Don't Know What to Call This One

I've debated with myself about whether or not to write this post. As Freebird said in her last post, sometimes it's easier to talk about something with people you don't really know in person (except for my daughter, of course).
I started into counseling again several weeks ago. I wanted to deal with some family issues, but there was something else I thought I needed some help with. I've been having, not really memories, but brief flashes of things that make me feel terrified, sick, and every other bad feeling I can think of.
It's of being in a house that was next door to us when I was very little. I'm standing in a dark hallway, and I can see the kitchen through a doorway, and I'm scared, really scared. And other than that I don't have any memory. But I dream of this, too, and I can't shake these horrible feelings about it. So the counselor and I have been discussing this for a few weeks. I lived there from the time I was born until four, I think. Everytime the counselor and I talk about this, I start crying, and people who know me can tell you I never cry.
Today in counseling, I told her that my parents kept the house we lived in after we moved, and for years they rented it out. When I was about ten? my mom and I went over there to check something about the house, and this man approached us in the back yard, and I was so scared, I couldn't look at him and I went and sat in the car. As I remembered it, he gave my mom some pictures that day that he had taken of me when I was little.
So the counselor said I should have a candid talk with my mother and sister, and I told her that my mother won't talk about anything unpleasant. She asked about other family members who would have remembered me when we lived there, but I don't have any. She suggested I go back over there to that house, but I don't want to do that.
So, I decided to call my mother tonight. I've been scrapbooking and we've been talking about family pictures, etc, in the last few weeks, so I told her I was making a scrapbook of my life to give my children. I told her in doing the scrapbook journaling, I was trying to remember about when we lived in that house. I asked her who the neighbors were.
She said, "Well next door, there was that older couple, the Minors, and they had a grown son in his thirties who lived with them, but he was cr--, uh, well that whole family was funny."
I asked, "Funny how?"
She said, "Well even the old man was flirty acting."
I said, "And the son lived at home?"
She said, "Well he met this young schoolteacher and they got married, but she only lived with him for about a month, and she divorced him."
I said, "Mama, did he make pictures of me?"
She said, "Oh yeah, he did. Well not pictures, but he gave us some boxes of slides once he had made of you when you were little."
Then I couldn't talk about it anymore and I changed the subject.
So the obvious questions are, Why am I terrified of the thought of that man and that house; why did he have boxes of slides of me but not my sister? And from what mother said, I guess he was a pervert.
I guess I know the answers to all that, but I can't bring myself to say it. I'm still very upset about all of it, and trying to sort this out.
The counselor also said today I may never remember anything that happened that young, but those emotions will not go away, and that's why I have these feelings I can't explain about the house there. She also thinks that may be why, according to my mom, I began to wet the bed at four and it continued for several years in my childhood.
Well it made it better just to write it. If my daughter reads this, please don't call me about it, because I don't think I can even talk about this.