Episode 78: Ghostly Little Girls
Hello, it’s Spooky Boo. What’s creepier than a ghostly librarian or the ghost of a spooky pirate? Well the ghost of a child, of course! I’m sure you can imagine the haunting laughter or the tiny voice that wakes you up in the dead of the night forcing your hair to stand up on end. You’re not sure what you heard but it sounded like a child and yet your own are snug in their beds.
These creepypasta stories about little girl ghosts will have you sleeping with the light on so when you hear that not-so-innocent whisper or feel those cold fingers against your cheek you won’t be startled when you realize it’s just a dream. Or is it? For more information on these stories and their authors visit www.creepypastascarystories.com.
First, I’d like to invite you to listen to the stories that I’ve written on my Scary Story Time podcast. I write about ghosts, vampires, witches, werewolves, and even creatures that you’ve never heard of before. You’ll find all of the sordid details on the podcast Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time or on Kindle at amazon. Just visit www.scarystorytime.com for the details. You can even join the Spooky Boo Club to get discounts on books and a free copy of every first draft of the books in PDF format as long as you’re a qualifying member. Get this and this podcast commercial free at www.spookyboo.club.
You can find my friends and I chatting on the Creature Features YouTube Channel on Saturday nights where we have fun discussing the old horror movies and the fun hosts Vincent, Tangella, and Livingston with their exciting guests. Get the link at creaturefeatures.tv.
Now let’s begin.
The Girl Who Died in Our Swimming Pool
“Did you hear?” Mark, my coworker at the whispered.
“What?” I was a little confused.
“You didn’t hear? Cindy was saying she’s been hearing splashes in the pool and kids laughing when she closed last night. She’s freaked, man. She thinks she may be the one this year.” Mark was his usual self. Trying to get me into believing this story about how the city pool was haunted. The one is a lifeguard supposedly chosen to die every year according to Greendale Community legend. I’ve heard it a million times, it’s because some girl drowned in this pool. What a load of shit. I’ve personally never seen a ghost in my life.
“The curse always continues my friend,” Mark continued to bug me.
Well my curse is, it’s Friday night and I’m once again assigned to the closing shift with Mark by our supervisor Simon. It’s the sixth time this month. Maybe instead of “lifeguard,” my job title should be called “pool closer.”
The reason for me was simple: I’m the new guy.
The reason for Mark: Simon didn’t like him.
“I’m going to go turn off the chlorine. You grab all the toys and fludder boards and put them in the storage, you got it?”Mark said as he walked off.
Again. Mark gets the easy job of turning a switch, which is classified as one of the most important duties of closing because if you’re not careful you could burn out someone’s eyes with a chlorine overdose the next morning. And I get the easy job. Hunting down forty or so floating pieces of rubber and putting them into a bin. Every. Freakin’. night. And I’ve yet to see a ghost. If there truly is a ghost, do you think you can help me out?
So what did I say about killing lifeguards? Well, the thing is, since the 2000’s, Greendale community center has had this urban legend that one lifeguard is cursed every year with being involved in some tragic accident. Whether it be suicide, a fatal car crash, or insanity. Something just real bad. Real tragic. And that all due to coming in contact with the girl that died in our swimming pool and being “chosen” by her to die. Typical campfire shit.
Well, I don’t believe it. Besides not believing in ghosts, Mark’s been with this place for almost two years. Cindy’s been here three summers as well. And Simon’s a total asshole, if anyone should die, it should be him! Not to poke holes in a perfectly fine urban legend, but sad shit happens all the time! To everyone really. There’s about twenty-five to thirty lifeguards employed here every year. Seventy to eighty if you count the ones that are volunteering to get their license. Out of all of those people, you’re telling me nothing bad is going to happen to anyone of them? There’s bound to be one or two! That’s just statistics!
Anyways, it was getting close to 8, and I wanted to go home. I walked over to the edge of the pool and starting picking everything up. I was almost done when I suddenly heard something:
Giggle.
I looked around. Nothing but the vast, empty pool area. I kneeled to pick up a giant floating giraffe when I heard it again.
Giggle.
This time I freaked, it was right next to my ear. I looked around hurriedly. Nothing. Could it be my—
“Hey!”
Jesus. I jumped. It was just idiot Mark.
“Are you almost done, man? Seriously, dude, I have to do some closing paperwork, you clean out the locker room with the mop and don’t take your time! I wanna get outta here by 9!” he yelled.
