My daughter refused to go into the garage.
For six years.
Every time we walked past it, she'd grab my hand and whisper:
"He's still in there."
At first, I thought it was childhood imagination.
She was only four when it started.
"What do you mean?" I'd ask.
She'd point toward the garage and say:
"The man."
There was never anyone there.
We checked.
Again and again.
Nothing.
As she got older, the fear never disappeared.
Birthday parties, family gatherings, holidays—she'd avoid the garage at all costs.
Eventually, we stopped asking.