In the summer of 1981 I moved
my wife and three daughters to the small town of Blythe, California eager to begin
my role as the publisher of the town’s newspaper.
We quickly settled in to a new home that was in a modern development on the edge of town.
Two months later the youngest
of my daughters--Amanda was sitting at our dinning room table doing her
homework when she began to cry. I was nearby watching the news on our
television.
I got up to ask her what was
the matter and found her hysterical. She told me that a little girl covered in
soot with smoke surrounding her was watching her do her homework.
I reassured her that no one
was there but she was noticeably shaken-up.
The next morning I got up
early to prepare for work. As I stood in the bathroom shaving I saw a little
girl streak by the door.
Wondering why one of my
daughters was up so early I checked their bedrooms only to find all three still
in bed asleep.
The following weekend as my
wife and I walked down our new street we stopped to chat with a neighbor.
To our surprise he asked how
we liked living in a haunted house. Taken aback we didn’t reply.
Blythe, Califronia |
He then went on to explain
that before the homes were constructed in the area that our lot was where the
original farmhouse stood. It had burned down several years before.
Tragically, a little girl had
died in this fire.
He told me that several of
the neighbors just before we moved in had seen a little girl, covered in soot,
with smoke around her peering out of the dinning room’s picture window.
A year later I was offered an
editorial position closer to my wife’s family. I must admit my family and I
were relieved to move out of our haunted house.
But we still think about the small girl spirit that lingers behind.
But we still think about the small girl spirit that lingers behind.
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