Awaken Spirit (A digital Short) (2 page)

I took Jim a cup of hot tea and collected up enough courage to tell him about my strange evening, and all the oddities I had encountered.

“Barbara, who is this little girl, Laura, that Katie is talking about?”

I began to tell him the events. To my surprise, he had a story of his own. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I decided to go downstairs and make myself a cup of tea. I heard the sound of a small child laughing, coming from within the kitchen, and it wasn’t Katie’s laugh. When I entered the room the sound faded in the distance. If that wasn’t bad enough, I noticed the back door was standing wide open, what I saw next made my skin crawl. A little girl in a nightgown with blond hair, about the size of our Katie, was slowly walking back into the field behind the house. “Oh Jim, you’re really scaring me now!” I tell you Barbara; I don’t think I’ve ever been as frightened as I was that moment. Anyway, I followed behind her for a short distance, and then she just disappeared in front of my eyes. I wanted to tell you about it, but I didn’t know how without sounding crazy. After what I experienced and after hearing what happened to you, I’m beginning to think there’s something really unnatural going on here!”

We made the decision to go the following day and find out as much as we could about the history of our home.

We settled down and went to sleep for the night. At 3:00 a.m. I awoke, with excruciating pain shooting through my abdomen. I gripped the bed sheets as pain caused me to convulse. Slowly twisting myself off the bed and onto my feet, I tried to stand. My gown clung to my skin, as water gushed down both legs. My water had broken. Time... The feeling of immediacy gripped me. For a moment, I couldn’t focus on anything except that. The baby was not due for another three weeks, but now it had decided to make an early appearance. My efforts to leave the bed must have stirred him; Jim rounded the bed and took me in his arms trying his best to comfort me. With no time to pack, I put on my robe and Jim helped me down the hallway. I quickly realized I could not go any further. This baby pressed down on me with a vicious urgency. It would not wait. I felt the fear return.

Laying me on my back gently on the carpet, he placed a pillow under my head and called 911. After the third push, I blacked out for a moment. I woke moments later to the sweet sound of my precious new baby girl. In my weakened state, I barely registered the events as they unfolded, until the cold florescent lights of the hospital foyer lit my baby in different light. I realized I had barely taken my eyes off her.

My doctor worked on call at the hospital and by luck happened to be on duty when we arrived. After examining us, he gave us a clean bill of health. All the other crazy experiences drifted away into the dark recesses of our subconscious, to be forgotten… for a while at least...

Katie could not believe she had a new baby sister. She just kept stroking her tiny hands and kissing her cheek. Our friends from the city came in dribs and drabs bringing gifts for all of us. It seemed the phone would never stop ringing. One of the calls came as quite a surprise. James Masterson, the prior owner of our new home wanted to come by and congratulate us. We had only spoken a few times during the process of acquiring the house. He insisted he did not want to intrude, but would love to visit. We told him he was more than welcome. After all, this house had been in his family for years.

He arrived, as the winds changed, and the rain clattered down. We supplied him with his choice of beverage, and tried to make him feel as welcome as possible. With black coffee in hand, he told us how he had been compelled to explain a little bit about the history of our home.

“What I’m about to tell you may upset you; I haven’t been completely honest with the both of you, regarding the history of this house. My great, great grandfather built this house with his own hands back in the 1800s. He and my great, great grandmother, Elizabeth Masterson met when they were just children. They farmed this land together and raised a rather large family, seven children to be exact. Then, late in life, Elizabeth became unexpectedly pregnant again. Fragile and weak the pregnancy almost took her life.” Taking a moment, he wiped away the tears and continued to explain. “On Nov 15
^th
1892 Laura Elizabeth Masterson came into this world, exactly a hundred year’s ago today.”

“Would you like to take a moment Mr. Masterson, we can see that you’re visibly upset? “No mam, I just wish I’d been honest with you folks from the beginning.” James and I could not have been prepared for what we were about to learn.

Collecting his thoughts, taking a deep breath, exhaling, he continued, “The records show that when Laura was about five years old, she and her mother were playing hide and seek when fun turned into tragedy. It appeared that Laura, trying to hide from her mother, climbed the old oak tree. Laura, not realizing the tree limb was weak, fell when it cracked, sending her to her death.” Sure, of the answer, fighting back the tears I asked Mr. Masterson, “Where exactly was this precious child buried?” Nervous, he began tapping one foot against the floor. “Out back, on your farm, mam. However, a year later a great flood washed away and destroyed any sign of her grave. Up until you folks, every renter I had complained of hearing strange noises, seeing apparitions. I myself don’t believe in such things, but like I said, I felt compelled to inform you. If you’re both uncomfortable with the situation, I will gladly let you out of your contract, refund your money.”

After a long period of silence and wiping away the tears, we declined. This is where most people would think we were crazy
.
Why would anybody want to live in a house they thought to be haunted,
especially when they had witnessed strange events themselves? It was all perfectly clear. This precious little girl had lost her life in a terrible untimely accident, only to have her grave desecrated sadly by a flood. Grief stricken, her family had left her behind. For this reason her little soul had been destined to stay with the farm. All she needed was a family to love and accept her presence until her soul could be released. As crazy as it sounded, that is exactly what we intended to do.

For the next five years we would see her from time to time usually playing out in the field or hiding in the old oak tree out back, never showing any malice but always making her presence known. Then one day as quick as she appeared she was gone. We believe her soul finally found peace and was free to move on.

With the most love and affection we watch our girls, as they play freely on our farm. Katie is now ten and Laura five. Yes, we named our youngest after Laura to pay homage to the little soul that had been lost, but never forgotten.

Copyright 2012, Barbara Watkins

Barbara Watkins resides in Missouri with her husband of thirty-three years, and her faithful, loving, boxweiler pup named ‘Hooch.’

At an early age, she experienced what she referred to as – supernatural phenomenon, As a teenager she kept a diary in which she documented several of her disturbing nightmares, in which she would ultimately incorporate into several of her writings.

In her writings, she loves to evoke a false sense of security and expectations as she leads her reader into a world of the unknown.

Her articles on various subjects, short stories, and poetry, have appeared in The Heartland Writers Guild, 2008 New York Skyline Review, and several on-line publications.

Cold Coffee Magazine accepted her article,
A Testament To Poets,
for their second issue released in print and is available online at Cold Coffee Magazine.

She has done book reviews for Atlantic Publishing, and is currently a full time book reviewer for Bookpleasures.com and Allbooks Review.

Barbara Watkins is a member of The Heartland Writers Guild in Missouri, The Thriller Writers Association, and The National Writers Association. Her charitable contributions include supporting the Partner in Hope program through the St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.

Publications:
Behind the Red Door
–
Thorns of an Innocent Soul
–
Hollowing Screams.

Copyright 2012, Barbara Watkins