Mum didnt want to leave
A few weeks ago we suffered a great loss my motherinlaws sister passed away. She had no husband, but a fouryearold daughter, Emma, was left behind. My husband, Mark, and I took on the responsibility of caring for her. The moment Emma learned that her mum was gone, she shut herself away and stopped leaving the flat altogether. She also refused to move anywhere, so Mark and I relocated to the flat where they had lived with her mother. We hoped that after the funeral Emma would agree to stay with us, but the house soon became unbearable. At night the water would turn on and off by itself, the lights flickered, doors and floorboards creaked as if someone were constantly running from room to room. I tried to bless the place, but nothing changed.
One night, as usual, I couldnt sleep while Mark was already sound asleep. I heard a whisper coming from Emmas room. A chill ran down my spine, yet I didnt wake my husband. I switched on a dim light, went to her door and listened. All I could hear was my little girls voice.
I dont want to sleep, I want to play with Lucy (her doll). Ill play a bit longer and then Ill lie down.
I opened the door; Emma was huddled in a corner behind the wardrobe, clutching her doll, eyes wide with fear. She peeked out at me as if I were a threat.
Emma, who were you talking to just now? I asked.
Mommy
A shiver ran down my back. I tucked her into bed, curled up next to Mark, and soon fell asleep myself. Over the next week Emma kept having these conversations with someone unseen. I brushed it off as stressshe had lost her mother, after all, and children often invent companions when theyre lonely. The flat continued to test my patience.
One afternoon, while I was preparing lunch, I called Emma to the table several times, but she shouted that she didnt want to eat. She had never been a hearty eater, so coaxing her was always a battle. Her mother had been, to put it mildly, impatient, and would have dragged her to the table at any cost. After what felt like the tenth summons, a terrifying crash and a sob broke the silence. I rushed into the bedroom and saw an impossible scene: a huge sliding wardrobe had toppled onto Emma. Fortunately it only brushed the side of the bed, leaving a narrow gap between it and the floor. Emma screamed, her eyes wide with terror, and spent the rest of the day in a fullblown hysteric spell.
That night I heard her crying again, begging for forgiveness. I entered to soothe her; she clambered onto my lap and hugged me tightly, staring fixedly at the same corner of the room as if someone were standing there, her face a mask of fear.
Emma, who is there? I asked.
Mommy she whispered.
Sweetheart, tell your mum youre letting her go and that she should leave.
Mommy doesnt want to go!
On the fortieth day after the funeral, Mark and I took Emma to the cemetery, laid flowers on the grave, and handed sweets to the children gathered there in remembrance. After that the house felt calmer. We sold the flat and brought Emma to live with us permanently.
Grief can turn a home into a haunted place, but when we confront the shadows, speak our goodbyes and let go, peace finally finds its way back.
