Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
We recently moved into this little house in a small, quiet town in Maine. It’s not like I wanted to go, but I guess it was okay because I think I needed a change from the city life.
The day we arrived at the house, I was actually pretty excited. It was a small cottage-type house, and it felt really cozy. My parents had bought the house without letting me see it, so this was my first time inside it.
My mom immediately showed me over to one of those large fireplaces that older houses used to have in the kitchen for cooking and warming the room. I thought it was really neat, but one of the first thing I noticed was a little indent in the back wall of it with a metal cross. My mom thought we could put something “prettier” there, and threw the cross into the back of a cabinet. I didn’t think anything of it, and then went off to explore the rest of the house.
I found the room in which I decided I wanted to be my room. My mom and dad approved, and I set up my bed and moved all my boxes into it. I set up the essentials, like my TV, and just lounged around watching movies for the rest of the afternoon. Then it was bedtime.
It was really strange sleeping in that house. It was pretty much empty, since we still hadn’t unpacked all our stuff. But after a while, I eventually drifted off to sleep. Around midnight, I awoke to the sound of soft crying. It sounded like a little girl, probably no older than 6. I had no sisters, so I dismissed it as the neighbors, and put myself back to sleep.
The next morning, I asked my dad if he had heard anything last night, considering he is a light sleeper. He told me no, and so I told him what happened. He said to forget about it, it was probably just me hearing things.
As day turned into night, I grew tired. It was bedtime. But, yet again, I woke to crying at midnight. Same voice, but just a little bit louder. Once again, I just told myself it was nothing and went back to sleep.
As the days passed, the sobbing grew slowly louder. My parents started to notice it, so we decided to meet the neighbors, to see if it was them. Surprisingly, they didn’t have kids, never mind 6 year old girls. We were perplexed.
Weeks passed. The crying continued. Still no explanation. I decided to research the house and the previous families. The town files said the history of the house dated back to the 1700’s, which would explain the fireplace. I then noticed a little note in the original family’s file. It said that a little girl named Elizabeth had died in the fireplace when she fell in while her mother was cooking. She was 5.
I ran all the way back home, and rushed in the house and told my mom what I had found. She said that I was being ridiculous, and that ghosts didn’t exist. We did nothing.
Over the course of a month, the crying continued. Every night, at midnight, it grew louder. It got to the point where we couldn’t sleep. Our names started to get called. We started to see shadows. And yet my mom continued to tell me my mind was playing tricks on me. Even my dad started to notice the activity. Nothing could convince her to do anything about it.
I had had enough. I told my mom we needed to do something. Then it hit me. The fireplace. The little girl. The haunting. The cross.
I pulled the cross out of the cabinet, and placed it back in the little indent on the back wall of the fireplace. I told my mom the connection I made, and she responded by telling me I was going crazy. The cross was just trash, left by the other family. I refused to believe her.
That night, nothing happened. Nothing.
The house stayed quiet. The calmness continued. I had solved the problem. The cross was what the spirit needed. It was her memorial. But, every now and then, I see shadows and hear noises, even with the cross in place. Sometimes I think it might be something more…
Credit To: Alex