Some years ago, during my university days, my neighbours were three lads about my age. Over time, we became good mates. One day, one of their sisters decided to play with a Ouija board alongside her friends, and that’s how they summoned a little boy—for this story’s sake, we’ll call him Alfie.
According to what Alfie told them, he’d been on his way to heaven, but hearing their call, he found it far more interesting to stay. After that, they tried more than once to convince him to move on, but he always refused. At first, we only heard the girls’ tales of their supposed encounters with Alfie. No one else had seen or heard a thing, so it was hard to believe them.
Yet my friends had a peculiar habit. Every time someone visited, they’d ask Alfie not to scare them. They’d promise that once the guest left, they’d play with him. It was like a ritual, repeated for every visitor.
One afternoon, the four of us were sitting in the lounge chatting—it must’ve been around four or five—when a ball began rolling slowly down the hallway until it stopped at one lad’s feet. I saw it but pretended not to. Maybe it was the draught, at least that’s what I wanted to believe. My mate picked it up with a grin and gently rolled it back.
Fifteen or twenty minutes passed, and the ball came rolling again… right back to his feet. This time, I’d been watching the hallway, wanting to see if there was no one—
