Last night Owen stopped what he was doing and stared down the hallway. “What’s that man doing?”, he asked me.

Man? What man? There was no man. I asked him to clarify. He plays pretend now, so I thought maybe he was being silly.

“That man! The one RIGHT THERE!” he replied, pointing at seemingly nothing. “Hes right there, Mommy. Why is he sad?”

He was so insistent that I started to feel a little strange. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Don’t people say children can see…ghosts?

I know. I KNOW. That’s one of the most absurd things a rational adult could say.

But.

It was getting just a little too The Sixth Sense up in here. Owen was still staring down the hall and pointing, and if it wasn’t a ghost, then at the very least there was something human-like my kid was seeing and I’ve seen enough bad TV to know that means get the hell out. Don’t answer the door. Don’t talk about your favorite scary movie.

I was just about to grab something heavy and venture down the hall (though, if it was a ghost, I’m not sure how effective a Mag-Lite to the head would be…) when Owen added a missing piece to the puzzle.

“See, Mommy! The man is dancing in the window!”

OH. RIGHT.

That right there would be Twist, the doofy, beat boxing DJ from The Fresh Beat Band. Reflected in the window.

Let’s just pretend I never told you this story. As you were.

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