Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay No, really. I used to live in a haunted house. A friend of mine on Twitter, author Aaron Clayton, posted a question on Twitter the other day. He was wanting to know whether or not his followers believed in ghosts. I had to chime in as I know, first hand, that ghosts are real. As I said before, I used to live in a haunted house. When I was about 14/15, my parents moved us into a little apartment building. When I say little, I'm talking about an old house that had been converted into an apartment complex. There were a total of 4 apartments in the whole place; 2 upstairs and 2 downstairs. My parents and I lived in the back basement apartment and some friends of theirs lived in the front part. My brother and his wife were living in the front upstairs apartment, but the back upstairs space was empty. Nothing seemed out of the normal. That was soon to change. About a year after we'd moved in, my sister and her husband moved into the back upstairs apartment. It was the smallest one in the whole place. A single bedroom, the kitchen and living room were pretty much one space, and a bathroom that had originally been a closet. It was tiny. But it's what happened after they'd moved in that caught our attention. It didn't seem like much at first. When they first moved in, little things just seemed to get misplaced. My mom's car keys, the neighbor kids' school books, one of my sister-in-law's glass unicorns. Nothing major, just enough to keep all of us wondering what the hell was going on. Because we were all basically one big happy family, we were always in each other's…