I’m not one for imaginary friends. I was always quite well grounded, but from the ages of 6 – 10 we lived in a house – an old farm house – one from which the previous family fled.
There was something there. Many times at night we would hear footsteps on the creaky boards. Sometimes a misty figure would catch your eye. In bed at night ghostly images would tuck me into bed, but I always thought it must somehow be my mother, for what else could it be?
Apparitions entered our room at night, the room I shared with my sister, and we saw them circle the perimeter of the room, stopping every now and then to check in on us, but we never talked about it – just accepted the odd parade as a child does, not really understanding, just taking it all in and blindly believing it to be a part of life.
The girl on the swing was different. She was opaque, although still blurry. She had dark brown hair and eyes as black as black can be. Sitting, swinging, she said nothing and very rarely looked directly at me. She just rocked back and forth. Usually she was there. On one or two occasions I would go to the back yard to find her missing, but for the most part I saw her every day. She showed no fear, no emotion at all, except that I could tell she was sad – very very sad. My sister saw her too, but again we never talked about it.
In later years as adults we have talked about the house, a house which has now been knocked down, and we – my sister and I – know now that we saw the same things, dreamt the same dreams at night, and saw the ghostly figures who danced around the walls and kissed us goodnight.
Sometimes I still dream those dreams and I wake up frightened and longing for safety from the shapes and sounds which disturb my sleep. Sometimes I see the door to that bedroom, the one I feared, but had to live in, and it chills me, even though it is only a dream.
No wonder I write books such as my third or fourth book “Wake me up so I can Dream” and the last one “Unborn Essence” for the paranormal and supernatural have visited me and stay with me still.
I can still picture the girl in the back yard. I wonder if she still swings there?
Ashlee North – Author http://ashleenorthauthor.com/