Lately, our little boy Hudson has changed. He used to be a bundle of joy, always laughing and playing, but now, he’s been crying non-stop, scared of everything, and even started to stutter. He kept saying a ghost was following him at home. It really freaked me out, so I wanted to take his mind off those spooky thoughts.
A Frightening Encounter
Last weekend, we went to the children’s room and then out for some ice cream at a local cafe. I was sitting there with Hudson when suddenly, he turned pale upon seeing one of the waitresses. He started shaking and crying, and I was just terrified for him.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” I asked, trying to calm him.
“It’s a ghost…Dad told me,” he whispered, clutching my hand tightly.
“There are no ghosts, baby…”
“This one is real! I saw her in our house a few days ago, but Dad said he’d protect me and…,” Hudson trailed off, his eyes wide with fear.
Unraveling the Mystery
The mention of his father sent chills down my spine. Hudson’s father and I had separated a year ago, and he had visitation rights every weekend. But what could he possibly have told Hudson to make him this terrified? Determined to get to the bottom of this, I decided to have a talk with my ex-husband, James.
When I confronted James, he seemed genuinely surprised and concerned about Hudson’s behavior. “I have no idea what he’s talking about,” he insisted. “I’ve never mentioned any ghosts to him.”
But Hudson’s fear was real, and I knew something was terribly wrong. I decided to investigate further, starting with the waitress at the cafe. Her name was Emily, and she looked about my age, with a kind but sad expression.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but my son seems to be really scared of you. Do you know why that might be?” I asked her.
Emily looked shocked. “I’ve never seen your son before today,” she said, her eyes widening. “I can’t imagine why he’d be afraid of me.”
Dark Revelations
Determined to protect Hudson, I started to dig into James’s past. I discovered that Emily had been a close friend of his in college. They had lost touch over the years, but there was something more sinister in their past. Emily had been involved in a tragic accident that left her in a coma for months. When she woke up, she claimed to have seen spirits and was shunned by many, including James.
“Do you think it’s possible that Hudson might be sensing something…supernatural?” I asked hesitantly.
Emily sighed. “I don’t know. But if he’s seeing something, it might be related to that accident. I never meant to scare him.”
Just then, Hudson’s voice piped up from behind me. “Mommy, she’s the ghost I saw in our house.”
Emily and I exchanged horrified looks. “Hudson, what do you mean?” I asked, my heart pounding.
He explained in his little voice, “I saw her in the living room. She was crying and told me she was sorry.”
Emily’s face went white. “That sounds like me. I used to visit James at his place sometimes. Maybe…I left some part of me there.”
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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