My neighbor Diane and I had a playful poltergeist for years, and we called it Billy. I’d come home and find something put in a weird place: milk in a cupboard, toilet paper in the fridge, laundry detergent in the bathtub. Diane once called to ask if Billy had been around, because she couldn’t find a gallon of milk. We finally found it outside on her back steps. And sugar … darn sugar! Every morning, my sugar bowl was empty.
When I had enough, I’d point to Diane’s home and yell, “Go see Diane!” Within five minutes, I’d get a call from her, and she’d say “Thanks a lot,” because he’d gone and pulled shenanigans at her place. This occurred for the entire two years we lived there. No one believed us—not even our husbands. My mother thought someone was stealing from us when we were sleeping or out of the house. My sister believed something was going on but didn’t know what. I still can’t explain any of it.
