This took place one night when I was 15 or 16. I couldn't sleep, so I grabbed my homework and radio and went to the living room. My mom was asleep, my dad was out of town, so I had the front of the house to myself.
I turned on my radio, sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table, and started on my homework. I had been in the living room for maybe an hour or so, when I heard a man's voice. He was screaming, and sounded very angry. I looked up, but my living room was gone. I was standing on a battlefield, next to a cannon. There was smoke everywhere, and the sound of gunshots. Behind the cannon was a tall man, with dark hair and mustache. He looked to be around 35. He had on a Confederate officer's uniform, and was screaming, orders I guess, but I couldn't understand him. He gave off such a feeling of anger and sadness, it was overwhelming.
It seemed like I stood there for several minutes, but it couldn't have been more than a second or two before I was back in my living room, scared out of my mind and wondering what had just happened.
After that night, he started to follow me. I would randomly feel his presence, as anger pressing in on me. After a second, he was gone, and all I could feel was this hollow loneliness. I wondered if I was feeling what he felt. The heat of battle, followed by the lonely knowledge that he would never see his loved ones again.
He followed me for several years. I was around 22 when I finally mentioned this to my mother, who I figured would laugh at me. Surprisingly enough, she believed me immediately. She suggested to me that I hold a sort of memorial service for him. That seemed like a good idea, so we went to the backyard, and held a memorial in the soldier's honor. He came back once after that. Although he still gave me a feeling of sadness, he also seemed to be saying goodbye. I can only hope that our memorial gave him what he needed to move on.