Sweeping the locker room was my favorite job. There was just something therapeutic about a menial job you really didn’t have to think about. Just mop, sweep, scrub, repeat. You ponder on life and what exactly got you into this situation. It’s a nice, quiet moment for me until Mark shows up, usually to tell me to hurry up. Well, I—wait. What’s that?
A splashing sound in the pool. What the—
I ran out of the locker room and looked at the swimming pool, at first I saw nothing. But then I saw a form slowly forming at the deep end. It was a dark shadow, rising from the water underneath. My instincts suddenly kicked in and I lunged into the water. As I approached the black form, I paused. It was a little girl. Her face was in the water. How long has she been here? I got closer and tried to touch her, but just as my hand about to make contact, her face looked up at me.
I froze in horror.
The little girl in front of me had a completely white face as if her blood had been drained. She had a corpse face and saggy skin as if she’d been in the swimming for hours, she looked like an old woman but with a child’s body. Purple veins spread across her cheeks visibly, as if she’d been suffocating for hours. But the most disturbing part was, what will make me lose sleep for the rest of my life: was that her eyes were all black. Like buttons. She had no cornea, no pupils, just plain black eyes staring back at you coldly.
Then her mouth began to open. So wide it filled half of her face as she began howling. A screeching sound so loud I jumped out of my skin and swam back to the ledge. I ran for the locker room, but the door was jammed! I used all my might and pulled on it, but it would not budge. The girl’s screaming continued enveloping the whole pool. I started screaming for Mark, but nothing.
Then, as I began to listen carefully, I realized the girl wasn’t screaming. She was… crying. I looked back at her and she was now right in front of me. Her loud howl was replaced by a sobbing sound. And I sat there, stunned and motionless looking at her. With her hands covering her face, as her crying became more gentle. And more and more she resembled just a sad, lonely little girl. I put my hand on her shoulder, this time, making contact. Then she stopped crying. She put her hand away from her face and looked up at me. She smiled.
‘Young lifeguard found dead in Greendale community center. Cause of death: drowning. No signs of struggle or other motives. Has been deemed by police: suicide.’- February 7 2015
The Girl in the Mirror
There are some stories that are meant to be told. This isn’t one of them. But it’s the only thing I have left. I know I will regret this, but someone must know the truth. Anyone.
I came from a picturesque, fairytale family. You know, the ones in those life insurance commercials? That used to be us. We recently moved into the city after living in suburbia our entire lives. I got a well-paying job, my wife started her own business, and my daughter Maggie…I’m sorry. It’s too difficult…I can’t… A beautiful wife and daughter was all that I had… You need to hear the full story.
A few weeks ago on a warm Sunday afternoon, my wife and I were visiting neighborhood garage sales in search for a bargain. Having just bought a pricey apartment on the outskirts of the city, we decided it was best to buy something cheaper for the time being.
To my surprise, we managed to find plenty of unique things: an ornamental music box, a working clock radio from the 70’s, a first-edition Nintendo Entertainment System that came with a collectible Super Mario Bros. game; a little dusty but overall, a treasure.
It was not until the fifth garage sale when something caught my wife’s eye. We pulled our car to the curb of 66 Ernest Street, a Victorian-era home in a quiet suburban neighborhood.
“Look at that…it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She was referring to a brass mirror leaning against a table, with ornamental edges filled with golden vines surrounding the mirror. I have to admit, it was a sight. “It would look great in our bedroom, don’t you think?”
Before I could answer, my wife rushed to the owner, gleaming with enthusiasm.
We were the only ones at the garage sale, and the woman running it was a timid-looking old woman sitting alone and staring to the distance.
“Excuse me,” The woman’s pale-blue eyes did not pay any attention to Anne. “Sorry to bother you, but how much is that mirror?”
An uncomfortable pause followed. The woman slowly turned her head towards Anne, “Five dollars.”
My wife looked at the woman in disbelief. “Are you sure you have the price right? I mean, it looks like it would cost more than five—”
“Five dollars.”
The woman made me uneasy. It was her eyes… pale and blank like flawless pearls. My wife paid the woman, and we anxiously packed the mirror into our trunk and drove home, hesitant to get away from that odd encounter.
“She…was a weird one.” I said.
