I was in fourth grade at Alpine Elementary. We lived in a two-story split-level home on a corner. To the left across the street was a fire station, across from it was a park. Across the street from us was an empty lot with the park on the one side and a house on the left. On the our other side was a huge garden lot, before reaching the neighbor's house. There was a little white haired lady who lived behind us. My point in giving you the geography of my fourth grade home is to establish the fact that it was a really quiet lot with few neighbors and lots of privacy. All quiet except the crying baby.
We had two bathrooms, the one upstairs that we all waited in line to use and the one downstairs. It was cold and clammy and none of us would use it unless we were going to wet ourselves. We didn't know why, but it was creepy. I remember that we did a lot of remodeling to the house even though it was a rental. My parents got to put the cost of materials toward their rent. Maybe we upset the spirits that lived there. We weren't in the house very long though. We moved about every year and a half growing up. I think that my parents have gypsy blood. When we were moving our boxes out one night, we heard a baby cry. My little brother Matt was an infant and I was sent to check on him three or four times and every time, he was sound asleep. There were at least five members of our family that could hear the baby as we sat on the stairs. We began to move much more quickly as we continued to hear the crying.
By the light of day, as we came back to finish our moving, the house didn't seem scary at all. We somehow ended up talking to the little old lady who lived behind us and she told us about two people who had lived there before us. There were a mother and daughter who were involved with the same man without the daughter knowing about it (or perhaps both women not knowing about the man's two-timing ways). The teenage daughter became pregnant by him and when she found out that he was involved with her mother, she committed suicide in the downstairs bathroom. That creepy, cold and clammy bathroom that we all hated to use unless we had no other choice. I have no way of knowing if this story is true, if a young mother died in our house or if the bathroom was haunted by her imprisoned spirit. All I know is that we heard a baby cry, a distant needful cry that would not be quieted. Do I believe in haunted houses? I don't know what to believe.
I know that all of this spooky talk has made me have to go use the bathroom, and that I am a little afraid of what I will find!
We had two bathrooms, the one upstairs that we all waited in line to use and the one downstairs. It was cold and clammy and none of us would use it unless we were going to wet ourselves. We didn't know why, but it was creepy. I remember that we did a lot of remodeling to the house even though it was a rental. My parents got to put the cost of materials toward their rent. Maybe we upset the spirits that lived there. We weren't in the house very long though. We moved about every year and a half growing up. I think that my parents have gypsy blood. When we were moving our boxes out one night, we heard a baby cry. My little brother Matt was an infant and I was sent to check on him three or four times and every time, he was sound asleep. There were at least five members of our family that could hear the baby as we sat on the stairs. We began to move much more quickly as we continued to hear the crying.
By the light of day, as we came back to finish our moving, the house didn't seem scary at all. We somehow ended up talking to the little old lady who lived behind us and she told us about two people who had lived there before us. There were a mother and daughter who were involved with the same man without the daughter knowing about it (or perhaps both women not knowing about the man's two-timing ways). The teenage daughter became pregnant by him and when she found out that he was involved with her mother, she committed suicide in the downstairs bathroom. That creepy, cold and clammy bathroom that we all hated to use unless we had no other choice. I have no way of knowing if this story is true, if a young mother died in our house or if the bathroom was haunted by her imprisoned spirit. All I know is that we heard a baby cry, a distant needful cry that would not be quieted. Do I believe in haunted houses? I don't know what to believe.
I know that all of this spooky talk has made me have to go use the bathroom, and that I am a little afraid of what I will find!
(When I find the photo of the actual house, I will add it. If someone had died in our house, then she would likely be buried at the cemetary in the picture).
I think we drove by this house and took a picture while we were in Utah this summer. I don't remember a cemetery though. I'll try to find it and forward it to you.
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