Saturday, October 31, 2009

Ghost Story, enjoy some fiction.

angel tombstone

For this blog I’d like to tell you a story. A story, I wish I had proof and evidence of, not only for you, but for me. There will be no car repair guides, how to on home repair, or anything else. I know that is my forte, but remember, I am a writer and I do write other things.

Since I am a writer (it still feels weird to call myself that) that’s what I do, I write. It is what I love doing, writing is a magical release of ideas to a format that you can share with even the coldest stranger, and not face rejection due to a paper veil.

In writing, I’ve found some stories to be priceless. Say a friend of yours desperately wants something stupid, like shrink-dinks. You don’t want to run around for hours trying to find these things, but you should go. While the ultimate goal is frivolous to you, in exchange, you get a story. You will go here and there, you will see determination, heart break, and a full story will act out before your eyes. Remember to go for the story, and life will be interesting.

That being said, I went for a story once, and I got a pretty amazing one. I wish I had proof, honestly, for myself more than you.

I went to a writers retreat offered by my college. Some stupid essay won me a spot. We went to a Victorian style home that was used for meetings, retreats, and rented out to whomever for probably some god awful price. I won’t give its location, or even a good description as you will find out why later on. The house was kept in its original condition. I heard rumors about how the family that owned it was murdered, and it was bought and kept as is from a family trust until this corporation bought it to rent out. But I wasn’t sure of how that worked until we arrived.

We took a bus, I, and a few other people, last names changed for this story of course... Professor Baudwon, a huffy puffy “I should be teaching somewhere bigger than this junior college” type. He was a bad teacher. He hated me because I had published a book and he had been trying for years. Michael Reeces, thought he was going to be the next big rich Stephen King, his writing sucked, clones of other stories with slight changes. Perhaps the Professor liked Michael because he knew his writing was going nowhere. Erika Tanner, a mother of one but you wouldn’t know it, she was young vibrant and probably won the award because she was hot. Personally Erika was haughty bitch, but she looked sweet and innocent on first glance. And Rachel Dune. Rachel was the mousy shy girl. She wasn’t’ repulsive or anything, but very introverted. She wrote a lot of what I’d call bad poetry, very woe is me, versus woe is us. I found Rachel’s wrote well, but it was clearly written for her, not an audience, not that it took away from her talent. In their way, everyone was a talented writer on this trip.

So we make it to the house, for three days we are to chat, explore, and write. Baudwon is the ring leader, me, Michael, Rachel, and Erika all to share this house and polish our craft. I never thought I’d learn anything, change my style, or anything else enlightened, I went for the story. Perhaps Erika’s daughter would get sick, and it would be a mad rush for her to get home. Maybe two people would hate each other and fight the whole time; perhaps Baudwon would relax and get of his high horse in some fleeting personality change.

None of these things happened of course. Instead I fell in love, but I will explain that later as well. The house was large, not huge, but large. It was three stories tall, sat on many wooded acres, and was well preserved. I am not going to lie, it was impeccably kept. The upstairs was divided by a center stair case; to the left of the staircase there was a library, an office, a bathroom, and the official office of registration, to the right of the staircase were four bedrooms.

Two of the bedrooms were plain; with black iron beds and brown faux wood dressers with a mirror. One had a few photos, they were the caretakers, and when they had to stay overnight they slept in that room. The other was just plain; it was called by Professor Baudwon.

The remaining two rooms had Victorian beds, large fancy wooden furniture, pale pastel color paint; one was the husband’s private bedroom, the other the wife’s private room. The original owners bedrooms, kept as they were still connected by a door for late night meetings.

When you came down the stairs directly in front of you was the front door, to the left was the kitchen, the dining hall, a bathroom, and a music room. To the right was a large meeting or family room with a bar. In the far corner was a dark hallway with doors on each side. As you walked down the hallway you noticed no windows in any of the rooms. To the right there were ten doors, 3 were closed. To the left in the hall where ten doors, 2 closed. All the open doors were identical rooms, plain black iron bed frames and cheap dressers.

Each closed door was a beautiful room.

