Mums not keen on leaving
Not long ago we suffered a huge loss Mums sister, Aunt Eleanor, passed away. She didnt have a husband, but she left behind her fouryearold daughter, Poppy. My husband James and I took it upon ourselves to look after the little girl. As soon as she learned her mother was gone, Poppy shut herself in and stopped leaving the house altogether. She also flatout refused to move anywhere, so James and I packed up and moved into the flat shed shared with her mum.
We assumed that after the funeral shed agree to live with us, but the very thought of staying in that flat became unbearable. At night the water would turn on and off by itself, the lights flickered, and the doors and floorboards creaked as if someone was sprinting from room to room. I tried to bless the place, but it made no difference.
One night, as usual, I couldnt sleep while James was already snoring away. I heard a whisper coming from Poppys room. It gave me an odd chill, but I didnt want to rouse James. I switched on the bedside lamp, crept to her door and listened. All I could hear was my own daughters voice.
I dont want to go to sleep, I want to play with Kitty (thats my doll). Just a bit longer and then Ill lie down.
I opened the door and found her huddled in a corner behind the wardrobe, clutching her doll and staring at me as if I were a burglar.
Poppy, who were you talking to just now? I asked.
Mama
A shiver ran down my spine. I tucked her into bed, curled up next to James and soon drifted off. For the next week Poppy kept talking to someone, and I wrote it off as stress a child who has just lost her mum is bound to have imaginary conversations. The flat, however, kept testing my patience.
One afternoon I was making tea and trying to coax Poppy to eat. I called her up to the table several times, but she shouted that she didnt want any. Shed never been a big fan of food, so getting her to sit down was always a battle. Her late mother had been, to put it mildly, impatient, and would have dragged her to the table by the arm. By the tenth invitation, a terrible crash rang out followed by a wail. I bolted to the room and saw the most inexplicable scene: a massive wardrobe had toppled over the little girl. Thankfully it only brushed the side of the bed, leaving a gap between it and the floor. Poppy screamed, went into a fullblown hysteria and stayed that way for the rest of the day.
That night, hearing her sobbing again, I slipped in to comfort her. She clambered onto my lap and hugged me tightly, eyes fixed on the same corner of the room as if someone were standing there, her face pale with fear.
Poppy, whos there? I asked.
Mum she whispered.
Sweetie, tell your mum youre letting her go and that she should leave, alright?
Mum doesnt want to leave! she replied in a hushed tone.
When the fortieth day after Aunt Eleanors death arrived, James and I went to the churchyard, laid flowers on the grave, handed out biscuits to the other children and said a few words for the departed. Everything settled down. We sold the flat, took Poppy home with us and finally got a proper nights sleep.
