Witches, Ghosts and Other Haunts Vol. 2

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖔𝖞

     As Phoebe was getting ready to leave, she thought she heard someone whisper her name. She looked around, but saw no one. "Is anyone there?" she called out. Then suddenly, the little room with the newspaper computer filled with an echoing scream.

     "Mommy! Daddy! Help me!" it cried and Phoebe was sickened. She knew who it had to be. She turned and ran for the door but stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the boy engulfed in flames, the flesh searing off of his skin. Phoebe closed her eyes. Why is this happening? she asked herself. Then the screaming ceased, as suddenly as it had come. Phoebe opened her eyes. No one was there.

     That afternoon, Phoebe asked her mother if she could spend the following night at a friend's house. Her mother told her it would be fine. Only Phoebe knew where she was really going. Phoebe had decided that the only way to find out if the rumors were true was to spend the night in the house.

     She realized, with some dismay that she would have to walk the whole way to the old house. If she were to take Ginger, it would look suspicious because none of her friends owned horses. She was too determined though, to back out over a hike.

     The next day, she set out for the house around eleven o'clock in the morning. She made up an excuse about how she was needed early for the sleepover to help set up everything for the other guests. Then she went out of the door with a blanket, a flashlight, and some candle stubs with matches. A block away, outside of a small general store, she picked up her book bag, which contained some food. She had hidden it there the night before so her mother wouldn't ask why she had packed food. After making sure she had everything she would need, she began the long trek through the woods to the house.

     She arrived early in the afternoon, sometime around three o'clock. The door was locked when she turned the handle, so she went around the house trying to find a way in. When she turned the corner to the back of the house, she gasped in surprise. There was the same young boy standing in front of her. She was about to ask who he was but he ran to the storm doors of the basement and ducked inside.

     Phoebe called out, but he didn't seem to hear. Well, she thought. At least I found my way in. She descended the steps into gloomy darkness. She turned on the flashlight just in time to see a small trapdoor bang shut. She walked over to it and opened it to discover a tunnel just big enough for her to crawl through. She went through the tunnel, which twisted in all sorts of directions. Phoebe had no concept of how much time had passed. She was just glad that the tunnel didn't fork in different directions at once.

     When she emerged, she found herself in a decorative well, no higher than she was. She saw that she was in the courtyard of a very old school. There were very old wooden pieces of playground equipment. Suddenly, she heard voices. She turned in all directions, but nobody was there. She turned back to see a group of young children playing on the equipment, which now looked brand new. The girls wore dresses and the boys wore their finest clothing. There was suddenly a commotion over by the swings. "You'll be sorry if you don't take that back!" screamed a boy in rage. Two others were gathered nearby, looking ready to pounce upon the smallest boy who had insulted their friend in some way. Phoebe realized that the small boy was the same boy she had seen engulfed in flames and, just moments ago, running into the basement of the house.

     A fight had broken out and the three boys began to beat and kick the smaller boy. One of the girls began crying. A woman ran from the school and pulled the boys apart. The three boys were taken away with their leader shouting, "You'll be sorry! Your whole family will be sorry!" Their young victim was taken to a bathroom for washing. Then everyone disappeared.

     Phoebe stood in shock wondering if she had really seen what she thought she had seen. From somewhere behind her came the sound of laughter. She looked, and there was the boy (who Phoebe could only guess was Patrick) looking as if nothing had happened. There was no blood on his face and his clothes were immaculately clean. He disappeared into the shadows of the trees. "Wait," Phoebe called, but he was off and she began chasing him again.

     She was led by glimpses of a white shirt here, a bobbing head of chocolate brown hair there, down a path. The path led back to Patrick's house. The boy ran inside and Phoebe followed him through the front door, not even realizing that it had unlocked on its own.

     She was standing in an entrance hall. Voices could be heard from somewhere off to the left. She followed the sound to an old-fashioned sitting room. Phoebe hadn't realized how big the farmhouse really was. There was a man and woman in their early thirties sitting on a sofa. The boy stood in front of them, his face bandaged, his head down, shamefully.

     "Patrick, I just don't know what we are going to do with you. I know those boys give you trouble, but you have to stand up and be the bigger man. That means absolutely no fighting!" declared the man, Patrick's father.
     "Your father is right, Patrick. What kind of example do you think you are setting for your younger sister?" asked the woman, indicating a small baby, no more than a few months old. "If Phoebe were older, she'd be following in your footsteps by now. How do you think that would make our family look?"

     Suddenly, the people disappeared. The night had passed and Phoebe found herself alone in the sitting room, the furniture covered in white sheets. She ran from the house and hiked back into town.

     The next day was a Saturday. Phoebe decided it was time to go back to the library. There was something she didn't like about that baby being named Phoebe. At the library, she continued reading the newspaper article she had found about the fire. Near the end, it spoke of a baby girl who miraculously escaped the flames. She didn't have a single burn on her body. She had been found in a small dirt passage in the basement. Nobody knew how she had gotten there. Phoebe continued to look through the newspaper reels. A few years later, in the newspapers, she discovered an equally interesting article:

Second Tragedy in Middleton Within a Year

     Almost eleven years ago, Patrick Jarrett was slain in his own home. There was no evidence of who had done it. Police only knew that the fire that claimed the young boy's life was deliberate. After the Jarrett home was rebuilt, Patricia and Timothy Jarrett moved back in with their little girl, Phoebe. Just last week, young Phoebe disappeared. Police have been unable to locate the child. The search was called off earlier this morning when a piece of her clothing was found in the woods. She is presumed to be dead.

     Phoebe glanced at the date. It was November 6, 1892. Below the article was a picture of the little girl. Phoebe almost fell out of her chair when she saw it. She was staring at herself! Phoebe was stunned, but she knew what she had to do.

     That night, Phoebe asked to spend the night at her friend's house again. She really went out to the house again on Ginger, using the excuse that her friend wanted to see Ginger and ride her. Phoebe wasn't sure what to expect. She opened the front door and heard a woman weeping. She followed the sound up the stairs to the bedroom of a small girl. The woman was sitting on the fairy tale bed. The man was holding her as she sobbed, looking as if he wished he were the one who was weeping. Suddenly, the woman looked up at Phoebe. "Phoebe!" she cried. "After all these years, you've come home!" Phoebe's eyes went wide and she ran from the room.

     The next day, Mrs. Thatcher went to pick Phoebe up at her friend's house. "Where's Phoebe, Cait?" she asked the girl who opened the door. The girl broke down in tears.
     "I don't know, Mrs. Thatcher. She went to an old farmhouse in the woods. She said something about it being haunted! She was supposed to be back here early in the morning. She never came back, Mrs. Thatcher. She never came back!" A look of worry crossed Mrs. Thatcher's face. She decided to go and find the house. She called the police and they took her to the old house.

     Inside, Phoebe was trapped in the sitting room. The young boy had joined the Jarretts. Phoebe was glad when she saw the police drive up along with her mother. She ran to the front door and threw it open. "Phoebe, no!" shrieked Mrs. Jarrett. Phoebe ran to her mother to embrace her. As she reached out, her body passed right through that of her mother's. "We tried to warn you. They can't see you or hear you. You have been reborn over and over. But you finally found your way home. Come with us. You're where you belong now," said Mrs. Jarrett, a look of absolute joy coming into her face.

     Phoebe took one last look as the police and her mother drove away. Then she stepped through the doorway of her long forgotten home and disappeared into the darkness.