Submitted by Ama

When I was a kid, my Cherokee grandma told us our apartment was haunted. My mom laughed it off, but I wasn’t so sure.

I remember sitting in Granny’s dim living room, eyes wide, as she shared stories of old spirits in our home. Her soft voice drew me in. She’d tell of shadows on walls and whispers at night.

Granny never seemed scared. She’d smile, saying

"They're mostly harmless spirits from long ago."

But to me, every sound became something more. I felt eyes on me when alone, or fingers brushing my neck.

One night, Granny mentioned how her grandmother told similar stories. It made me think about how old and mysterious the world was. Though my mom dismissed it, I found comfort in the idea of more to life, even if spooky.

In my dark bedroom, I’d sometimes whisper, “Is anyone there?” Nothing answered, but those stories shaped how I saw the world, with wonder and goosebumps.

One night, my cousin Arlin and I slept in the living room. As we dozed off, we heard it—slow, dragging footsteps. It sounded like a tired old man pacing the hallway.

At first, we were frozen with fear. But over time, the footsteps became familiar. We’d joke,

"It's just Ol' Draggy making his rounds."

Our fear faded into a shared secret.

No one else ever claimed to hear it. Whenever I visited Granny, I’d listen for that familiar shuffle. Even now, I can’t walk down an empty hall without imagining those slow steps behind me.

One evening, Arlin and I were on the porch. Suddenly, he stopped mid-sentence, staring past me. I turned to see a dark figure slipping through Granny’s front door, moving with that unmistakable shuffle.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. We sat there, mouths open. Finally, I squeaked, “Did you see that?” Arlin nodded, eyes locked on the doorway.

We didn’t sleep in the living room that night. Granny didn’t mention anything strange, and we kept our secret. But it changed how we saw things. Even now, I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d been brave enough to check it out.

Years later, I crept out for water late one night at Granny’s. In the dim hallway, I saw the bathroom door open by itself and the light flicker on and off, like it was talking.

Uncle Larry joined me, and we watched, unsure what to do.

"It's just one of Granny's friends,"

he said, trying to sound calm.

We retreated to the kitchen. When we returned to our rooms, Granny sat in her chair, smiling knowingly. “Did you have a nice chat?” she asked.

I couldn’t sleep that night, my mind replaying the door and flashing light. These nights at Granny’s kept me wondering about the hidden parts of life, right there in the shadows.