When I was younger, I had an imaginary friend who lived in this massive antique dresser. We'd chill out and I vividly remember him telling me stories, although I have absolutely no recollection of what they actually were.
I remember one day talking to my parents about it (Dad traveled quite a bit so he wasn't up to date with what I was into) and when I started telling him about my dresser buddy, he wanted to know his name. It was something innocent like Peter or Patrick but I can still see him going white in the face.
I drew Peter/Patrick out for him and the very next day him and my uncle took out that dresser and burned it. It wasn't until a few years later when I found out my Dad's little brother (my uncle) also had the same friend with the same name who lived in the same antique dresser. After a few months of the typical imaginary friend shit, my uncle started having night terrors and couldn't sleep because of Peter/Patrick. It got so bad that they had to move him out of his room before he managed to get back to normal.
Thanks for the gold, kind stranger! Skimmed through the comments and will probably answer the most common questions-
The dresser was an old dark wood ugly thing. As far as we know, it belonged to my great great grandfather who had always been into some weird shit if family history is to be believed.
Dad never talked about what was actually in the dresser and he was the only one who believed his brother when they were kids. Their parents didn't really care because they thought kids were just being kids and who honestly believed in spooky ghosts back then? Must have been a shock that 30 years later, his own son started having the same friend.
My uncle's night terrors ended when they moved him to another room, the bedroom he was in with the dresser was converted into a little sitting room since it had some nice views. It remained relatively unlived in until dad moved our family into that home and that room became mine.
I haven't seen my uncle in 14 years now, don't really speak to him since he is on the other end of the world. Afraid to bring something like this up since I know he struggles with depression and alcoholism so I would hate to add stuff to his plate.
To everyone asking what he looked like, I remember tiny old man. Not like old man tiny, but kid sized tiny. He had very large hands, long fingers. Which in turn led to how I draw people even today, hands always come out longer and larger than what they would normally be. Smelled of wood, mothballs, old cloths, and what I now know is mold.