Horror Stories

The Limping Woman

“It's not magic, it just reminds her of her own mother and she gets distracted by her grief and leaves you alone.”

“Ok, ok,” I said, hoping that that would be enough to put an end to the topic. It was an argument neither of us would win and I didn't feel like getting into it (again) over whether or not a ghost was real.

At fifteen, it was starting to feel silly.

Stefi, however, wasn't going to let me off so easily. “They say she remains because they got the wrong guy and she's angry about it. Like, everyone knew it, but no one cared because they wanted to blame someone. Don't you feel at least a little bad for her? She's still waiting for justice after all this time.”

“Stefi-”

“She only goes after people who don't believe in her, you know.”

I didn't like the way Stefi said that, like she had an idea forming that I wouldn't approve of, and I shook my head.

“Whatever it is, no.”

“We could go out there, out to the spot she haunts.”

“No, don't be dumb,” I said.

“You don't believe anyway, so what's the big deal?”

“I've walked past there a lot, ok? Nothing's ever happened.”

“Have you gone after dark?” Stefi had started to smile.

“No, but so what?”

“That's when she's active; going in the day doesn't count.”

“This is dumb,” I said again.

“We'll go tonight!”

Every argument I had was met with questions of whether I was too afraid and Stefi mocking me for being chicken. She kept it up for the rest of lunch, through our shared science class, and then passed me notes in the halls between classes after that. By the time the final bell rang, she had worn me down.

“But not because I believe she's there,” I made sure she knew. “I'm just going so you shut up.”

The sun set just after five that evening. At seven, we met up on our bikes in front of my neighborhood. Her parents thought she was doing a project at mine, mine thought I was at her’s, and we had two hours to ride out to the farm where the Limping Woman was said to haunt and get back before they started trading phone calls.

We peddled hard and fast, leaving behind the glow from windows and streetlamps until darkness swallowed up the world around us. With only moonlight to guide us, we wove our way across town and passed into the outskirts, where the insects were louder, the stars brighter, and the safety that came from feeling like you were surrounded by other people fell away.

It was hard not feel entirely exposed out on that old road, where flat fields rolled off into the distance on either side. There was the occasional barn or farmhouse set a ways off down long, dusty drives, but otherwise, it really was just us and our bikes and the night.

“Up ahead,” Stefi said from behind me, “see the cross? That's the marker for her.”

We skid to a stop a few yards away from it and exchanged a glance almost lost in the shadows.

“Scared?” She asked, breathless with excitement.

“No,” I said. It was an honest enough answer. I was nervous, sure, but who wouldn't be when you're outside after dark?

“Remember, if you turn around, she gets you. If you try to run, she makes it worse. Just stand still when she's close by and say the words.”

Stefi spoke so seriously that I had to stifle a giggle. It was ridiculous! I kept trying to tell that to all the butterflies stirring in my stomach, but it didn't do much good.