When I was little, my parents and I used to spent our vacations, in a very old stone house, built according to the Moorish architecture recognizable by its patio (a paved outdoor area adjoining a house) located in the middle of the house, Most often square or rectangular , with a peripheral distribution of living rooms and bedrooms, on the ground floor as on the first floor. This house was given to us by my dad’s company and located near the beach.
It was the home of my childhood where I spent every summer and school holidays when the school was closed. Tall and full of dark corners, it had the threatening dignity of old houses with an atmosphere thickened by the chain of family stories collected over several generations. At night we could almost hear the walls whispering to each other, recounting the past dramas.
It was also very impressive because of the grim noises that produced its woodwork, after the heat of the day had given way to the freshness of the night and the gray and milky light of the moon invaded the patio, casting the shadows on the ground oversized windows with wrought iron gates.
My father told me that the first owners of this house, those who had built it, were a family of three: Father, mother and a little girl who must have been my age. The father was a kind of research chemist who worked mainly at home in a laboratory room specially designed for this purpose.
Some time after this family had moved into this house, a terrible drama occurred: One summer evening, the fire had tripped accidentally and quickly spread to the whole house, burning the mother and the little girl. The father, who was out that night, had come home just to see the firemen finish extinguishing the lingering sparks, and the two bodies lying side by side on the bitumen covered with the white cloth of death.
He became mad with sorrow, because he had understood that the fire could only come from his laboratory, he shot himself in the head.
The first time I heard this story I thought it was developed by my father who just wanted to scare me because I had a bad habit of play with matches.
The following events gave me wrong, terribly wrong!
This story took place during a summer, when I was seven or eight years old, during which it was so hot and dry that you had to rehydrate every ten minutes. To avoid catching fainting, as my mother said!
Even at the edge of the beach, the body half buried in the sand engorged with water at the place of the surf, it was still necessary to rehydrate!
During bathing, my mother forced me to wear a cap always wet and to drink liters of water. Water that I rejected immediately and naturally in the sea, being careful to immerse the body to the waist, so as not to arouse the doubts of other swimmers around me, or to spoil their pleasure. (just joking)
But at night I could not do the same thing in my bed. I had to get up, rush to the bathroom, often at the last minute. But mashed potatoes, what did I regret to drink so much in the day!
Because it was when I got up at night that I started hearing the noises behind me!
Terrible noises to bristle your hair even when you do not have one! I was shaking my thighs, buttocks, dots and teeth every time, the desire did not pass. It was still necessary to get out of bed and run in the darkness that scared me, with that cry of terror that resonated in my head but remained stuck in my throat!
The same scenario was repeated every night! I heard footsteps from someone running behind or beside me! I was running, the thing was running too! I stopped, she stopped! I felt my hair stand on my head as an icy wind descended on my spine!
I tried not to panic and without turning around, I rushed to the toilet squeezing my thighs to stop the leak! And there, feeling the breath of the thing run at the same time as me, my heart began to beat so much that I had the impression to hear the sound of a drum.
Tap, tap, tap, rang the footsteps behind me as I ran!
And I ran, shaking my legs and putting one foot in front of the other to stop the nonconforming flow.
Arrived at the toilet, that the stupid builder had placed on the other side of the patio, I returned at once and released my belly without really looking where, exhaling with happiness a breath long held in solidarity with my guts!
Back to the room, running almost on all fours to quickly cross the place where the noise came from. And, closing my eyes not to risk seeing her, I finally rushed under the linen sheets, covering myself from head to toe, leaving no possible opening by which the thing, which haunted our house, could be introduced and devour me as if mere sheets could stop a ghost
This was repeated almost five nights.
And then there was that night It was the last night of our stay when I got up as usual to relieve my bladder. Half asleep, I felt more carried away by my legs rather than by my own will advancing barefoot on the stone slabs that we could almost stir under the hallucinatory light of the full moon.
It was when I entered the bathroom that I saw her: a girl with an innocent face wearing a white frock sitting on the toilet, her hair tousled, a white long frock reaching her toes!
A girl ! Right here ! She is the daughter of the old owners, the one who died burned! Ahhhhhhhh !!!!
We looked at each other, then we screamed at the same time. Without understanding, I saw the expression of innocence and terror on his face and imagine the state of mine that was worse!
Then she stands up, runs on me and runs through me, running like a rocket almost horizontally towards the gate.
Mom, I shouted, I saw the ghost! This is the little girl who died burned after the accident. She is the ghost who haunts our house!
I was shouting and was just freezes on the place I were standing, suddenly some body touched my shoulder as I turned my face it was mom he asked what happened and I hugged her tightly and started weeping suddenly dad opens the light and there was nothing.
We never got back to that place again but I can not forget the face of that girl and that horrible night even after these many years.
This post is for the Supernatural Writing Contest sponsored by @jerrybanfield
@jerrybanfield
