I thought about it and I realised that it isn’t my place to tell other peoples stories. Only they have the right to tell their stories. I feel like if I told you their stories it would be stealing, kinda. So instead I will tell you one of my stories.
When I was little, my family lived in an apartment. I’m not sure what floor our flat was. When I was home alone, or with my siblings, there were fiew times when I went to my kitchen and saw something. I walked in, there was a window opposite to the kitchen door. And there was also balcony door next to that window. So whenever I walked in I looked directly to the window.
One time when I went in I saw this black figure. It was a figure of a small boy riding a bike on the edge of the balcony. I saw that black figure several times. And always doing the same thing. And every time, after it was vanished, I hid under the window. So if that figure came back and looked through the window, it couldn’t see me.
I still remember that figure.