I live just outside Louisville, Kentucky, and I've been living in the same house for three years, so this happened around the summer of 2006. When my family moved in, we were warned that there had been deaths on the property: four children, ages 6 to 12, two girls and two boys, who had died during the tuberculosis (TB) epidemic. However, there had never really been any heavy activity, so we didn't think anything of it.
During the summer, a few days after my birthday, some friends and I decided to visit the children's headstones late at night. They were farther back on our property in the woods, so it was really dark and spooky when we got there. We joked and goofed around, daring each other to get closer to them, but we were all pretty freaked out.
Finally, one of my friends (I'll call her Jess) went up to one of the headstones to read the name. She told us that the name was too faded to read, but tried anyway. "Edward..." she said, "Or maybe Edmund...."
"It's Edmund!" shouted someone behind us. We all screamed and turned to see no one. It was very quiet and none of us could figure out where the voice had come from. The voice had sounded like a boy's and I knew it couldn't have been my little brother because his voice would've broken (cusp of adulthood and all), plus he was sleeping over at a friend's.
We tried to shrug it off, but most of my friends wanted to go back to the house. Jess, however, wanted to stay behind and I didn't want to leave her, so they left us behind. We looked at the rest of the headstones and found out the rest of the children's names: Mary, Gregory and Alice.
We decided to head back to the house. Jess was walking in front of me and she kept swatting at the back of her shirt, until she turned around and yelled at me to stop pulling her shirt. I swore I hadn't done it and we kept walking. Finally, we could see the house and picked up the pace a bit. Jess was already crossing the yard by the time I'd reached the edge of the woods. Then I felt a small hand grab mine and a voice whisper, "Don't go yet."
By then I'd had enough. I sprinted to the house, threw open the door ran all the way to my room and hid under my covers for the rest of the night. I couldn't tell my friends what had happened until the next morning. I have never visited the children's graves since.