FT258


I was a bright, solitary child blessed with a vivid imagination. I lived in a small village and there were few children my own age. I spent much of my free time alone, playing in the garden or the wild area round the back of our house.

My mother, a primary school teacher, has told me that she was aware that many children had invisible friends, but she was surprised that I seemed to have a multitude – at least a dozen! This group of quasi-corporeal companions (QCCs) seemed to be older children or possibly adults and all had slightly old-fashioned names such as Henry (I think he was my favourite), Peter and George.
Although my own memory of this time is now rather hazy (it was around 35 years ago) mother has recounted to me many times two stories which demonstrate clearly the strength of feeling and close connection I felt with my QCCs. On the first occasion, my brother, who is 18 months older than me, was already attending school, so I must have been about three years old. Mother had a habit of taking me to Debenhams in Peterborough for tea before collecting my brother, Julian, from school. The Debenhams coffee bar had a semi-circular serving counter, around which were placed high stools fixed to the floor. Mother and I sat on two of these stools, and we were joined by my gang of QCCs while we ate our toasted teacakes and drank tea. Two teenage girls then entered and proceeded to seat themselves on top of my friends, which prompted a hysterical outburst. “You’re sitting on Henry! You’re sitting on George!” I screamed. Mother was forced to remove me and my friends, leaving our teatime treat unfinished.

The second incident occurred when we were on holiday in Geneva, where we were staying in a rather grand hotel. Our family and my friends entered the lift, which was just big enough for us all, but just before the doors closed a couple of German guests slipped in too. Again I was inconsolable that my friends were being squashed, and as a result we were forced to take the stairs for the rest of our stay.

I don’t remember when my QCCs stopped visiting me, but well into my teens I had other imaginary friends and pets, including two seagulls and a dragon.

I am now a professional music­ian, academic and teacher, and am currently conducting doctoral research at City University, London.

Rachel Hayward
By email




I’m from a large family, and we all had the usual round of imaginary friends – cats, ponies, dragons, talking dogs. For a while I even insisted my mum and dad left room for imaginary Rhubarb and Custard (from the 1970s cartoon) on the seat next to me! But my youngest sister had something a bit different. At the time, we were living on a farm and every day on our way up to the field to fetch down the geese (hey, it was the 1970s) we went by the small reservoir that served the village, a large storage tank covered over with grass which collected water from a natural spring, lime-rich from the chalky soil (the overflow formed spectacular stalactites).

It was here that my youngest sister met David, who was the sort of imaginary friend you don’t want your little sister to have. David was a young boy, a little older than her, and he lived in the reservoir. He kept telling her to hide from us, and trying to get her to go down the drains to visit him. She told us that he looked ordinary, but he was often angry, or very sad. He wore a grey coat and heavy shoes, and made her feel “crackly”. The drains were heavy, and the dangerous bits of the reservoir were tucked away, and nevertheless we didn’t like David, or his suggestions.

After a bit of debate (and with some nervousness, in case she just laughed) my sister and I told our mum about David. She told us not to ask our little sister anything else about him, not to talk about him at all if possible, and also that we should not leave them alone together. We followed her advice, and made sure one of us was with “them” at all times, and after a while he came less and eventually started to avoid us. Years later, I asked Mum about this, wondering if there was any sort of hidden story going on. She remembered it distinctly, and described David as a “bad” imagin­ary friend, one that needed discouraging. Some imagin­ary friends, she said, are not good for the children who have them, and you have to help them get rid of them.

Jeremy Dennis
By email




Of their four children, my parents only recall one of us possibly having an imaginary friend. At about the age of three or four, our little brother told us he played in the street with a little girl called, unusually, Desmond. This being a small street in the early 1970s, it was normal for kids of such a young age to play outside and generally people knew their neighbours (eeh, them were the days), yet we never met Desmond and other kids/neighbours never mentioned her. My brother spoke of her in hushed tones and when asked where she lived would mumble “over there”, then simply wander off to avoid further interrogation. If she was a QCC, I don’t remember him making a fuss about her in the house (nobody ever sat on her), suggesting that she only appeared outside. My now 40-year-old brother has absolutely no recollection of Desmond, and when probed simply wanders off to avoid further interrogation.

Andy Smith
By email




I don’t actually remember my invisible friend, but my parents say that I had one named Donald. Since my name is Dawn, I guess that would be a mirror image-type friend. They say that I would answer the door when I knew he was there, invite him in, and insist that he have a table setting to eat dinner with us. I don’t know how long he lasted, but apparently we were very close for a while. I don’t think it ever occurred to me to quest­ion where he was when he wasn’t with me, which I now find strange. I also don’t remember missing him at all when he no longer came.

Dawn Scott
By email




Ever since she could talk, my five-year-old daughter has had a lot of invisible friends – she calls them her “Suzies”. The ones I know of are: Suzie, Big Big Up to the Sky Suzie, Little Suzie, Baby Suzie, Uncle Suzie and Mother Suzie. They can all fly, though she has never said whether they have wings or not. Big Big Up to the Sky Suzie is regularly ill and has died at least once and come back. She only mentioned Mother Suzie a few days ago when there was mention of another Baby Suzie. They all go to Suzieland at night. She has also said they sometimes go away over there, gesturing to the ceiling. Sometimes she’ll tell them off for being naughty. I’m sure there are more of them than she lets on.
Steve Hon
By email

For more on invisible friends, see FT250:30–35, 252:72–73, 253:77.




Head over to 'It Happened To Me' on the FT message boards for more first-hand accounts of high strangeness and to share your own weird experiences.