Your Ghost Stories

The March on Wilting Hill

I was a young girl when I would lay on the lush, green grass that coated Wilting Hill. It hadn't once occurred to me that it's name should imply that it's hill should be shriveled and dead like the rest of this town. 

The town with the rain, and the stone, and the many residents with an ill shaken dreariness carved into their faces. The town where it's people washed their clothes and cooked their meals and went to work all the same.

The town I lived in was gray. The hills where I stayed were bright. I preferred to stay here, in the hills.

I remember talking to my mom at night about this place. I asked her why the people here were like this. She told me that they were all just sad people who couldn't have a child like me to brighten up their lives.

Then I asked mommy if she'd ever be sad like them. She laughed, and held me in her warm arms, and said that if I stayed with her, there would be nothing for her to be sad about. 

After a week or two of living here, my daddy wasn't acting like himself. One morning I showed him a picture of a lizard that I had drawn. He laughed, picked me up by the waist and called me his little noodle, something he had always called me on account that I had always found noodle to be a silly word, then taped it onto the back of his desk, where he kept all of my drawings.

At least, that is what he should have done, seeing as it was what he had always done. Instead, when I proudly presented him with the picture, and I held it up to him with the biggest of smiles, he simply stared at it blankly, smiled, said that it was lovely, then turned back to his work.

Overflowing with disappointment, I went to mommy with my concerns. 

"He's just got a lot on his mind," She said, then she congratulated me on my picture and taped it up on the desk like I was used to, and I forgot the disappointment entirely. 

Yesterday, I went to Wilting hill to play, as my mommy worriedly instructed me to do so. I reached the top of the hill and flopped down onto the soft grass, poking my finger into the almost fluffy dirt. 

I got up and toddled over to the big, flat rock, where I dumped my colored pencils and my paper, and began to draw.

I used a lot of green in my drawings. My green pencil was all used up when the sun decided to escape and was sinking behind the hill.

I had never been here when the stars were out. I wanted to see what it looked like.

I sat there, hugging my knees to my chest, watching the stars peek out, as if trying to hide from me. I laughed and pointed up at one to let them know that I had found them, and they reluctantly came out of hiding and into view. 

The breeze picked up and each blade of grass swayed to the night's song, so that the grass all together gave the hill a ripple effect. 

I frowned, however, when I saw heads emerging up the side of the hill. Figures with no light on their faces trudged up the hill. I cocked my head in confusion, and waddled over to them, my chubby hand still gripping the green crayon.

I got a closer look and laughed in relief when I saw that it was just the people from the neighborhood; the guy who owned the pawn shop, the lady who sold mommy and daddy our house, even the little blind boy from two houses over. 

I giggled and waved, and the dead, sunken looks on all of their faces melted away, and they smiled and waved back. I laughed. These people had never been happy before. I had made them happy. 

The little boy took my hand and planted a soft kiss on my cheek.

Then my daddy came out of the crowd. He wasn't smiling. I frowned with my head tilted and glanced over at the boy. Why wasn't he smiling? The boy just shrugged.

He then took my hand and lead me back to my house, a few of the neighbors following us. I guess it was getting a little late. And I would like mommy to meet them.

When we entered the house my mom was yelling on the phone. She was crying. I laughed. Mommy always did the silliest things. She noticed me standing there, holding the boy's hand, and she dropped the phone. looking horrified. 

My daddy suddenly started hugging me really tightly, and I giggled. It had seemed like bazillion years since he had last done that. For some reason, my mommy didn't like that. She grabbed one of the big knives used for cutting my birthday cakes and screamed for him to get the hell away from me. 

"Mommy!" I said with a laugh. "It's fine! We just wanted to show you the wilting hill!" 

"You are never going back to that hill for as long as you live, do you understand me, noodle?" She said, her voice shaking, tears staining her cheeks. I laughed again. My mommy was funny. 

"C'mon, Noodle," the little boy said, lacing his fingers in mine and swinging our hands back and fourth. "Wanna show Mom the hill?" 

I nodded, smiling. My dad and his new friends behind be grabbed Mommy in a big hug, pulling her out of the house. Mommy was screaming. I think she was just so excited to see. We brought her up to the hill, and the boy lets go of my hand, saying that I would probably want to hold on to Mommy's hand right now. 

"She's a little nervous. But she'll like it more if you hold her hand." He explained. I nodded, walking over to her as they dropped her onto the ground, and the roots of the tree in the hill erupted from the soft grass to give her a hug too. She was screaming and crying, and I held her hand and sat criss-cross applesauce next to her. She kept telling me to run, and I kept laughing. I told her we could race later. 

My new friends piled dirt on top of her, and she was so excited, she could hardly keep still.

 I think she's okay now. It's been a few days now, and she isn't screaming anymore. 

Every day I still go to wilting hill. My mommy is with me. She is always with me. Just like the little boy said she would be. 

And in a few days, I'll get a hug from the hill to, and we'll play tag, just like she wanted.