I found out that they indeed could. When my husband came home, I told him about the incident but he more or less made a joke of it. The next incident took place at my mother's house, in Gladstone, Michigan. She was watching Felicity as my husband and I went out for the evening. The next day she said she needed to talk to me and proceeded to show me a piece of paper that Felicity had been drawing on.

It said, "Jack Jennings," in a child's scrawl.

This was alarming, because while Felicity could make the alphabet and spell her name, there was very little else she could spell and the letters were more advanced than she could make. When I asked her who wrote that, she looked at me like I was dumb and simply said, "Jack." This is when I pressed her for all of Jack's details.

In the past, she would try to say as little as possible about Jack, but it felt like my whole future depended on the facts surrounding Jack and I really pressed her for all the details. She said that Jack was eight years old and that he died a long time ago after he fell through the ice and drowned. I immediately went online to try to find information, but found nothing and knew I'd need to research our local library.

Needless to say, I was distracted for the rest of our vacation. As we were getting ready for our flight, I asked Felicity if maybe Jack could stay here while we went on vacation. She seemed to protest at first, but then she said that Jack didn't want to go anyway.

I was relieved, to say the least. As we were pulling out of the driveway, all of a sudden Felicity said, "Wave good-bye to Jack!" My husband and I both looked to the yard and waved and we both saw a little boy with blond hair and a snowsuit on waving good-bye.

We both looked at each other to see if we were seeing the same thing, looked back and noticed he was gone. It was the middle of July, and a snowsuit would have been preposterous on anyone. It gave me absolute chills.

When we returned from California, Felicity mentioned Jack less and less. I went to the library to look for a "Jack Jennings" several times, but came up with nothing. I pored through old newspapers and even asked around, but always came up empty.

One evening I was helping my good friend go through some stuff for a yard sale. She lived in an ancient farmhouse that she had gutted and restored and I was in a crawlspace upstairs taking out some things that were in storage. My eye caught some writing on the wall that said, "J. R. Jennings," in a familiar child's scrawl.

I dropped what I was doing and ran to find my friend. I asked her about the name and she told me that she wasn't sure but that a neighbor had told her that a little boy once lived here, but had fallen through the ice in the pond out back and died. The neighbor had also told her that the house was haunted, but she had never seen or heard anything, so she didn't know if it was true or not.

I was stunned. I am still stunned. Looking back, I wish I had paid more attention to the things around us to see if there was any other evidence of Jack that I glossed over. I don't know where Jack is now, but I hope that he finds peace.

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