LOST and FOUND
We helped put our spirit to rest by reuniting her with a long-lost possession. By Charlotte Page, 27
Like most kids, my brother, sister and I were always getting told off for things we hadn’t done.
‘Go back to bed!’ Mum boomed up the stairs, as me, Chloe and Oliver lay listening to the little feet thundering across the landing. You could hear a softer set, followed by two heavier sets as though there were three kids playing chase. It sounded like us – but it wasn’t!
It was no use arguing though. Our mum, Stephanie, never believed us.
Weird stuff had always happened in our house in Duston, Northampton.
Doors would slam and the stairgate, which kept our dog, Floyd, downstairs, would vibrate as though someone had gone over it.
Yet nobody ever spoke about it. That, however, all changed when I was 13.
Everyone was out and I was about to go upstairs to fetch my laptop when I froze. A little girl was standing, staring at me, from the top of the stairs. Dressed in a white and red pinafore, with matching bow in her hair, she was holding a small, white plimsoll in her hands.
Right away, I knew she wasn’t real, but I wasn’t scared, just intrigued.
‘Who are you?’ I was about to ask, when a car door slamming outside distracted me. When I looked back, she was gone.
I told Mum what had happened and she ushered me upstairs. Pulling a box from the cupboard she popped off the lid and I noticed a photo tucked alongside an old shoe – the plimsoll I’d seen the little ghost girl holding.
‘Is this who you saw?’ Mum asked, showing me a faded photo of an old couple posing on a sandbank next to a little girl in a pinafore dress.
I nodded, speechless.
‘Well then, you’ve met Alicia,’ she said.
After all these years of pretending our ghosts didn’t exist, here was proof Mum believed all along! She had even named the other two ghosts Tommy and George.
Mum told me she and Dad had found the photo and plimsoll in the loft when they’d moved in. But worried that talking about the ghosts would only encourage more weirdness, they’d ignored them.
Did it mean the little girl and boys had once lived in our house?
After that, whenever something happened, we’d try to carry on as though it hadn’t happened. But as much as I tried
to follow Mum’s advice, I felt guilty for ignoring them.
One night, when I woke to see Alicia, I tried to talk to her, but got no answer.
After that, things seemed to go quiet, save for the odd bang or shuffle.
We moved in October 2011, but not before Mum buried the plimsoll in the garden hoping our little ‘send off’ would help bring Alicia’s spirit peace, having reunited her with her lost shoe.