“Oh, stop it. She is just a lonely old woman. Plus, she gave us this splendid mirror for a steal.” Anne said, smiling. I tried to forget the woman for the rest of the day.
As we arrived, our daughter Maggie rushed to greet us. “Did you get me anything?” she said, excited as any six-year-old can be. I handed her a teddy bear with a pink bow that I bought from one of the garage sales. My wife and I carried the mirror into our bedroom, where we hung it across from the bed. “It goes great with the color scheme,” Anne said as she observed the new addition to the bedroom.
That is when everything changed. I had a horrible dream that night that woke me up in the middle of the night. My new alarm clock read 3:00 am. My wife is a heavy sleeper, and as she laid dreaming and snoring beside me, I noticed something in the corner of my eye. For a split second, I could have sworn there was a shadowy figure standing in the mirror and staring at me, with luminous white eyes. I hastily turned on the light, waking my wife in the process. The figure was gone.
“Anne, wake up. Please wake up.”
“What is it?” my wife said, half-asleep and rubbing her restless eyes.
“It’s the mirror. There is someone in the mirror.”
She squinted at the mirror. “No there isn’t, James. You just had a bad dream. Now go to sleep, you have work in the morning.”
And I did fall asleep eventually. But every night since then, I dreamt of those pale eyes.
The following day, I forced myself to believe that I just had a bad dream. The workday was ordinary. Eventually, my mind forgot about the mirror. I came home at five, my wife still at work.
The house was peculiarly silent. “Maggie!” I called my daughter. Usually, she would run and give me a hug at the doorway. Today was different. I heard faint voices coming from my bedroom. One was Maggie’s and the other…was not. I rushed in.
Maggie was talking to the mirror. There was nobody in the mirror but her own reflection. “Oh, hi daddy.”
I do not know what I felt at that moment. If I could describe it, I would say relief tied in with nausea.
“Who were you talking to?”
“My friend.” She replied, innocently.
“Who’s your friend?”
“The girl in the mirror.”
I looked at the mirror, but everything seemed normal. There was no girl but Maggie. I did not put much thought into it, I mean, kids have crazy imaginations. But Maggie never really had any imaginary friends. When I told my wife this, she laughed it off. “When I was her age, I had a few imaginary friends of my own. Forget about it.” Nevertheless, that did not explain the voice I heard. I forced myself to forget it, as it was probably just my imagination playing tricks on me.
After supper, I asked Maggie about her imaginary friend, but Maggie seemed resistant. “She’s not my friend anymore.” I was surprised and asked her why. “She tells me to do stuff. Bad stuff. She’s not my friend, and I don’t like her.”
That same night, I awoke at 3:00 am to a loud sound. Quiet and eerie moaning. I was beyond afraid…but I forced myself to look at the mirror. To this day, I wish I hadn’t.
A clear figure of a girl not older than 10 stared at me with those same pale eyes, blank and inhuman. However, the figure did not disappear this time…she just stood there. Then, she slowly crawled through the mirror and into our bedroom. I tried to scream but no sound came out. I tried to move but it was as if I was completely paralyzed. I even tried to close my eyes, but they would not even blink in the slightest. The figure forced me to watch as it crawled to me, with a spine-chilling moan. She was staring into my soul. Then, silence.
A whispering sound came out. “She did this. She did this to me.”
Then, the girl began to decompose, eventually crumbling into ashes.
The following morning, my wife dismissed it as a nightmare. “Ghosts aren’t real. They are a figment of your imagination.”
I didn’t believe her. How could she possibly understand the horror I witnessed that night? I do not expect her to understand. I was not about to forget about it again. That same day, I skipped work to take the mirror back to the woman I bought it from.
However, I could not find that house. I circled the neighborhood at least five times before resorting to asking a neighbor.
“66 Ernest Street? There is no 66 Ernest Street here,” said a jogger as I pulled up next to her.
“But that’s impossible. I was here a few days ago…there was an old woman with pale blue eyes running a garage sale.”
“Ernest Street ends at 65. You probably have the street name wrong.”
I knew that it was right. As I was driving, I heard a knocking on my trunk. “Let me out,” said a whispering voice. “You cannot leave me. I’m with you forever, and ever, and ever, and—”
“Shut up! Just, shut up! I have done nothing to you. Leave my family alone!
