One that I rarely tell.
As a small child, I lived in a trailer court. There was a wooded area with a creek that ran behind the trailer court, that I could easily get to from my yard. From as early as I can remember to about 6, I would go and sit on the bridge over the creek when I was upset. There was a woman, with damp clothes and green hair, who would always come and sit next to me. She would sometimes talk about her daughter, how much she missed her daughter, and how much I reminded her of her daughter. She would also talk to me when I was upset because things at home weren't great, or someone was making fun of me, or whatever else troubled a small me. Sometimes I would have dreams where she was looking for something, and she could never find it. Sometimes I would have dreams where we were talking, but we would be under the water.
One day, she stopped visiting me, on the bridge, and I stopped dreaming about her. I went home, crying, and told my mom that the lady at the bridge stopped being my friend. Mom sat me down, asked a lot of questions, made a lot of calls, and told me that she had to go home to her daughter, and everything was fine.
When I got older, mom asked me if I remembered. I told her that of course I did.
Mom pulled out this old folder of old newspaper clippings. The top picture was of the woman and a little girl, probably about 4. They lived in teh trailer court a few years before my mom moved in, they went missing. A few days after they went missing, the woman was found drowned in teh creek. The hadn't found the daughter. About the time that I told my mom the woman quit visiting with me, the woman's parent identified a body that was found on the woman's ex boyfriends out of state property of being the woman's daughter.
That was the point that my mom believed I was a special, if not wierd, child.
All of my boys have conversations with empty rooms. Oldest can describe every close relative who passed before he was born, right down to their scent.
I will post more later, as I need to head out for a bit.