by Terri Reid
“This is not cool,” the voice was now frightened instead of cheerful. “Who’s doing this?”
“Leave this place, leave this place, leave this place.” The volume increased as if more voices joined the ethereal choir. “Leave this place!”
“Dude, I’m out of here,” cried the giggler and Mary could hear his footsteps racing down the path.
“Get back here,” called the angry voice, his voice shaking. “I’m not afraid of this!”
Suddenly the woods were silent. As silent as the inside of a tomb. Mary held her breath and grabbed hold of the rock, hugging it for dear life. Then she heard the scream. It seemed to have been pulled out of the depths of the angry man and echoed through the woods.
“No, no, no,” he stammered and then she heard his footsteps racing down the path.
She lay still, hugging the stone, her breath coming out in short gasps. She didn’t know if she was safe or in even more danger.
“You can come out now,” the child’s voice was so out of place, that Mary instantly looked up.
A young girl dressed in a pinafore and print dress stood next to Mary. “My father frightened the bad men away,” the girl added. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
“Who are you?” Mary asked, releasing the stone and sitting up.
The child laughed softly and pointed down to the stone Mary had been hugging. “That’s me,” the little girl replied.
Mary looked down and gasped, realizing for the first time that she had been hugging a gravestone the entire time she’d been hiding. The moon shone down on the granite slab and she read the inscription “Fannie Schweppler, born October, 31, 1840, died April 28, 1848.”
She looked back up, but the little girl was no longer there. A chill ran down her spine and she hugged herself for a moment, not trusting her legs to hold her. I have just seen an actual ghost, she thought. Not only that, a ghost family just saved me.
The fear subsided and gratitude to its place. She put her hand back down on the granite slab. “If there is ever something I can do for you,” she whispered. “I will. I owe you.”
Finally, she stood, brushed herself off and slowly headed back down the path, listening carefully for any noises that might indicate the two men hadn’t been frightened away for good.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached Foster Avenue and then jogged the rest of the way home.
The following Monday, the noon bell had rung and Mary stood waiting once again until the crowd cleared out. She walked slowly towards the stairs and met the elderly nun once again.
“Good morning, Sister,” she said with a smile.
“How are you today, dear?” the nun asked.
Mary thought about the question for a moment.
How am I, really?
And then she realized she was fine, she was more than fine, she was great.
“I’m great,” she replied confidently. “I’m really great.”
The old nun chuckled and nodded slowly. ““It’s always a good day when you get to meet a friend. Fannie sends her regards. Have a good lunch, dear.”
“Thank you, Sister,” Mary responded automatically, stepped forward and then stopped.
Fannie!
She turned quickly. “Sister how did you—”
No one was behind her. She ran back into the hall, peeking through the doors in the classrooms closest to where they had been standing. No one was there either. She started to run back down the hall, but stopped and shook her head. She knew the elderly sister would not be in any of the classrooms or anywhere in the school.
“It is always a good day when you really get to meet a friend,” she whispered and then shivered a little when she heard the sound of the elderly nun’s laughter echo softly in the hall.
Epilogue
“I never liked that Janice Heppner,” Margaret said determinedly, “always just a little too full of herself.” She looked over at her daughter. “I wish I had known how those girls treated you.”
Mary smiled and rolled her eyes. “Mom, that was over ten years ago, I’ve recovered, believe me,” she said. “Besides, it was one of the coolest nights of my life. I mean, how often does a person actually get to see and talk to a ghost?”
“Well, I don’t like the fact that you put your life at risk, going to that cemetery in the middle of the night,” Timothy grumbled. “Why if I had known—”
“Sorry, Da, but Ma’s given me a free pass on this one,” Mary replied. “You can’t give me a hard time about it.”
“You never told us,” Sean said. “You kept that story to yourself all these years. Why?”
Shrugging, Mary studied the flame in the jack o’lantern for a moment and then turned to her brother. “I don’t know,” she said. “Partly, I guess because I figured I’d get in trouble if I told.” She sent an unrepentant grin to her father. “And partly because it was such a cool experience, I didn’t know if just telling the story could do it justice.”
“Did you ever see the nun again?” Timothy asked.
Mary shook her head. “No, after that I never did,” she said. “And I actually missed her. I always felt like she was looking out for me.”
“I suppose she knew you didn’t need to be watched over any longer,” Margaret said. “Or maybe you just didn’t need to see her any longer.”
“What do you mean, Ma?” Art asked.
“Well, just because we can’t see them, doesn’t mean that ghosts aren’t around,” she replied.
Tom chortled, popping some candy into his mouth. “Yeah, like there are ghosts here in this room, right now,” he scoffed.
Margaret shrugged. “Could be,” she said. “You never know.”
“Okay,” Tom said, standing up and slowly turning around the room. “If there’s a ghost in this house let your presence be known.”
Suddenly the candle in the jack o’lantern went out and the room was plunged into darkness.
“That was just a weird coincidence, right?” Tom asked, his voice shaking slightly.
Margaret laughed. “Could be,” she whispered. “You never know.”
The End
Author’s notes:
I have always loved ghost stories and I hope you enjoyed these five, created just for the O’Reilly family and shared with you. As in most fiction, some of the information in the stories is based in fact. The old City Cemetery did indeed sit where Lincoln Park now resides and there are still bodies buried underneath the ground. There is a lost cemetery in LaBagh Woods on the northwest side of the city near Montrose Cemetery.
The story about the orphanage came to me when I listened to Kurt Bestor’s song, “Prayer Of The Children.” It is hauntingly beautiful and was written by Kurt out of frustration over the horrendous civil war and ethnic cleansing taking place in the former country of Yugoslavia. And although those children were topmost in his mind when he wrote it, when we listen to it today we can, unfortunately, see so many more children throughout the world in the same situation as those during the Kosovo War.
It’s often hard when we watch our children dressed as ghosts, princesses and superheroes safely walk through local neighborhoods and enjoy trick-or-treating, to remember that other children aren’t so lucky. I strongly urge you to take a moment and listen to “Prayer of the Children.” And whether your mind is turned to children in your own country who are in harm’s way or children throughout the globe that suffer the ravages of war, disease or hunger, I hope that we can all take a moment and, at the very least, say a prayer for the children.
Thank you,
Terri Reid
About the author: Terri Reid lives near Freeport, the home of her Mary O’Reilly Mystery Series. She has always loved a good story. She lives in a hundred year-old farmhouse complete with its own ghost. She loves hearing from her readers at [email protected]
Other Books by Terri Reid:
Mary O’Reilly Paranormal Mystery Series:
Loose Ends (Book One)
Good
Tidings (Book Two)
Never Forgotten (Book Three)
Final Call (Book Four)
Darkness Exposed (Book Five)
Natural Reaction (Book Six)
Secret Hollows (Book Seven)
Broken Promises (Book Eight)
Twisted Paths (Book Nine)
Veiled Passages (Book Ten)
Bumpy Roads (Book Eleven)
Treasured Legacies (Book Twelve)
Buried Innocence (Book Thirteen)
Mary O’Reilly Short Stories
Irish Mists – Sean’s Story
The Three Wise Guides
PRCD Case Files:
The Ghosts Of New Orleans -A Paranormal Research and Containment Division Case File
Eochaidh:
Legend of the Horseman (Book One)
Table of Contents
Tales Around
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Epilogue
Author’
About the author: