Haunted by the Lady in White

My mother and I have been exploring the east side neighborhood of Amhurst, Virginia, for hours, searching for houses for my fiancé and me to purchase. Unfortunately, he couldn't join us due to an emergency call at the hospital in the city. Therefore, I invited my mother to accompany me to find the perfect home.

Not a single house in town has captured my attention, and none of them fit within my budget. As evening descends and the sun begins to set, we decide to drive into the countryside to search for homes, despite my preference for living in the suburbs of Amhurst, closer to my job. Just as we start to feel weary and contemplate heading back home, a bright light glimmers in my rearview mirror from a house behind us. Curious about the source of that light, especially since we are the only ones on this dark, lonely stretch of gravel road, I turn around to investigate. My interest is piqued by a large, empty, and somewhat dilapidated Victorian house. 

“Where are you going?” my mother asks. 

“Mom, look at this house! Isn’t it beautiful?” I reply, stopping at the end of the driveway. “I thought I saw a light.” 

“Maybe someone lives here, Aubrey,” my mother responds, scanning the area for any vehicles or a glimpse of someone in the windows. “The downstairs appears uninhabited, but the upstairs is very bright, as if the lights have been left on.” 

“This is the only house on this road,” I say, glancing around for any neighbors nearby to inquire about the property. “The next house is five miles away from where we came.” I am undeniably intrigued by this house and notice a 'For Sale' sign lying on the ground in front of a tree in the front yard covered in dry grass and dirt. Inspired to take a closer look, I decided to get out of the car and retrieve information from the sign. 

 Aubrey, I don’t think we should be here,” my mother says, her voice steady as she remains firmly seated, refusing to exit the car. 

“Mom, don’t you think this would be a fantastic house for Caleb and me to renovate?” I respond, my excitement bubbling over at having found what seems to be the perfect property. “I know it’s not in the best condition, but it’s exactly what I’m looking for.” 

“Look, honey,” my mother’s voice begins to waver with disapproval. “I’m sure you’ll find something, but I truly don’t believe this is the right house for you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the curtains fluttering in the wind from an upstairs window, even though they are closed. A shadowy figure appears to be moving past the window. 

“Someone is here,” I inform my mother. “I’m going to see if I can gather any information.”

“Aubrey!” my mother calls out from the car as I hurry up the porch steps to the front door, disregarding any objections she might have. I knock several times but receive no response, so I take a deep breath and open the front door, just in case no one heard my knocks. 

 “Hello?” I call out, ensuring my voice resonates throughout the house. “My name is Aubrey Collins, and I’m interested in the property. Is there someone here I can speak with?” A cool breeze sweeps through the dark, dusty room, stirring the cobwebs in the corners and sending a chill up my spine. Suddenly, the front door slams shut, startling me just as another gust of wind passes through. 

Thinking that someone might have left another door open somewhere in the house, I continue to explore, hoping to close any doors to keep the chill at bay, which is peculiar for this time of year since it is summer. The kitchen is an open layout adjacent to the living room, and I can see that some walls were in the early stages of being torn down to create a more spacious area. Jagged, rough wood from within the walls is exposed, as if someone had begun the renovation but never completed it. Bookcases line every inch of the living room walls. To my right, I notice extremely old French doors that are slightly ajar, leading to what appears to be a library or office. As I reach for the door handle, I hear a sound reminiscent of a mother trying to quiet a young child, seemingly coming from nowhere. Just then, the front door bursts open, revealing my mother standing in the doorway.

“Geesh, Mom! You startled me,” I exclaim, relieved to see her instead of a ghostly apparition. “I thought you were staying in the car.”

“I was,” she replies, glancing around to take in the surroundings. “I came in to check on you and make sure everything is okay. Were you just upstairs?”

“No,” I respond, scanning the room for the staircase. “I don’t even know where the staircase is.” A slight fog begins to emerge from behind one of the bookcases, obscuring what could possibly be the staircase, accompanied by a faint tapping sound from the other side.