The closed doors on the right were not as fancy; these were staff quarters from when the original owners lived there. The furniture was Victorian but not as fancy as in the upstairs bedrooms. The two rooms on the right, however, out shined the upstairs rooms. The furthest bedroom down was obviously a teen agers room with its selection of frills. It had a writing desk, hearts carved into the furniture legs, and a large bed. It was the oldest daughter’s room. The closest bedroom was just as elaborate. It was a little girl’s room, old teddy bears still sat on the bed, the room was light pink with green accents, a wagon, a tiny desk, and a tiny bed all sat undisturbed like they were waiting for the little girl to return.

We could do as we wished in our own rooms, but were only allowed to look into the original rooms. “No touching”, as signs on the door warned. The college paid a hefty security deposit, and Professor Baudwon reminded us of this several times.

I threw my bag in the bed room on the right, the one closest to the little girl’s room. Michael took the room after mine, and the girls choose the rooms across the hall. After we unpacked, all of us grabbed our notebooks,( this is before the age of laptops) and went into the family room.

I went to the bar in the back of the room and poured some unlabeled whiskey. The girls each worked away at some fruity drinks. Baudwon appeared and reminded us under age students cannot drink. I was merely 17 or 18 and in my head old enough, so I raised my glass in a toast and ignored him. I had been drinking for a while and I had built up a tolerance, but as the night progressed the girls became drunk.

Michael didn’t’ drink. Instead he stared into the fireplace, talking about a plot of his that sounded a lot like “The Shining”. Baudwon didn’t say much. The girls chuckled and talked about nonsense. I started to sketch the fireplace and room. Not the whole thing, just pieces I liked, such as the corner trim.

The main house, kitchen, bathrooms, parlor, and everything else had been kept in the Victorian style but with upgrades. They had track lighting, new plumbing, new carpet; they kept the elements of the design. The original bedrooms were not upgraded; they were kept complete and untouched.

After a non productive day one we went to our rooms. I had a good amount of whiskey in me so I was asleep quickly. I slept deep until I heard a knock on my door. I got up and opened it, to see three sets of eyes looking at me. The girls and Michael.

“Was that you?” Michael asked.

“Me what? I’ve been sleeping.” I responded confused as I wiped sleep out of my eyes and straightened my glasses.

“We heard a weird thumping noise.” Erika said.

I hadn’t heard anything, but I went down the hallway and looked in every room starting at the back. They stood close talking about the story of the house and the murders. I didn’t believe in ghosts, and to this day am 99% skeptical of anything paranormal. If something goes bump in the night it is usually me trying to find a bathroom.

I went and checked the rooms on the other side of the hallway and came to the little girl’s room. Her bed was tore apart, the wagon flipped over, the desk chair knocked over.

“Who did this?” I asked.

No one apparently, because everyone came out of their rooms together. We all had alibis. We went into the family room, I poured myself another drink. The girls threw wood on the coals to try and get a fire going. I looked at a clock it was 3:30am. Michael ran upstairs as fast he could to get the professor.

“So, no one did this?” Baudwon asked.

We explained how, one by one everyone came together from the start of the noise to the end. It wasn’t us. We discussed what could happen if one of us was caught vandalizing. Finally, he came to the story of the house, and that anyone thought this would funny, they were wrong and could be in serious trouble. I interjected that I wanted him to get to the story, I did not know it.

“Really? No one told you?” Baudwon asked me.

“I was told two days before this three day trip that I had won. I know nothing, except that we will be back Tuesday, meals and lodging are provided, and what little I’ve picked up from listening to conversations.”

I was told the story. A long time ago (the best way to start a story), a family lived here. Two parents with two daughters made up the happy family. They were very well off, and owned several factories in town. One rainy night, someone without reason broke in and killed the entire family while they slept. They found muddy foot prints, but never found the killer. The brother of the owner bought the house with estate money, saddened by the loss of his nieces he preserved the house, and stayed at it sparingly as a vacation house until his death. At his death the estate was bought by company who uses the house as a tax write off and rents it out to corporate events, or other meetings.

Supposedly, the house is haunted, by whom, or what isn’t known. Only that six sets of caregivers quit, before they made staying in the house optional. Now, the caregivers rarely stay overnight.

As the story finished a door slammed down the hall. With no lights down the hall we all stood and waited. There were no windows, anything in there would have to come out the hall way. I took an old gas lamp, and went to the hall, I was followed by everyone. I checked every room previously and left all the doors standing wide open. Only one was shut. The older daughter’s door.

