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“Jimmy, I don’t have your stuff.”

January 17, 2012

My family owns a house on Cape Cod. The previous owner was a white supremacist with an autistic son named Jimmy. Jimmy was known for putting on a trench coat and fedora, climbing trees, and shooting cats and dogs with a BB gun. When my parents moved into the house, they found a bunch of Nazi paraphernalia in a bedroom. They put it in the shed, told the former owner they had a week to get rid of it, and then threw it out.

Of course, at the age of seven, I didn’t know any of this. That’s when I was “visited” five nights in a row by a figure in a trench coat and fedora. He didn’t have any detail; he looked like a silhouette, like he was being powerfully backlit but with no light source. He would stand in the corner of the room, or sit there crouched, or sit on the bed opposite mine (my brother’s bed, but he was at summer camp at the time). One time, he sat in a rocking chair, and when I looked later, he was gone but the chair was still rocking.

After a few nights of this, I told my parents about it. My mom called it a nightmare, but my dad was intrigued. He told me to tell the figure, “Jimmy, I don’t have your stuff.”

So the next night, when the figure appeared again in the corner of the room, I said, “Jimmy, I don’t have your stuff.” And Jimmy walked right over to me, put his face an inch away from mine, and then disappeared. I never saw him again.

Years later, I found out about the history of the house. I’ve often wondered if I had heard it before, and somehow suppressed it and then imagined my encounters with Jimmy. But he was and remains entirely vivid to me.

– Posted by samreich ; Reddit

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