When I was about six or seven years old, I was afraid to go to the toilet at night in the long corridor in the house in which I lived with my parents and a sister who was three years older. Each time I would stand for a while in the doorway of the room and cross my legs. I desperately needed to pee, but I was gripped by dread. A ghost chased me down the hall night after night!
I turned about twice the first time I met him, from then on I just sprinted, hands over my eyes. Three, two, one, now! I set off at lightning speed, sizzling with fear on the way. I tried to get rid of what was left in my bladder on the toilet. A shadow in a long torn black dress, with wide eyes and disheveled hair, was still standing outside the door, occasionally the floor creaked or a soft crunch could be heard. It was like this every night.
I always tried not to drink anything from the afternoon to prevent the nightmare, but my hyperactive bladder had a different opinion. Later I found that the only place where I feel good and safe is my mother’s bed. But my mother always escorted me to the children’s room, saying that it was just a dream. “Ghosts they don’t exist, and if you do see one, be positive and talk to them. Feel free to ask him to leave,” she said. At rest? And how is it going? I didn’t try it and I didn’t show anything in front of my sister, she would have laughed at me.
We found dad’s old photos
Years passed and I tried to suppress these events. I don’t remember when the symptom stopped haunting me, but its legacy left traces not only on my soul. Ten years ago, my sister and I buried our mother, half a year ago our father. While cleaning his house, which was to be sold, I got my hands on a paper box with black and white photographs of several men and women.
We looked them over, but none were familiar to us. The stingy father, such a loner and morose, kept the family history and family tree to himself, in fact it wasn’t even clear if any of our uncles or aunts, grandmothers, grandfathers were in the photos…
Old photos reveal a terrifying secret
Suddenly, I came upon the image of a smaller lady in a long black dress, with disheveled hair and a terrifying expression. My blood wouldn’t boil. My sister was walking by, and she immediately turned pale. “Honey, put it away! Put it away!” she screamed in horror. “That is her!”
“Who?” I asked. “This symptom chased me down the hall at night as a child a girl! I still have nightmares about her!” as my sister recounted. We burned the photo together, but before that we learned from the other side that it was probably our father’s mother, that is, our grandmother. Had she been waiting for him the whole time? And why did you choose us? I can’t answer this.
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The text was prepared based on a true story, the photo is for illustration only. Do you have a similar experience? Trust us with your story, write to [email protected].
Queen of Czech detective stories Michaela Klevisová: I started writing at the age of 4 under the pressure of my parents