I find it strange that I'm sharing a story that is so personal to me, but I would just like to get some understanding from it. I come from Manhattan, and I'm still currently living here.
It starts from 2002 when my father (brought up in the Bronx, but moved to upper east side) decided to give back to his community, since it has he says "made him who he is". He set up a graffiti club as I should put it, where kids in rougher neighbourhoods could come and get off the streets, and express their emotions through their art. It was successful, some trouble here and there but went great. I decided to go, and I befriended some people who If it wasn't for the club, I would never have thought they'd be friends. Cut the long story short, I really got on with Jay (Jay, not his real name but for privacy sake) with whom I could have so many laughs with. Tragically in early 2003 he was shot down in Harlem (where he came from). It was a tragic blow to the club and me personally. It affected me more then I could ever explain, it hurts and still does now just to think about him.
I visited the spot a few weeks later. I bent down and cried with my head in my hands, as I did I felt a hand on my shoulder, and I heard a laugh then a mumble I Will never make out, but it sounded something like "don't cry about me". I thought it was a respectful person, yet seconds later when I stood and turned nobody was there. I wasn't frightened; I just assumed it was someone who walked off fast. Driving back home still crying, I stopped at a light; I wiped my eyes and looked out the driver's window at some girls playing double Dutch. On the steps of the building beside them, I could have sworn I saw Jay; I was so convinced that I shouted his name. The kids were bewildered at who I was shouting at. And the man I saw didn't even look towards me, his eyes just stayed fixated somewhere over the top of the car. I drove off fast, sure that I was going crazy.
It wasn't until the club stopped in 2005, that strange things happened again. As I prepared food in the kitchen, my music player blasted a Tupac song, I think is called "Hold your head". It was from an album called "The Don Killuminati: The 7 Day Theory", which Jay persuaded me to buy, but I'd never listened to it since the day I'd brought it. This overwhelming feeling of happiness came over me, even though I knew I should be scared as for how a CD had got out of my bedroom closet into the stereo in my living room and then played by itself. I walked into the living room smiling and slightly laughing, and then I heard a laugh, very loud coming from by the hallway. I then became scared, even though I was so familiar with that laugh. I just stood there burst into tears, feeling that gutted feeling I felt those years ago. That night, as I got into my bed, my bedroom door opened, thinking it was my cat I got up and closed it. Now this is the part that I find so unbelievable and disturbing to think about. Half way down the hallway a figure stood, just dark with no features. It stood directly in front of a picture Jay and another kid had created. For about a minute I stood there bewildered, too scared to move staring at the figure that barely moved. Then, I just slammed my door, ran to my bed like a child. Since then I've never seen anything like that, but sometimes I don't feel alone in my home, and channels on TV have the tendency to switch to certain music channels.
I've never told anybody except my best friend and my father. On here I'm hoping people are more open minded and help me understand what happened. Even though I never believed in the paranormal, I really do think Jay is around me at times, which makes me feel happy to know. It really does scare me the idea of a ghost, but if it is Jay I know he's only there to joke around and just see if I'm okay. But I can't help thinking that people become ghosts on earth because they are stopped from going into the afterlife, because they have unfinished business?
Thank you for allowing me to tell this story, which has been bothering me for so long.