My Name is Weeping Willow and This is My Story
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I hated moving to a new house. It was the seventh time since I was little. Adjusting to new places and people was extremely hard for me but this time was different. We were moving into an old mansion and I was intrigued. I thought about all the movies I've seen about old haunted homes. I loved horror books and horror movies. Stephen King was my favorite writer.
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At first, I wasn't happy about moving but our mansion was growing on me. I had to admit that it was dope. My mother said it was 'cool', she was so old.
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The first night at the mansion, we didn’t have electricity so we had a bunch of candles in the main rooms, it was eerie. I was so excited that I couldn't sleep. I couldn’t wait to explore the hidden rooms, the dark hallways, and the creepy basement.
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My room was decorated with my macabre drawings and paintings; horror movie posters, and Hard Metal band posters. They were disturbing and dark like me. My parents didn't like them. It was a good way to keep them out of my room.
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The next day I went to the new school. The first days at school were the worst. No one liked me because I was different. I was the outsider who never fitted in, like trying to shove a square wooden peg into a round hole. My schoolmates were cruel bullies who called me 'Weirdo Wednesday Addams' (a character in a 1960s TV sitcom called “The Addams Family”). I wish I didn't have to attend school.
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My parents said I was negative and morbid, maybe they were right. They didn't like my goth style – black clothing, dark dramatic makeup, and black dyed hair. They said if I looked normal I would probably make friends. Maybe it was true but I wouldn't change to be liked. Mom said it was a teenager phase but I didn't think so.
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I hated my parents and myself. My life sucked. If I had a dog I would have hated him too. I didn't know what made me the way I was. I knew I didn't get it from my hippie parents. We were complete opposites.
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The real estate lady came by to see if she could help and to check if we had any questions. Mom wanted to know more about the mansion. The lady told my mom that it was built in the 1800s and that people had disappeared in the vicinity, including previous owners. She also said that the locals spread scary tales but nothing was proved. Mom was upset that the realtor didn't disclose this information before we bought the mansion. The realtor said nothing was proved in the court of law.
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After the lady left, I googled the mansion's name and address to see if I could find anything more. The locals did tell unsettling stories about our home and kids broke a few windows on Halloween night.
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The previous owners left old furniture behind. Everything was covered with dust and cobwebs ... ew. I found all kinds of goodies, including a beautiful and ornate box. The wood was dark red, maybe mahogany and manzanita wood. I knew because I took a dendrology class in eighth grade. It was hard to open because it didn't have a lock. I loved solving puzzles and after pushing and prying every inch of the mystery box I got it open.
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I was so excited! Inside I found old papers, letters, and creepy post-mortem photographs. I watched a disturbing documentary about it. The photographer propped up the recently deceased using iron bars and wire. If the dead were children, the parents held them as if they were alive.
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I was disappointed. There should have been something more valuable, why would anyone keep old pictures and letters in a puzzle treasure box? I continued to play with it until I found a hidden compartment at the bottom of the box. Inside was a Ouija Planchette. I looked through it and I saw a ghost standing in the corner! I screamed and immediately covered my mouth, I hoped my parents didn’t hear me. A ghost! I have a freaking ghost in my room! Her throat had been slashed. She stretched her arms towards me as if trying to warn me about something, but what?
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I threw the planchette inside the box and closed it. I couldn’t wrap my head around what I had seen. I had so many questions. Was she the only ghost in the mansion? How long had she been trapped? Who killed her? In the morning I googled for any murders committed at our place and there were plenty of scary folk stories.
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Eventually, I discovered there were at least seven unresolved murders. Nobody knew how and why it happened. There had been police investigations but nothing came out of it because there were no bodies.
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At night, I heard unexplainable noises, especially behind the walls, but my parents didn’t believe my ghost stories and the newspaper clips I printed. Mom and Dad said I had a vivid imagination and that the ghost stories were nonsense.
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Eventually, I found the ghosts of seven victims. I tried to communicate hoping I could help to solve the murders. I wanted to help the ghosts and find peace but I failed.
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The whole ordeal had an awful effect on me. The ghosts were driving me insane. I couldn’t eat or sleep. They became more and more insistent. I thought they were trying to warn me about something but I didn’t know what it was.
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I became more and more anxious and depressed. My parents were worried and took me to a psychiatrist who diagnosed me with bipolar disorder with long episodes of depression and occasional manic episodes. My parents made me take medication but it didn’t help.
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The ghosts didn't leave me alone. They haunted me night and day. I didn’t know how to end their anguish or mine.
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I asked my parents to move, I couldn’t live in the mansion any longer. They finally agreed and after seven horrible months, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.
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The moving truck took our furniture and my parents loaded our van. They looked so sad and distressed. Mom was crying inconsolably and Dad was trying to console her.
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I finally understood. Flashes of bits and pieces came to my mind. I had cut my wrists during the night and my parents found me in the morning.
I was trapped in the murder mansion. It had been many years since my parents left. I wait to haunt the next owner.
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