Mary Had a Little Lamb

How even seasoned mediums could still be freaked out.

In 2007, after my divorce was finalized, I moved the kids and me into a four bedroom rental house. An older home built in 1969, it was the perfect place for us to get on our feet as we started this new chapter of our lives.

Along with our new digs, we got a ghost girl. No biggie, since the boy and I were both sensitive, and she wasn’t a pain. Well, not completely true.

She couldn’t have been more than 7 or 8, dressed in seventies clothing that reminded me of pictures of me when I was little and in the 70s. She never seemed to have ill-intent, and oddly enough, she was never sad that I saw in the two years we lived there.

But she loved to open and close doors. Especially if I was alone, like when the kids were with their dad, and I was carrying anything into the house or from one room to the next. There were a lot of times when I was alone and just sitting in one room, where she’d open and close doors in the back of the house. All I had to do was ask her to stop, and she would for a few weeks.

She was also rather fond of tugging on the hems of my shirts when I was on the phone, just like a living kid. Or sitting on my bed when I was sleeping. Kind of creepy, the whole dead-person-watching-me-sleep thing, but hey, she was a kid, she was dead and she was tied to the house or land.

But the giggling.

Few things raise the hairs on the back of my neck than a child giggling when either both of my kids are asleep or gone. If they were home, I’d walk down the hall to check on them, and the giggling would happen behind me while I stood at their doors.

When I thought I’d reached my spooked out threshold, she raised the bar.

At 2am one Thursday morning, I wake up freezing. Trying to negotiate my blankets, I hear the softest feminine voice outside my bedroom door singing:

♫♪Mary had a little lamb, little lamb♪♫

“Cameron, go back to bed.”

While the subsequent giggle faded as if moving away, there were no footsteps. Mothers have sonic hearing. I should’ve heard footsteps. Instead I heard just outside the doorway again:

♫♪Mary had a little lamb.
It’s fleece was white as snow

I sat up, waiting, but she’d paused, like she wanted to be sure I was awake and aware.

♫♪And everywhere that Mary went…Mary…went…Mary…went♪♫

♫♪The lamb was sure…♪♫

She giggled, and maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was that icy dripping fear traveling down my spine, but for the first time since we’d moved in, she sounded a touch sinister.

“To go,” she whispered, and I saw shadows beneath the crack of the door, like fingers reaching in.

And in my biggest voice, I replied, “You can stop now! I have to go to work in the morning!”

She laughed, a full-bellied laugh, that faded into the early morning darkness.

Connie: 0 Ghost Girl: 1

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