When I was seven years old I made up this “ghost story” to tell my best friend of the time. One night while sitting on my front porch directly in front of the street lamp across the street, I created this story on the spot and told her. She believed me at the time, but years later I told her that I had made it up. She said that she didn’t mind because it was a pretty cool story. I don’t know about how cool it is, but I’ll post it anyways, even though it’s really short. I’ll try to write it as I told it back then, but that was eight years ago so…
A few years back, there used to be a family that lived here in this house, a young boy living with his mother and father. The boy’s grandmother was growing older and was already widowed, so when she knew that she was to die soon, she came here to visit her son, daughter-in-law, and grandson one last time.
One thing that the grandmother was always noted for were the only pair of shoes that she would ever wear. Every day, no matter what the weather was like, she would always wear her favorite pair of sandals. These sandals were old and worn with withered soles and weak tan-colored lace that held the footwear together, matching the skin tone of the elder lady.
The entire family was huddled around the couch in their living room with the grandmother lying on her death bed, wearing her favorite pair of sandals when she died there, surrounded by her loved ones.
Now, even though she died many years ago, the family has moved away, and I have moved in, I heard the story of the grandmother’s death from a neighbor and sat here on my porch one night all alone. It was on a night like tonight that I was sitting here looking out to the street and I saw a pair of tan-colored laced sandals walking down the street. Beneath the golden rays that the street lamp provided, I watched as the two sandals moved on their own as if being worn by an unseen person. I sat here and quietly watched as they continued their way until disappearing once reaching the darkness not tainted by the unnatural light.
This happened every time that I sat on this porch all alone at night, and I believe that they were the sandals worn by the old woman who died here while wearing them. She must walk this street every night wearing her favorite sandals…
https://noellembrooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/Logo-6.png00Noelle M. Brookshttps://noellembrooks.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/Logo-6.pngNoelle M. Brooks2007-09-19 02:12:402015-03-11 23:07:12Sandals in the Street