The Spirit Faces of Sorrow

Katie encounters a sad little ghost that lives in the corner of a closet

This is going to sound crazy, but since I was very young I have been very sensitive to a certain kind of spirit. But before I tell you about this, I have to explain something. I believe that spirits that felt a certain emotion upon their deaths take forms based on that emotion. Usually, spirits that haunt had an emotion like anger, fear or sorrow.

The visitations that some people have seen are usually manifestations of emotion.

I have been haunted by a sorrowful spirit before. When I was a very little girl, about three or four, I used to have what my parents would say was an imaginary friend, but he was very real. He manifested in my basement, in a cramped computer closet underneath the stairs. It was always freezing there, despite the heat from the computers. He would be curled into the farthest corner of the closet, in a tiny ball. He looked about my age, a small boy with dark brown hair. He was always crying. He never spoke to me and I never learned his name.

One day, as I traveled down the stairs to the basement, I saw him standing at the bottom of the flight. I was shocked; I'd never seen him outside the closet. He beckoned to me and I followed him into the closet. There, he curled himself into the corner like usual, but he had his back facing me.

Slowly, I stepped closer. It was pitch black, there were no lights, so I have no idea how I was able to see the deep slashes on his back. I screamed, of course. I was only a little girl.

He turned his face to me... and it had changed. It was deathly white, and the eye sockets were hollow. He was still crying, and dark, thick liquid streamed from the holes.

I ran upstairs, screaming bloody murder, and dove into my mother's room. She comforted me, and said it was only my imagination, but I never went into the computer closet again.

Later, when I was 13, I went to Amy's house for a birthday sleepover. There were other girls there, but the only ones who sensed the things that followed were my friends Sarah and Fatima. When we were all about to go to sleep, Fatima remembered that she left her pen downstairs. Why exactly the pen was so important I don't know, but she and Sarah went down to get it....and came back up screaming.

In Amy's basement, there was a small corridor that you had to step down to get into. Sarah said that she had seen Fatima's pen sitting in the middle of the corridor and had stepped down to get it. When she crossed over the threshold, the air was instantly freezing, and Fatima started screaming at her to get out. Sarah knew that Fatima had a family history of seeing ghosts, so she grabbed Fatima and ran upstairs.

Fatima said that she saw a tall figure, dressed in ragged jeans and a shirt, with a white face and black holes for eyes. We heard a rap on the door, and I opened it to a pen lying on the floor. When I picked it up, it was freezing cold.

I showed it to Fatima and she started screaming again, begging me to get rid of it. I threw it down the stairs to the basement.

All of us had disturbing dreams that night. When we woke up in the morning, Fatima opened the door to find the pen sitting right outside the door. We asked Amy's mom about the pen and she said that she had never seen that pen before.

When I turned 14, we moved to a new house with an unfinished basement, filled with tiny rooms with hooks on the walls, boarded-up windows that led nowhere, and open pipes jutting out of the walls. We painted it over, but there were odd, yellow and black stains that wouldn't come out of the windowsills or shelves, and I found an odd metal doll shoved into one of the pipes. This place reeks of something unnatural, but nothing has happened yet.

I'm waiting, though, and I have no doubt that something will come.

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