I drove to my work building. Luckily, there was a dumpster in the back where I could dispose of the mirror. Before doing so, I made sure to use a nearby brick to break the mirror into small shards. “You can’t hurt me anymore.”
You should not have done that. The faint voice followed me, repeating that same phrase over and over the entire car ride home. As I came home, I went upstairs into my bedroom to make sure the mirror was gone.
It wasn’t.
There stood my daughter and my wife, pale and emotionlessly staring at the mirror. I didn’t make a sound as I backed away in fear and disbelief. I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. I don’t remember how long I was in there…could have been days. It felt like an eternity. Each night spent in that cold bathroom, I heard a knocking on the door and a chuckling coming from the other side. She was taunting me.
The police came days later. The neighbors complained about an unsettling smell coming from my house. My daughter and wife were found dead in my bedroom, skinned corpses, motionless, with pale white eyes.
I was transferred to White Mountain Mental Wellness Centre, diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia. They think I killed them. Maybe I did. Maybe I am insane. At least, if I were it would bring about some closure. A comfort knowing that it really was my mind.
Every night, I hear her voice. I see her wherever I go. She will find me, and she will kill me.
You cannot leave me. I am with you forever, and ever, and ever, and ever.
The Girl in the Window
New year, new school. It’s really nothing new for me; my family moves a lot. The school itself seems pretty normal, as do all the students and teachers.
Or so I thought.
You see, there’s this one hallway—it’s got the library and a few hardly-used classrooms in it—that always makes me feel really uncomfortable, even before I start hearing the rumors about it. I always try to shake the feeling off and tell myself I’m just being paranoid, until, of course, one of the most popular rumors ends up being true: there’s a girl who you can sometimes see staring out into the hallway from the window on the library’s door. No one knows who she is, but there are about as many different theories as there are people in the school.
The first time I see her, I nearly have a heart attack. She’s exactly like people describe her—a blond girl wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up, shadowing her eyes and the whole upper half of her face completely.
The lower half of her face suggests an expressionless stare aimed straight at the wall across from her, but I can still feel her eyes burning holes through my skin. A shudder runs through my whole body and I hurry to my next class.
Weeks later, and I’ve gotten used to seeing her. She’s got no effect on me anymore, and I don’t even remember she’s there most of the time. She also hasn’t budged an inch since the first time I’ve seen her, and I’m convinced she’s completely harmless.
So now I’m on my way to my next class, and I happen to be passing through her hallway.
“Won’t you join me?”
Hardly anyone ever goes down this hallway unless their next class is on it, so I jump a little and turn around, hoping to see who it is. No one’s there except the Girl in the Window, so I shake it off as my imagination and continue walking.
“I’m so lonely.”
I turn around again. Still, no one, only now the Girl in the Window’s lips are twisted into a toothy smile. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I try to continue to my next class.
“Where are you going?”
The voice is beginning to sound slightly annoyed with me. I walk up to the library door and look the Girl in the Window dead into where I think her eyes are.
“What do you want?” I demand, slamming the side of my fist against the window.
“It’s lonely in here. Won’t you join me?”
Just then, I hear a teacher’s voice behind me: “Get to your next class, young lady.”
I spin around and glare at the teacher for a second before I start walking down the hallway. He heads back to his classroom and I creep back to the library window. She’s still there, still smiling.
“Come on,” she says. “We can be friends.”
“I’d rather die,” I snap, regretting it instantly because she could probably arrange that.
“No you wouldn’t.” Her voice has become almost a growl. She raises her hands to the window and I’m surprised to see them actually go through it and grab my wrist. “Come here. Join me. Join me. Join me.” With every sentence she jerks my arm toward her, pulling harder each time. “Join me, join me, join me.” Her hood falls back, revealing black hollows where her eyes ought to be. I let out a scream and pull against her as hard as I can.
“Stop fighting. Join me, join me, join me.” At this point, she sounds almost like a dying cat, and her voice only becomes more horrifying as she repeats her words. “Come on, quit fighting.”
I continue screaming and pulling myself away with all my strength, but everything goes black before I can break free.
When the darkness fades, I find myself standing in the library, looking out the window at the hallway. I can’t seem to leave my spot, and I have little desire to for some reason.
Over the next few hours, a handful of kids make their way past the library. None seem to notice me, except for one blonde girl with dark eyes, who stops and looks at me.
Her lips curl up into a twisted smile.