I went down the hall; the guys came with me, the girls stayed in the family room. I crept down and opened the door. At this point I was actually worried. I didn’t know what was on the other side. But I turned the knob and opened the door fast. I figured I’d surprise whatever was in the room.

Nothing. Nothing was in the room, it was perfect. We went around with the lantern as the room did not have any light like the remodeled rooms did. Nothing inside.

I closed the door and we went down the hall. At this point we had all decided that it was late, and we were just freaking ourselves out. We went to pick up the little girl’s room, and call it night. Hopefully no one would be the wiser, and we could forget this.

After closing down the family room we turned on the lights in all our rooms, letting the light brighten the hall, and provided some light besides the lamp in the little girl’s room.

As we went in Ericka and Rachel straightened the wagon and toys, Michal and Baudwon organized the desk and moved the chair back. We heard the door open to the older daughter’s room.

Erika stuck her head out and screamed.

“Oh my god, I saw a girl, I saw her!” She went hysterical.

We all looked and saw nothing but an empty hall.

“You know those doors are like a hundred years old right, I’m sure the locking mechanisms are shot by now.” I reasoned.

We calmed her. It was late, she was going to sleep in the same room as Rachel, and that idea calmed Erika. I started making the bed, I pulled the sheets and blankets off that were strewn across the foot of the bed. I took the light bottom sheet and flipped it up in the air.

This is when things changed.

Erika was sitting down, holding Baudwon’s hand. Rachel and Michael stood at the upper corners ready to grab the sheet. As the sheet came down for a second it took the shape a little girl, as if she was lying below the sheet, before it fell flat.

I seemed to be the only one that noticed. I took the sheet, and got ready to flip it again.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked.

“Watch.” I said.

Again the sheet rose and fell, for a brief moment it looked like a little girl’s figure. A small girl 6 or 7, lying perfectly still face up. Baudwon stood up, and demanded we do it again, as he held the lamp close.

Again the same thing happened, this time Michael punched the sheet flat as it took form.

For some reason this pissed me off. I went over and grabbed his arm.

Normally I am not too intimidating, people look beyond me. I wear large clothes that make me look thinner, and I slouch or stand on one leg and I seem shorter. I am not aggressive in the least, but at this I stood tall my 6’1 260lb frame came to life, Michael realized I was not joking as I stared through him.

“What man? I don’t’ want that thing here.” Michael spouted angrily.

“It was a little girl, dead or not a little girl. The next time you want to hit a little girl why don’t come and try and hit me first.”

Michael squared up and I didn’t’ back down. “Better make it good.” I said.

Baudwon stepped in. He couldn’t explain it, but thought we should all stay in the family room. The girls ran out to the track lit room, and again stoked the fire as if the light was going to protect them.

Michael and Professor Baudwon both left; I gave the room a once over and followed.

In the family room I drank another whiskey on the rocks. The girls fell asleep on the couch, it was almost 5 am. Still dark, would be for another couple hours. Michael and Baldwin talked about what they saw, turning it into a story, over active imaginations, and other things that annoyed me.

I retired to my room, much to the surprise of everyone. I’d rather have a dead little girl staring at me than listen to the asinine conversation that was going on.

I took another round of liquor with me and went to my room. I shot the rest of the drink hard and lay down. I was feeling a heavy buzz and decided death itself couldn’t wake me up, but I was wrong.

I had just dozed off but curiosity kept making me open my eyes. I had the lamp going. It was flickering, about out of fuel. The only other light was a sliver of light coming from under the door. The family room and bar was still fully lit for the four.


Upon opening my eyes for an instant I saw a little girl. I shut my eyes before it registered. I opened them again, she was gone. I sat up, I finished the bit of whiskey that sat in my glass, and laid my head back down.

There she was. This time I sat and looked at the little Victorian girl. She was transparent, a shade of herself. She took a step closer, and moved with weight.

“Hello.” I said, not sure how you greet an apparition.

Her eyes turned black, and I thought for a minute she was going to scream, or become some sort of demon. But instead she smiled.

“Thank you.” The little voice barely audible came.

“For what?” I asked.

“Stopping that man from hitting at me.”

“No problem.”
She sat and watched me oddly, and I did the same.

“It is my sister slamming the doors, she doesn’t like strangers.” I heard the faint voice say.

