Well well well. I'm a believer, due to something that happened to me, when I was around 10. Not completely ghosts the way many think of them, ethereal characters and all that. They're more like lost memories, roaming about in the instant their owner died. Most of them are only capable of affecting our mind, some even more. Anyway, my story. When I was around 10, we moved to a nearby house, only two previous owners, very nice neighborhood. There wasn't really anything in the beginning, but after a few months I started getting nightmares, or whatever they were. Every night I woke up, sweaty, screaming and crying, every single night for around 1½ years. I have no memory of the dream, not the slightest idea what it was about, forgot it all very soon after I woke up and rushed through the house to my mothers bedroom. After 1½ years it stopped, and I never really thought about it again. Many years later, when I was 17, my mother told me something. She reminded me of the above experience. Ofcourse I could remember it had happened, "but what did it really matter now?" I thought. She then proceded to tell me, that the day they stopped, she had invited one of her friends over. A shaman, from somewhere in the far east, now living here in denmark now. The shaman and my mother had cleansed the house, and while the rest of us were in school and work. Her husband, my sister nor I knew anything about it. The shaman had told my mother, that the original owners of the house, had lost their son in a car crash, and my room was what used to be his. I believe what I experienced, was the last moment of that boys life, still buzzing around as a vague energy, waiting to me released and erased. There's many more details to the story, but can't be bothered to write that much right now. Ramble On!