When I was 5 years old, I thought our apartment was haunted by the spirit of a girl exactly my age who’d been pushed down the stairs and killed by her parents. I thought I slept in her room. I thought she lived in my closet and made the room cold at night.
A year or two later, I believed the spirit of my father’s little sister, who died when she was 7, would try to drown me in the shower. I looked behind myself dozens of times every time I shampooed my hair. I would wash as fast as I could and leap into my towel.