THE LITTLE GHOST MISSED CHRISTMAS
When I was about seven, our family moved to a new house. Every morning I would sit on my bottom step with my cornflakes waiting for the postman to arrive so I could beat my brother to the mail. While I was waiting, I sometimes held my cornflakes box as a steering wheel and pretended the stairs were a bus.
My brother was downstairs, my mum was in the kitchen, and my dad was away at sea. So no one was upstairs, yet I sensed someone staring at me from behind. I turned around... and there was a little girl "riding in the back of my bus," standing at the top of the stairs. I stared at her for a few seconds then stood up. Then she wandered off around the corner.
I didn't see her again for a few months. It was getting close to Christmas and we had just brought giant stockings. I laid mine on the floor ready for Christmas Eve. On Christmas morning, I awoke to see the little girl bent down at my stocking, peering inside. When I called for my mother, the little girl stood up and walked toward my bed. She got on her knees and crawled underneath the bed. I started screaming and my mum ran in. She checked under my bed and there was nothing there.
Who was this little girl? My mum decided to check it out and we asked a priest to come to our house. He blessed the upstairs and everywhere else. From this point I thought all was okay.
A few weeks passed. One day, as I went toward the back bathroom, the little girl was standing about a foot away, staring at me. She looked upset and angry. I walked back slowly and so did she (perhaps she was copying me). I ran outside and my mum went to check it out. Nothing there.
I described everything to her. She wore a frilly nightgown with a red ribbon to the side of her head. My mum went online and checked the history of the house. This girl was called Jayla Anne Misgorth. When she was six, she watched as her younger brother fell down the stairs and died. She was only looking for someone else to play with. - Kirstien G.
HOME FOR CHRISTMAS
Back in 1990, some classmates and I rented an old house from some friends in Santa Ana, California. The owners did not live there anymore, so they wanted us to take care of the place and be sure there was always someone there at night.
At Christmastime we all wanted to travel to visit family and friends. We arranged our vacations so that there was always one or two of us in that house. One night I was alone in the house. As I was getting ready for bed in my downstairs bedroom, I heard someone directly above me in the upstairs bedroom. I distinctly heard footsteps going back and forth across the room, as if going to the sink, then the dresser, then the bed. I wondered why my upstairs roommate was back from vacation a week early, but I was happy to have someone else in the house with me.
I decided to go upstairs and say hi. Then I thought, "Suppose it is not my roommate up there?" So I stayed downstairs and went to bed. The next morning I went upstairs and found my roommate's door locked! There was no answer when I knocked.
A week later my upstairs roommate returned from vacation and we shared stories and memories about our Christmas visits with family and friends. Then I told him that I had heard him upstairs that one night and wondered why he returned so early, that maybe he needed some clean clothes or wanted to water his plants or something.
He said, "No, that was not I." So... who - or what - was upstairs that night? We found out from the owners of the house that several generations of their family had lived and died in that house. I guess one of those ghosts decided to come home for Christmas! - Greg S.