
|Leontien, Magic, and me-Spring 2012|
And by the way, L.A., Leontien, and I remained close and often discussed Charlie. None of us have ever had anything odd happen to us when we weren't at the barn. Well ... at least not inexplicably odd. :)
Posted as part of the Imaginary Friends blog hop. It seemed like an appropriate time to talk about Charlie.