A few years back, during my university days, my neighbours were three lads around my age. Over time, we became good mates. One day, one of their sisters decided to mess about with a Ouija board alongside her friends, and somehow, they ended up summoning a little boy—let’s call him Alfie for this story.
According to what Alfie told them, he’d been on his way to Heaven but found it more interesting to stick around when he heard them calling. After that, they tried more than once to coax him into moving on, but he always refused. At first, we only heard the girls’ tales about their supposed encounters with Alfie. No one else had seen or heard a thing, so we didn’t buy into it.
Still, my mates had this odd habit. Every time someone visited, they’d ask Alfie not to scare the guest, promising they’d play with him once they left. It became a little ritual, repeated with every visitor.
One afternoon, the four of us were sitting in the lounge chatting—must’ve been around four or five—when a football started rolling slowly down the hallway, stopping right at one lad’s feet. I saw it but pretended not to notice. I told myself it was just a draught, or at least I tried to believe that. My mate picked it up with a smirk and gently rolled it back.
About fifteen or twenty minutes later, that ball came rolling back… right to his feet again. This time, I’d been watching the hallway, wanting to see if someone was pulling—