 A voice echoes from beyond the shelf, sounding eerily like a child. My mother and I exchange shocked glances, stunned by what we've just heard. "Shhhh... don’t let her hear you," the child whispers, the sound reverberating in the air. Fear grips us, yet curiosity lingers—could the child be trapped within the walls?

“Mom, we’ve got to save that child,” I insist, knowing we must act. 

“There’s no way we can move that shelf, Aubrey,” my mother replies. “It looks way too heavy.” I look at her in disbelief; I’ve seen her move heavier objects, like the couch I recently helped her shift into the den at her home.

Ignoring her, I position myself on the other side and attempt to budge the shelf. Suddenly, I hear an extremely loud whacking sound from the other side.

 I turned to my mother, questioning, "Mom, what are you doing? Where did you find that axe?" My inquiries fell on deaf ears as she continued her task, delivering five more decisive whacks. With each strike, she unveiled an entrance to a staircase that had long been hidden from view. Suddenly, a deafening whoosh erupted from the newly exposed staircase, accompanied by a fierce gust of wind that felt like a miniature tornado. The force knocked both my mother and me off our feet, sending us crashing to the floor. As we looked up, we were startled to find no child sitting on the staircase. Clearly, there was a reason for the stairs to have been blocked off, preventing anyone from venturing inside. The mystery of that reason lingered in the air. 

 As my mother and I gradually regained our balance, we were startled by the foreboding sound of books cascading from the shelves in the office. Suddenly, a glowing, shadowy figure of a woman in a flowing white dress emerged through the walls. One book drifted into the living room, and I recognized it as a photo album, its cover adorned with a family portrait. Strangely, the mother’s face had been scratched out, and I counted ten children captured in the image. The inscription on the album read, 'The Jarreau Family.'

"Mom, look," I whispered, trying to keep my voice low. My mother joined me, her curiosity piqued by the photo album. 

"Do you think that’s the family that used to live here?" she asked, her interest in the home’s history evident. 

 As I began to scan through the photo album, a chilling realization struck me: every child in the photos appeared increasingly sickly towards the end of the album, bedridden and frail. A disturbing sensation washed over me, prompting me to glance toward the stairs, which seemed shrouded in a thick fog. From upstairs, the sounds of children running and laughing echoed, as if they were engaged in play, igniting a compelling urge within me to check on them. I cautiously made my way across the floor, finding myself at the foot of the staircase.

"No, Aubrey," my mother interjected. "If you’re going upstairs, at least let me go first. You don’t know what’s up there, and if something happens and I don’t make it back, you need to understand it’s not safe." 

"Mom, you don’t have to do this," I replied, a mix of skepticism and fear coursing through me at the thought of ascending the stairs. "But if you insist, go ahead." I knew from past experiences that arguing with my mother rarely ended well. She slowly ascended the fog-laden staircase, each step taken with utmost caution, as if she feared falling. Gradually, she grew more distant until the fog swallowed her entirely, and I followed her up the stairs.

Upon reaching the top, the fog began to dissipate, revealing a bright, clean, and organized environment—an unsettling contrast to the dark, chaotic space below. Confusion clouded my mind as I wondered if someone lived up here. However, as I navigated through the seemingly endless rooms, it became clear that I was alone. My mother was nowhere to be found; it felt as though she had retreated downstairs, leaving me behind, or perhaps she had vanished into another realm altogether. My heart sank, and fear gripped me tighter. What had I gotten myself into?

I attempted to retrace my steps to the staircase from which I had come, but the task felt utterly impossible; the staircase had completely vanished. My desire to descend and escape this house grew stronger, yet the prospect of doing so seemed equally unattainable. In that moment, I realized I was not safe and felt confined in a completely different world. I urged myself to persevere and search for an alternative route back downstairs, if one existed.

As I explore the various rooms, I notice that each space reflects the unique personality of its occupant and various strands of tubes and vials lying on their nightstands. The young twin girls, likely toddlers, share a room brimming with toys and dolls, alongside two nurseries for the babies, despite my recollection of only one baby featured in the photo album. Two of the boys' rooms showcase an array of sports memorabilia and accessories, while another boy's room is adorned with posters of what appear to be rock stars from the 1980s, complemented by a large stereo system and neatly organized stacks of records atop the speakers.

