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From: eileen@bytethis.com (Eileen C. McDonough)
Newsgroups: alt.folklore.ghost-stories
Subject: Living in a Cemetery... Story two
Date: Fri, 17 Oct 1997 12:25:39 GMT
I was very ill as a child, spending a lot of time in and out of the hospital. During one stay, my father and his ten brothers (who ALL lived in the same county) got together and built me a dollhouse/playhouse. Using materials "appropriated" from some houses being torn down; this dollhouse had three rooms, cabinets and counters, windows that opened and closed and dutch doors. It was shingled and sided, had a nice front porch and it's own landscaping. there were even window boxes.
The cemetery's coffin maker made me a table and two chairs and sized an old loveseat for the house's parlor. My doll furniture was set up for a baby's room.
It was truly a little girl's dream house, and it sat right next to the chainlink fence that separated the front part of the cemetery from my grandparent's property. On the other side of the fence were three small tombstones, two lambs and a small flat stone. The names and dates showed they were two girls and a boy who had all died some fifty years before, and all under the age of ten.
It was soon apparent that I was not the only child "playing" in my dollhouse. Dandelions would show up on the table in the morning, dolls would be tucked in or moved around.
Instead of being taught to be afraid, my family encouraged me to accept whatever happened saying that these children never had a chance to play as i did. The happenings gradually diminished, and though I was not a soltary child, I never felt alone when my real playmates couldn't play.
Gar'goils'