When I was 3 or 4 years old we lived in a house in Wichita, Kansas, that had been an old plantation house that had been split into apartments. My mother told me that one night she heard me screaming and she came running out of her room to see me running down the hall from the bathroom. I had gone to the bathroom on my own and she told me that I told her there was a man in the bathroom.   She of course went running into the bathroom but found no one. The bathroom window was too small for anyone to fit through and upon searching out part of the house she didn't find a trace of anyone having broken in. She asked me to describe the man and I told her he had a pair of revolvers, was wearing a pinstripe suit, and had a mustache. I never saw the man again, but I wouldn't go to the bathroom by myself anymore.