Two of the girls have a room filled with collectibles and a diverse selection of books across various genres, all neatly arranged on a sizable bookshelf. They also have two desks positioned side by side, each with several school books and notebooks organized in tidy stacks. Another girl's room, presumably that of the oldest daughter, features a full-length mirror positioned next to her bed. In front of her window sits her desk, which holds an old IBM desktop computer from the early 1980s, placed caddy-corner to the wall. Adjacent to it is a table displaying a well-arranged collection of makeup and perfumes. Another girl's room mirrors the boys in its sports memorabilia and accessories, but it is specifically equipped with volleyball and tennis gear.

The eeriest aspect that struck me while wandering through each child’s bedroom was the absence of the children I had heard playing and laughing downstairs, not to mention the unsettling realization that I had lost sight of my mother. Where could she possibly be? Standing in the center of the hallway, I counted the doors to the bedrooms, each customized with the names of the children. Suddenly, the ghostly figure of a woman in a flowing white dress emerged from the doorway labeled ‘Lucas and Jake’ and then into the opposite door marked ‘Haylie.’ I froze in fear, convinced she might have seen me, but I sensed she was oblivious, focused instead on her mission to care for her children. I opened the nearest door, which bore the name ‘Vera.’ As I reached for the closet door to hide, I heard the echoing voice of a twelve-year-old girl behind me say, ‘She knows you are here.’ Frightened, I turned sharply to see the young girl, enveloped in a haze, appearing as much a ghost as the woman I had just encountered.  

“Who knows that I am here?” I asked the girl, confusion evident in my voice.  

“The lady in white,” she replied. She turned her head toward the door, as if sensing someone approaching, then looked back at me. “You can’t be here. Go now.” Just then, I noticed fog creeping in from beneath the door, confirming the presence of the ‘lady in white’ the girl had mentioned. I quickly hid in the closet, leaving the door slightly ajar to observe what was unfolding. The woman approached the nightstand and opened a vial, and a wave of nausea washed over me at the thought of what I was about to witness. I closed my eyes, bracing myself, and began to hear the mother soothing the young girl as she wept.  

“Relax, my child, do not weep. I will hold your hand until you sleep. When you wake up, I’ll be by your side, but until then, I must say good night,” the woman said in a tone, as if it was rehearsed, that was both calming and deeply unsettling. Believing I had endured the worst, I opened my eyes, only to see the woman emptying the vial into a tube that led to the child’s arm. My left hand instinctively moved to cover my mouth as tears streamed down my face.

 Oh my God! I whispered to myself, turning away from the horrifying scene before me. I knew I had to escape. Peering through the cracked door, I saw only the child lying motionless in bed. The woman was gone. I crept across the bedroom, trying not to wake the child, but deep down, I knew she was not sleeping. As I opened the door slowly, I recognized the ghostly figure of the woman entering the oldest son’s room, marked ‘Colin’. Her voice echoed through the walls, repeating the same chilling words: 

“Relax, my child, do not weep. I will hold your hand until you sleep. When you wake up, I’ll be by your side, but until then, I must say good night.” Her tone was more disturbing than before. Determined to find an exit, I realized I was trapped and desperately sought the nearest bathroom. I turned to see a fog creeping beneath Colin’s door and sprinted toward the next room, which happened to be the bathroom. I swung open the white plastic shower curtain and dropped to my knees, overwhelmed by disbelief at what I had witnessed. 

It wasn’t long before I was waiting in silence, when suddenly, a light flickered on in the bathroom. Tears streamed down my face, knowing that anything could happen. The shower turned on by itself, filling the bathtub faster than I could think of a way to escape. A sense of dread washed over me as I realized I could be the next victim, fear gripping my entire body, trembling at the thought of impending death. The shower curtain flew open faster than I could blink, and there she was—the lady in white. Her voice boomed, fierce and commanding, “Good night!” The words struck me like a knife, and as I screamed, my cries were the last thing I remembered.