A few years ago, my family and i lived in an old two story house on an old street. As we were growing up i remember my younger sister having an imaginary friend. I can cleary remember her name. Her name was Indigo. She wasn't like an ordinary imaginary friend because my sister never would set a place at the table for her or take her to school with her. My sister used to claim that Indigo would always sit in an old wooden chair with wheels and cry. (she did not know what an old wheel chair was) Sometimes she would tell the rest of us what Indigo would say to her. Indigo was always crying 'daddy, daddy'.The rest of us noticed some weird stuff around the house but nothing big. We would hear my great-great-grandmother's music box play sometimes or a door slam but nothin bad. Finally after living there ten years we moved to a brand new house. My parents just told my sister and I what happened in the house. In the forties, a man and his daughter with polio died in ! a fire in our garage. We never knew what started the fire but we started having second thougts about that 'friend' that my sister had. How it changed my life:It changed my opinion about the supernatural. I used to think it was fake.
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