When I was 10 years old, I was at a family party at my aunt's house, just a few streets away from my house. A few of my close cousins and I walked back to my house to escape our crazy aunts and annoying little cousins. When we turned onto our street, my cousin said to me "Is your dad home?" "No," I replied. "Oh, I thought I saw him sitting on the bench in your front yard a second ago but he's gone now. he had dark curly hair and and big sunglasses." When we all got inside my house we sat down and ate ice cream sandwiches to cool off the hot summer day. "I swear I just saw that guy again on your front steps but he's gone now!" my cousin said to me. Everyone just brushed it off and went upstairs to my room.
As we sat and talked, we began to hear loud, distinct footsteps walking up and down the stairs. Terrified, I began flipping through the pages of the many books I had on ghosts and witchcraft, etc. After about an hour of reading useless information and waiting for the noises to cease, we worked up the courage to venture back down stairs. Clutching crucifixes and wearing rosary beads around our necks, we crept slowly down the stairs into the sun-lit house. Nothing was there. There was no more noise. We threw open the front door and ran back to my aunt's house, not realizing we forgot to close the door behind us. While we were walking back to the party, a crimson red truck drove by us with it's driver side window open. The man inside had dark curly hair and big sunglasses. He slowly waved at us and drove off. We never saw this man again.
When we got back to my aunt's house, we told everyone the story. No one believed us. Our parents thought that someone had broken into our house and we should have been more responsible and taken the liberty to call someone. We all vowed never to talk about it again, more out of embarrassment than fear.
A few months later, my neighbors and best friends were having a sleep over when they saw a man with dark curly hair and big sunglasses in their window on the second floor. When I heard the story I told them about my experience.
Now, five years later, we have come to terms with our ghostly encounter and we talk about it in humor. But none of us would dare bring it up with our parents for fear of what they would say. The look our parents had on their faces that day could have scared the devil. The worry in their voices was unlike we had ever heard before. Could there be more to the story of the man with the dark curly hair and the big sun glasses? Do our parents know something that we don't? I guess I'll never know...