"Come on up here, Baby Boy." I said, pulling my son up out of the bath water. I wrapped him up in his puppy dog towel complete with dog ears and laid him down on the carpet to get him dressed and ready for the day. He was wriggling around trying to escape as I dried him off and covered his tiny little feet with baby lotion. My daughter was still happily singing in the tub. She was splashing and making a big mess of bubbles on the floor while Gage squirmed like a tiny caterpillar, narrowly escaping the leg of his overalls. I grabbed his slippery little toes and slipped the overalls onto him, snapping them in place. He was free to escape at last. Gage took off crawling down the hallway making all the noises babies do.
"Your turn." I said to Jade, lifting her out of the warm bubble bath. I wrapped her up in her flower towel and took her outside of the bathroom to get her ready for her long busy day of play. I slipped her pink dress over her head and began to run the brush through her tangled baby curls.
*stomp stomp stomp*
One of the many joys of living in a trailer park was that the trailers were so close together. Close enough that you could hear people walking through their own trailer. It was ok though. This was our home. We had done this all on our own. No parents to help. No inheritance. Just my husband, myself, and the grace of God. We had taken a tiny trailer and turned it into our own cozy love nest. Perfect for us and our growing family.
"Ouch!" Jade protested as I pulled the brush through a little knot. She had such fine little waves and they tangled so easily. "Sorry, Baby." I told her, kissing the top of her head.
*stomp stomp stomp*
"Mommy." Jade said.
"Yes?" I said, squeezing some baby oil gel into her hair.
"Are we going somewhere today?"
"No. Mommy has a lot of housework to do today."
She curled up her face in frustration. "No park today."
I smiled, pulling her hair up into a pigtail, wrapping the end of her hair around my finger and enhancing her natural curls.
"Mommy." she said.
"Yes?" I asked.
"Who is that man?"
I turned my head to the side. "What man?"
"That one. In the kitchen." She pointed next to where Gage was laying, he had several of his toes in his mouth and was drooling all over his sock.
"You see a man?" I asked her.
"Mmhmm. Right there. In the kitchen."
"I don't see anyone, Baby."
"He's right there, Mommy!" she pointed again, "Right by the sink!"
"What does he look like?"
"Umm. He looks gross mom. His face has all red his head is a big boo boo."
My arms erupted in goose bumps. I couldn't see anyone. But I could hear the footsteps. I thought it was the people next door. What if it wasn't? I couldn't see anyone... but was Jade describing someone she could actually see? Part of the reason we weren't going anywhere today was because of the police tape surrounding the trailer across the lot. Our trailer park was currently crawling with police. A man had just ended his life after a fight with his wife. He had shot himself in the head. Would his face not be "all red"? Would his head not in fact be a big "boo boo"?
I put the hair supplies up and cautiously headed down the hallway, scooping up Gage from the kitchen floor. My eyes slowly scanned the kitchen. I couldn't hear any more footsteps. I couldn't see anyone. Was it real? Was she actually seeing something? I wasn't sure, but I thought it best to maybe play in the room today.
This is a true story about an experience I had with my daughter when she was about three years old. I have changed the names, but nothing else about the story has been changed. I still remember every detail of this moment in time. Over the years, my daughter has said several times that she see's people sometimes. I have also caught a video of my other daughter talking to someone I can't see. As a child, I experienced the same thing. What are your thoughts on ghosts? Are they real? Or are some of us just seeing and talking to things?
-Sara
About the Creator
Sara Wilson
Lover of the strange and unusual. I write mostly horror or true crime. I occasionally publish other things, but try not to write only for the sake of having content. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated!
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More stories from Sara Wilson and writers in Horror and other communities.
Knock
How deep is the sound of knocking? How many secrets are hidden in this voice? I don't know who will be at the door-someone who wants to be a guest, someone who has lost his way, someone who is a neighbor. How many joys are hidden in the sound of knocking. The child returned from school, tired husband. . Sometimes this sound is very annoying. Again and children came to the roof asking for a kite or a ball, or some impudent poor man who harassed them for no time.
By Kamran Alama day ago in Horror
Comments (3)
I would have been sooooo scared if I were you, especially when Jade described that man. Who knows, it probably was the ghost of the guy that shot himself, just lingering around. But as long as they don't cause harm, I guess that's okay.
Oooooo! That’s some crazy stuff and right up my alley. I do believe in ghost. If you believe in life after death then at some point the spirit can take form of a ghost. I used to watch those shows all the time. The best one I came across is called Paranormal witness. It’s much better than ghost hunter type shows. They actually reenact a story of an encounter like you did. They also include narration from the actual person who witnessed the occurrence. I definitely recommend it. That’s so crazy that your daughter is sensitive. You never know, It might be in the process of developing into something more like a medium. Crazy stuff! I had a minor encounter with spiritual energy when I was ten. But plan to share that story on her at some point. Thanks for sharing!
I would not discount either possibility. The mind's ability to imagine is a powerful thing. But there are some things just plain hard to explain away. I have some of those stories, too. When I was six years old I was using the bathroom upstairs. You could hear what was going on in other rooms through the furnace vents, especially from the basement. I distinctly heard the piano in the basement being played (quite well, I might add). But I knew no one was in the basement at the time. Besides, mom was the only one who played & she was working in the kitchen preparing supper. I quickly cleaned up as the playing continued. The moment I opened the door it stopped. I asked mom. Then I asked everyone else. No one had been downstairs playing the piano. The exact same thing happened when I was twelve. Several years later it happened again. But this time I was using the bathroom in the basement. The piano started playing--in the very next room--& continued playing until I opened the door. There were only four rooms in the basement: the laundry room/bathroom I had been in; the playroom I had just entered; the bedroom right in front of me; & the other bedroom where the piano was. There was no way out of that room except past me, as the door between it & the bathroom was blocked shut with the shower. There was no one there. I stood there for the longest time, staring into the mirror that stretched across the front of the upright where the music would be set. After a bit, I saw out of the corner of my eye a young boy dressed in colonial blue standing in the doorway looking at me. The moment I looked directly at him he was gone. Why colonial blue? The house was in South Dakota & was only something like forty years old. I have no idea. But I also cannot deny that those things actually happened. I would ask, do they always seem either lost or at least amicable? If so, I would probably be curious & try to pay close attention when it's happening, perhaps even engage a bit. If not..., have you considered talking to a priest with whom you feel comfortable?