In my younger days, I had a tale that I hold dear. Back in kindergarten, I befriended an imaginary companion named Aanya. She looked like a living child and we shared every adventure, even attending school together. During a lively dodgeball game, Aanya found herself “hit,” causing laughter to erupt. I glanced at her, and suddenly, she brandished a knife. Startled, I warned everyone, but they scoffed, asserting she wasn’t real. Little did they know, she was a spirit, visible only on Saturday mornings.
Aanya once suggested we leap off the roof to become eternal friends. Lured by her plea, I climbed up, but my mom intervened just in time, clutching my sleeve as I dangled. In a twist of fate, my dad rescued me from the brink.
Concerned, my mom consulted doctors, baffled by the “reality” of my imaginary friend. The physicians attributed it to a common childhood phase. However, something prompted her to seek a private consultation. Presenting a picture of Aanya, I shared her identity with the doctor. He probed, and I revealed that Aanya herself had given me the drawing. The doctor’s conclusion stunned my mom: I had a ghostly friend.
“Why can’t I see it?” my mom questioned, bewildered. The doctor suggested blessing the house, a solution to repel the spirit. That night, accompanied by me, my mom commanded the entity to depart. As she did, the lights dimmed, revealing a fleeting image of a young girl’s spirit, darting outdoors. The intervention worked like magic.
Note: While I don’t recollect this story personally, it was recounted to me by my mother. I welcome your thoughts on my stories, as there are more tales to be shared.