Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   standard categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools

Homeward (standard:Ghost stories, 772 words)
Author: Lev821Added: Jun 28 2012Views/Reads: 2378/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Who is the little boy that just wants to go home?

She drew back the bedroom curtain to see what the weather was like. Grey
clouds slowly roiled above, threatening rain. 

She was about to turn away when she saw a little boy looking through an
iron gate into a pig-pen. Susan Thompson owned a farm with her husband 
who was down in London for a meeting discussing proposed changes in 
income for farming supplies. The farm wasn't large. There were two 
horses, three pigs and eight chickens which saved them purchasing eggs. 
The boy had appeared in the yard for the past four days. Everytime 
Susan went out to talk to him, to see who he was and what he was doing 
here, he had disappeared, and despite extensive searches, was never to 
be found. 

Now he was there again, looking at a Tamworth pig who stood there
impassive in the cold. Sometimes he would wander around, looking lost, 
and sometimes he would just look at the animals. Susan was 51 and had 
long curly black hair, dressed for going out because the fridge was 
almost empty and it was a three mile drive to the nearest shops. 

She closed the curtain and walked out onto the landing to go downstairs,
and stopped on the top step, as there, at the bottom, the boy stood 
looking up at her. The front door was wide open, and she couldn't 
remember leaving it unlocked. 

After a few moments, she walked slowly down towards him. "I want to go
home," said the child who looked to be about seven, with black 
trousers, black shoes, a red pullover, and dark brown hair. "I'm lost," 
he said. All Susan could do was look down at him with a mixture of 
sympathy and curiosity. "What's your name?" she asked. "James, and I 
want to go home". The best thing she could do, she thought, was drive 
him into the town to the police station. Maybe they could help him out. 

She had locked up the farm and was driving slowly along the lane. The
boy was quiet, sat strapped into the passenger seat. She wanted to ask 
him all sorts of questions, and find out what he was doing here, but 
found herself simply glancing at him from time to time, maybe unsure of 
whether she should say what's on her mind, undecisive as to whether she 
should bother the child at all as he was clearly lost and wanted to go 
home as he had said, so Susan simply drove in silence. 

As the Mitsubishi shogun wound through the narrow lanes, she noticed
that the boy was staring at something in the distance. Following his 
gaze, she saw that he was looking at a church. After a few minutes, the 
route into the town passed by the building, and when Susan drove near, 
the boy undone his seatbelt. "Stop the car," he said, calmly, and she 
could do nothing else but pull over. She was about to speak when the 
child opened the door, got out, and ran towards the church. 

Susan switched off the engine and left the vehicle. She saw him
disappear through an archway and thought there was no point in running, 
he couldn't go far. The only sound came from nearby rustling trees. 
There was no-one around, and it didn't seem that there had been for a 
long time. Susan searched for a few moments and found him in the 
grave-yard near the back, amongst the older graves. She approached 
slowly, and he turned around and smiled. "I'm home," he said. He 
stepped over to one of the graves. It had a simple headstone, and was 
dotted with moss and lichen, the grave covered with weeds and long 

Susan didn't know if it was a trick of the light, or her eyes needed
testing, but the boy seemed to be blurred, and transparent, sinking 

He disappeared, and she walked slowly across to look at the gravestone:
'Here lies James Taylor, who departed this life aged 6, 1902. Sadly 

She knew now why the boy was lost, even though the area had once been
his home. He recognised the church and perhaps some of the hills and 
fields, and for a boy of his age, had probably never ventured all the 
way to where the farm was now situated, which had not been built when 
the boy was alive. That was only twenty-five years old. Far younger 
than the boy as he had not recognised it. The graves on either side of 
his were from the same family. 

She smiled mournfully, bowed her head and walked slowly back to the car.


Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Lev821 has 93 active stories on this site.
Profile for Lev821, incl. all stories

stories in "Ghost stories"   |   all stories by "Lev821"  

Nice Stories @, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2020 - Artware Internet Consultancy