char *(null)="
baby.buggy
baby.buggy
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From: jago@badlands.NoDak.edu (Karen S Jago)
Subject: Ghost Story/Indiana
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Date: Thu, 2 Jun 1994 03:12:22 GMT
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Okay, here's one for you.
When I was 11, we moved from Michigan back to Indiana. We ended up
staying with my Grandma & Grandpa in their big old Victorian house until
my parents found a place for us to live. G'pa & G'ma had their bedroom
downstairs, while my parents, myself, and my brothers stayed in the
three bedrooms upstairs. My baby sister slept in a crib in my parents'
room, so I had a room to myself.
One night, I woke up when something bumped the bed. I sat up and looked
over the footboard of the bed, and there sat this big wicker baby buggy.
I was pretty sure it was in my brothers' room when we all went to bed,
but there it was at the end of my bed. I thought my brothers were trying
to scare me (being brothers and all), so I went to their room to catch
them laughing, and tell them I wasn't scared. They were both sound
asleep. I checked. So I went back to bed, with the buggy at the foot of
my bed.
A couple of hours later, I woke up again. This time, the bump came from
the hallway next to my room. I went out and looked, and - you guessed it
- there was the baby buggy. (In case you're wondering what kind of 11
year old is so fearless -or dense- that she would go stomping all over a
creepy old house in the middle of the night, that would be me. I just
wasn't afraid; more curious than anything.)
To make a long story short, the bumping and waking and checking on the
buggy took me to my parents' room (they didn't wake up when the buggy
went through) back into the hallway, and finally back into my brothers'
room, which is where I thought the thing was when the night started.
The next morning, no one said anything that would make me think that they
had seen or heard anything unusual. So I didn't say anything, because I
didn't want my brothers to make fun of me (as they were wont to do.)
Now, YEARS later (fifteen or so) I asked my brothers if they had done all
this, and they said no. (We were having a good-old-fashioned bull
session at the time, and I believed them.) And a couple of years after
that, my Grandma was making arrangements to disperse all of her
possessions before going into a home. She said that she was giving the
wicker baby buggy to my aunt. I asked her whose buggy it was, and she
said it was her baby brother's. I couldn't recall any great-uncle, so I
asked her about him. She told me that he had been a sickly baby, and he'd
died as an infant. In the buggy.
Creeps me out just to think about it, but I wasn't scared at the time.
And don't give me any c**p about "night terrors".
Any comments, or similar experiences? let me know. I love a good ghostly
experience.
Karen at the scenic University of North Dakota
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