When I was about eight, we bought a new house. Though my dad is fussy about houses, he was convinced that this was the perfect place for us. My room was half room/half attic. One night at dinner, the energy around the table was "off". Dad seemed to be grumpy, mom distracted, my sister cranky. I decided to leave the table and spend some time playing in my room. I was shocked to get to the top of the stairs and find a little girl already making use of the toy box. She seemed startled and began to glow. Then she vanished. I screamed and ran downstairs. Nobody believed me; they all just laughed and promised that it was just my imagination. We lived there for a few more years without major incident, though there were a handful of occasions that I sensed a presence in various rooms. Recently, my mom and I were talking about old memories, and I brought up my encounter. I insisted that it had not been my imagination, and mom decided to do some research. That's when we found out what dad should've known all those years ago. Before the house had been built, an orphanage had stood on site. A few of the children had died and were buried in a small cemetery that had long since been redeveloped. Who knows how many lonely and lost children observed our family during those strange years?

Sorcha, Inverness