“Your older sister?”

“Yes, and it is going to rain, she always hates that.”

“That when you guys . . . were murdered?” I asked, wishing I had stopped.

“Yes, in the rain.” The little girl spoke back, her voice still barely audible.

“What’s it like? You know dying?” I asked.

“You know all of those dark things you don’t have to be afraid of when you are alive?”

I squinted in thought.

“The bad things, the things you can’t see but fear.” She added.

I nodded.

“You have to be afraid of those.” She said.

“What is your name?” I asked.


“That’s a nice name Lilabil.” I said no idea why I called her Lilabil.

The ghost girl froze as if she was the one scared.

“My father called me Lilabil.” She said, then she turned away, “My sister, Alexandria, she is mad it is going to rain.”

Lilly disappeared. I heard screaming from the family room. Male and Female. I got up, it was 6:15, and the sun was on its way up. The second day was starting with a bang.

“She was here!” Erika screamed!

I went into the family room to find camp set up. We left tomorrow evening, and it seemed as though everyone was going to stay in the family room for the rest of the stay, except me.

They told me of a young girl, a teenage girl who stood in the doorway and looked at them. I found this an odd thing to be afraid of, but everyone was visibly shaken.
The day went without a hitch; no one saw or heard anything. Later as the sun set it began to rain. This changed everything. Doors slammed, we heard wails, and cries. I knew it was the rain, and just ignored it. I had a dog that cried when it thundered, so now we had ghosts that flipped out when it rained.

Everyone one else was petrified in state of constant fear hunkering, and hiding with every noise. Then a new noise appeared.

“Bang, Bang, Bang!” Came at the front door.

Baudwon ran to get it.

“You better not.” I said.

He opened the door a couple stood in the rain. Franticly they busted in telling us of how their car stalled. Baudwon agreed they should stay the night, and told them of the ghostly happenings. They said anything was better than the rain. As the couple came in from outside, the house went nuts.

The new people, the old people, all hid in the family room, watching the hall way. Wails, long cries, increased, doors slammed hard, everything rattled.

I recognized the crying. It was Lilabil. I got up, and as everyone tried to stop me I went down the hall. About two feet down the hall I was eye to eye with Alexandria, she passed right through me without notice, evidently I was no longer a threat, but doors slammed as she passed.

I made a B-line to Lily’s room. I did not see her, or hear her in the room. I crouched beside the bed.

“Lily, it’s ok. They are not bad people, they are not going to hurt you I promise, they are just as afraid as you are.”

I continued to comfort no one for about five minutes, then everything stopped, the house was quite. As the group came to find me, doors creaked, and some noises of the haunting experience stirred infrequently.

I sat by the bed and the group found me. Suddenly flashes started going off. Michael, this happening in the time before cell phones, digital cameras, had brought an old camera with a large flash powered by its own battery pack. He clicked two or three shots, and the house began to whir. I looked at what he was shooting. Above the bed on the pale pink paint looked like darker wet spots in a little kids hand writing, that spelled out “thank you” the last u was just forming. Click. The house began to get irritated; more over the protective teen age sister was getting irritated.

I stood up and yelled at Michael to get out. He refused; Baudwon stepped in saying we should get evidence.

“Evidence really? That’s what you want?” I retorted to the two.

I then punched Michael. He fell to the floor, as I yelled, “There is your evidence now call the cops!”

Everyone left as they thought I went crazy. But they didn’t spend much time in the hall, as slamming doors came closer and closer to them as they sprinted into the family room. I stayed put, the doors passed the rooms. I told Lily again, nothing to
worry about, and things settled.

For the rest of the night Alexandria must have stood by the hall entry way, if anyone came close doors slammed, pictured shook and fell, so everyone stayed away. I stayed in Lily’s room. I never saw her, but I knew she was glad I was there.

I fell asleep to be awakening from people yelling down the halls. It was the next day, the day to leave, and no one wanted to go down the hall way, so I had to pack up everyone’s bags and bring them out. On my last trip I said good bye, to Lilabil,
and to Alexandria, then I left.

The trip was exciting, and many people wrote horrible stories of plates flying, odd noises, chandeliers rattling, and creepy ghost girls. I wrote a story on love. I felt the love of a father in my heart when I saw that little girl. Dead or alive I wanted her to be safe and well.

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