Wayen

Ganjah, my 5-year old daughter, and her grandaunt, Lola Nene, were inside the bedroom upstairs.  Ganjah was playing with her cousin's dolls.  Lola Nene was folding clothes and arranging them inside the dress drawers.  Weekend afternoons were always like this --- quiet, almost at the end of a long stretch of a busy day, anticipating a restful night.

The clock struck 6:00 pm.  Dusk came in as it replaced the sunset-lit sky.  Ganjah knew it was time to go home for dinner.

"Lola Nene, I'm going home now," she said as she put the dolls on the shelf.
"Ganjah, can you stay a little while longer," Lola Nene said.  "Keep me company while I finish folding these clothes."
"Don't worry, Lola," Ganjah replied, "you have a company.  She's there beside you."  Ganjah pointed at the bed.
Hairs raised, goosebumps came out, and Lola Nene felt cold.  No one was there except the two of them.  To overcome fear, she asked, "Ganjah, is it a she or a he?"
"A she."
"Would you know her name?"
"Ate Wayen."
"Do you know where she lives?"
Ganjah nodded and pointed at the house across the street.  The house was up for sale for 4 years now and no one wants to buy it.  It has been vacant ever since we moved in. 

That was just one of the many episodes that happened to my daughter.  She doesn't realize that she has the ability to see spirits that people fear to see.