So, while I was at home, I heard a knock at the door. Opening it, I saw a little girl standing there, shivering and soaked from the rain, tears streaming down her face. She was clearly scared and needed help.
“Hi, this is my mom’s house. Can you get her for me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Sweetie, you’ve got it mixed up,” I said gently, trying to calm her down. “Your mom isn’t here…”
“No, that can’t be!” she sobbed, her desperation growing. “Dad says she’s gone too, but that’s just not possible! This is her house!! WHERE’S MY MOMMY?!”
Man, I was so lost. I didn’t know what to do. “Come inside, honey. Let’s get you some cookies and try to figure this out,” I said, inviting her in. She hesitated but then stepped inside, her little shoulders still shaking with sobs.
I went to the kitchen to get some cookies and milk, thinking about how to contact her parents or the authorities.
When I came back, the living room was empty. The girl was gone. She had vanished into thin air. I checked every room, every corner, but she was nowhere to be found. I even ran outside, calling out for her, but there was no trace.
I spent the rest of the night uneasy, wondering if I had imagined the whole thing. But the next day, I opened the door and saw her again. This time, she looked even more distressed, her eyes wide with fear.
“Oh God,” I muttered under my breath. “This kid…”
“Please, help me find my mommy,” she pleaded. “I know she’s here. She has to be here.”
I took a deep breath, and I was determined to get to the bottom of this. “Come in,” I said again, but this time I didn’t leave her side. “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to keep her calm.
“Emily,” she whispered.
“Emily, I’m going to help you, okay? But I need you to stay here with me.”
I picked up my phone to call the local police, explaining the situation as best as I could. When the officers arrived, they took my statement and searched the house, but just like before, Emily was gone. They assured me they would look into it and left, leaving me with more questions than answers.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Emily and her desperate search for her mother.
The next morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I found a note slipped under my door. It was written in a child’s handwriting.
“Thank you for trying to help me. I know my mommy is close. I’ll keep looking. Love, Emily.”
Holding the note in my hands, I felt a strange mix of sadness and determination. I couldn’t let this go. Over the next few days, I started researching the history of my house and the neighborhood. I visited the local library, talked to longtime residents, and even contacted the historical society.
What I found out was chilling. Decades ago, a woman named Margaret had lived in my house with her young daughter, Emily. Margaret had disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and Emily had been placed in foster care. The case was never solved, and Emily had eventually run away from her foster home, disappearing without a trace.
Now it all made sense. Emily’s spirit was still searching for her mother without realizing that so much time had passed. I made a decision to hold a small ceremony in the house, hoping to bring peace to both mother and daughter. I lit candles, placed flowers, and spoke out loud, telling Emily that her mother loved her and that they would be reunited in peace.
That night, I felt a sense of calm in the house. I knew that Emily and her mother were finally at rest. I never saw Emily again, but I often felt a warm presence in the house, as if someone was watching over me.
From that day on, I was determined to help those in need, inspired by Emily’s unwavering love for her mother. And every time I heard a knock at the door, I couldn’t help but remember the little girl who had taught me the true meaning of family and love.
