Creepy Stories

Auntie Pearl

 When I was young, around four or five years old, I had this aunt who would visit occasionally. At least, I believe she was my aunt, we never really discussed how she was related to me.

She always sat on the old plaid red lazy boy chair that sat in the living room, knitting away at something that seemed, again, I never paid much attention to some details. She was sickly pale, and very thin, the wisps of pure white hair on top of her hair curled.

I was pretty confused by her, especially since my parents never really paid attention to her, though I am scared to ask my cousins if they remember her.

She would always tell us stories, my favorite being one of how my mother, as a child, had taken an early version of a self while messing around with a polaroid.

She was nice, while she wasn't exactly warm, always seeming to be almost a blank distance in her mind, she always took time to talk to us. It was always fun to here her stories, though I don't remember them much anymore.

I would always sit at the foot of the chair, though we no longer have it, as we got rid of it when we moved across state, for hours on end, just listening.

I recently brought it up with my mother, though apparently I used to talk about her as a child as well, and my mother gave me a confused look. I tried to explain about her in detail, bringing up the fact that she was knitting, and retelling some of the stories I had been told.

Not long after I had did we go visit my mother's side of the family, they live pretty far away so it is not typical to get to see them very often. When we got there I was told ery strictly not to discuss her, which I had found odd, but went along with it.

Later in the day we were going through old photo albums, my mother and I going off as my father, grandfather, and uncle sat in the other room, watching my two younger siblings.

My mom brought over a picture to me, showing me the person I used to talk to as a child. She questioned me on weather or not that was her, and I confirmed that it was.

Through this I learned that apparently this was my aunt, who had died fifteen years before I was born, which is even odder as I started to talk about her again around my fifteenth birthday.

All the stories she told me as a child were things that really happened, things, that according to my mother, I should have no idea about. She had died from cancer, and showed up a little after my grandmother had done the same.

I'm not allowed to talk about her anymore, nor am I allowed to talk about my childhood imaginary friend, Joshua, who is apparently another family member, though he died after I had met him. Though his death shall not be discussed.

I no longer feel like I should discuss the others, I'm scared that they may be what the other two were. Of course, none of them had malicious intent, they were always very kind. However, I have already freaked myself out enough, so I shall leave it at those two.