The Strength Of Fire Hell Couldn't See

The Beginning

The first time I saw this happen, I was eight years old; dark gloomy ghosts covered in ragged, wrinkled, hole-filled, torn cloths with chains dangling from their necks floated by. They had no faces, just a dark hollow spot where the head should lie and they carried a bell in the left hand that must've weighed hundreds of pounds to the real world. I learned they were ghosts because of the tragedy that happened at Ole Faithful Park right beside Cherry River. Tall buildings towered the other side of the river about a quarter mile out, old, abandoned, but stilled used for businesses and city events.
I was sitting on a blanket my mother had laid on the ground for the picnic she planned for months (why it wasn't sooner I don't know). Five of the ghosts had floated by and I thought I was going insane, I wanted to say something but I didn't want to look like a fool. Eventually they had separated and started following five different people, at that point I could tell I was as white as the sheet my mother laid on the ground. In a panic, I got up and ran to my mom who was only three yards away from me asking her, "mom, do you see anything strange? Like ghosts?" She had a disappointing shake of the head and I realized I was the only one who could see this phenomena occur.