I am not generally a ghost hunter. I have had a couple experiences over the course of my life that have made me wonder. But I never had an experience I viewed as proof. That is, until one night in Somerville, Massachusetts around 11:00 P.M., when my husband and I both saw a little girl in a white dress walking down a city street.
We were driving home from a silent auction at our then three-year-old son's preschool when a little girl appeared on the side of the road. She was in a white dress. She was crying. Both my husband and I saw her.
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"How old was she?" I asked and my husband slammed on the brakes. It was a foggy February night in Boston. The temperature was 40 degrees and dropping.
"We have to go back," he said and banged a U-turn. She'd been barefoot and her long hair was in her face. The whole time we had our eyes on her in the rear view mirror. She must have been somewhere between six and eight. Far too young to be out there alone.
"Hey," I called out the window. "Hey, are you OK?"
And then she was gone. Just like that. She didn't fade away before our eyes. There was no puff of smoke. I was just looking at her one minute, turned my eyes, and she was gone.
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"Where did she go?" I asked. My husband shook his head. We called out the window. We drove around the block multiple times. We looked at the doors of the apartments nearby but no one else was around. Eventually we gave up and drove home.
The next day we learned that a little girl had been murdered on that block a few years before by her mother's boyfriend. Was it the same girl? We may never know. It could have been a fluke. It could have been that a little girl from the neighborhood was outside and in the second I turned away, her mother pulled her into a house. Maybe. But we both think we saw a ghost that night. And no one can really change our minds.
This Story Was First Published on The Hauntist.
Featured photo: ringography / Flickr (CC)
