Here's a spooky one. Before I go into the following story, you should all know that I don't really believe in ghosts, the afterlife, spirits, stuff like that. I'm open to the idea of it but can't really see how it works. Neither does my dad.
Anyway.
I was born in 1994. My parents bought my family home and moved into it in 1992. The previous owners were an elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Burton. Mrs Burton needed 24-hour care and sadly her husband had died in the house, so she unfortunately needed to be moved into a care home, which meant the house got put on the market - this is when my parents moved in. They never met Mrs Burton, they never met any of her family, they never spoke to anyone connected to them, they were just told about the Burtons' situation by the estate agents during the mortgage process.
Anyway, 1994 arrives and I'm born. For my first birthday in 1995, my parents buy me one of those hollow plastic phones you get for kids. They're normally red or yellow and come as part of a set. Anyway, one day me and my dad were out in the back garden. My dad's hanging the washing up, I'm just toddling about and learning to walk. I'm talking a load of gibberish and gobbledygook into this plastic phone. Just to humour me, my dad turns to me and asks, "Who are you speaking to on the phone there, Rob?"
My response? "Burton".
Years later when my dad was telling me this story he said he just froze on the spot and tried to work out when I could have possibly heard the word "Burton", either from my parents or from someone else, and he couldn't remember a thing. He asked my mum and she couldn't work out where I might have heard the word either. So, with the disclaimer that neither me nor my dad are into ghosts, spirits, the afterlife, etc. that story is probably the only example we have of truly believing that something paranormal might have been going on.
