The Haunted Nursery

I was heart - broken when my husband, Robert died on his way to the hospital; I was giving birth to our second child Daisy.
After nearly losing my kids during the first year of his death, Due to a nervous breakdown social services thought I was unfit, but I won them back after that I decided to move to try to get over, or at least come to terms with his death.
However shortly after moving in things started to happen, not much at first, I just started seeing things out the corner of my eyes. The really bad things didn't start until the second week.

I had just put the kids to bed and was sat in my study reading my favourite book, “The Green Mile” by Stephen King, when, from somewhere near the barn, I heard a faint child's cry. Taking off my glasses, I placed them on top of my book, which I had put on the table beside my chair, and then I walked over to the window, where I stood and listened for a minute or two, until the noise stopped, as suddenly as it had started. I shook my head and dismissed it as the wind howling through the trees. I turned and made my way back to the chair. When I went to pick up my glasses, to my amazement, they weren't there. I searched the whole of the study until the early hours of the morning, to no avail. While I stood in the middle of the room wondering where they had gone, something my grandmother used to say when she couldn't find something, came to mind, “the devils sitting on it,” it sent a chill down my spine. Shaking it off and giving up on my glasses because I was tired, I went to bed.
Nothing much happened for the next couple of days. And I didn't find my glasses, that was until I did the laundry. After feeding the kids, I asked Stephen to keep an eye on his sister until I had finished the laundry, I wandered around the house and put all the dirty clothes into a basket, after that I made my way down to the basement where the washing machine and drier were kept. Needless to say that I was shocked when I found my glasses on the drier, I immediately dropped the basket, grabbed my glasses and ran upstairs to the living room where Stephen was watching T.V. with Daisy.
‘Did you put my glasses in the basement?’ I asked him.
‘No’ he replied looking at me as if I was stupid.
I couldn't explain how they had gotten down there, and I didn't want to go back down there, but the washing needed to be done, so, gritting my teeth and taking a deep breath, I went and did the washing.

‘I've got a doctors appointment today, so I'll be picking you up early,’ I told Stephen before he got out of the car. ‘Don't forget to tell your teacher,’ I added.
‘I won't,’ he assured me.
With that I left to do the shopping and some housework.
While I was at the supermarket checkout, I got talking to an old woman, who seemed interested about my experiences at the house.
‘I'm sorry. But, why are you so interested?’ I asked.
‘Because of the stories,’ she told me.
‘What stories?’
‘Well, your house has been in the village for about one hundred years.’
‘Really, that long?’
‘Oh yes. But it's what's been happening there that people talk about.’
‘What happened?’
‘Allsorts, from murders and suicide, to witchcraft and devil worship.’
‘Are you serious?’ I asked astounded.
‘Afraid so dear; these days I can only remember one story. My grandfather told it to me. My memory isn't what it was,’ she began; she then looked at me and winked before continuing. ‘You see. He was there.’
She stopped and didn't continue, afraid she would leave without telling me the story, I asked her what happened.
‘Do you really want to know,’ she paused and seeing my nod continued. ‘Well, in about 1974, a man called Vincent Bardenberg moved in. Shortly after local children started to disappear. The police suspected him, but they had no evidence, so he was never convicted, no one was. So the local townspeople formed a lynchmob and went after him. They found him in his basement actually sacrificing a child; he couldn't have been more than ten, unfortunately they were too late to save the boy. He was so badly mutilated no one could recognise him. They didn't bother taking him outside to a tree, they just hung him by the rafters in the basement, after beating him to a pulp that is. When he was dead they burnt his remains and left him in the basement.’
‘God that's terrible. And other stuff happened?’
‘Oh yes. A lot more. But as I said my memory isn't what it was.’
‘That's o.k. I don't think I want to know.’
Without realising it, while she was talking, we walked straight to my car. I said goodbye and put my shopping into the boot, and made my way home. After putting the shopping away, I looked at the clock, it said 1:30, noticing how late it was, I quickly got Daisy ready and grabbed my handbag, I put Daisy in her baby seat and got in the drivers seat, started the engine and backed out of the driveway. On my way to pick up Stephen I didn't think I would get to the doctors by two, so I phoned to let them know I may be late.

As we were getting ready to leave the school for the doctors, a child, about the same age as Stephen, walked by the car. He had the strangest face, almost as if he was wearing a mask. He smiled at us, but it was unsettling, the smile suggested he knew something we didn't. At the same moment Daisy started crying hysterically. I turned to Stephen who was staring at the boy.
‘Do you know him?’ I asked. No answer, he was just staring blankly at the boy, it was as if he was in a trance.
After I calmed Daisy down, I looked back to where the boy was walking, but he had gone, then Stephen resumed his normal conversation about his day at school, as if nothing had happened.
There was something wrong about that boy, I could sense it, so could Daisy, that's why she cried so hysterically. I hope we never see him again.
After the experience at the school car park, I went to the doctors, and then went home. I don't know why, because I had already done it, but I had to clean up. I did all the bedrooms, but left the nursery until last. I won't be going back in there again, nor will my children, because what happened in there was, to me, exceptionally scary. I was hovering the room, when I felt a push on my shoulder, I thought nothing of it, until it happened again, with much greater force, it was then that I felt a sort of crackling of static electricity above my head, followed by a loud bang; it was as if a large wrecking ball had hit the side of the house; I immediately turned and ran downstairs, to where Stephen was playing with Daisy.
‘What was that noise?’ I asked.
‘I didn't hear anything,’ he relied.
How couldn't he have heard it; it was loud enough to shake the entire house. Then I realised that something; something strange is happening in this house, something unexplained; something evil.
I had trouble sleeping that night, so I got a priest in the next day. He did a few things; scattered holy water; recited some words and so on. When he had finished he said that we wouldn't have anymore trouble. I can't tell you how relieved I was, or how naive I was.

A beautiful autumn day gave way to the most nerve shattering experience. As I was cleaning around the yard, I glanced up at the nursery window and saw a small child like figure, believing it to be Stephen I screamed.
‘Stephen come down from there and get into the yard!’
Much to my shock, Stephen answered me from where he was playing near the barn. What did I see in the window? Dear lord! I immediately thought of that odd child I saw at the school. My heart dropped, and then I thought, I must have been seeing things, because the priest got rid of whatever was in the house. I kept telling myself that all day, but what happened that night changed my mind. I didn't get much sleep because I had a bout of nigh terrors that kept me awake.
I dreamt that I was in puritanical times and was convicted of witchcraft. The local townspeople rousted me from sleep and took me behind the barn; out in a large field, they pushed me to the ground and covered my entire body with a large wooden door, then, one by one, they each took turns placing large stones on top of the door, slowly suffocating me to death. I was near passing out from the weight of the door when I noticed, among the crowd of puritans who were torturing me, was my dead husband. When it was his turn to place a stone on the door, he stepped forward, I looked at his face and it was the face of a monster, distorted, strange, evil in appearance, but I could still recognise it as being him. I awoke screaming aloud and saw Stephen screaming himself and staring at the mirror. After we regained our composure, I turned to him and asked.
‘What are you doing in here?’
‘I saw daddy's face, only it was a scary face. Not like daddy,’
That scared the hell out of me, so, I went and got Daisy, and then we all slept downstairs for the rest of the night. Not that I got much sleeping done.
The next day we packed as much as we could fit in the back of the car, and made our way to my sisters. The next day I phoned the delivery guys to collect the rest of our things.

I am now living in our old house, and haven't looked back since. I have come to terms with my husband's death; I visit his grave every Sunday.