by Mike Melton
I want to start out telling this story but letting you know I'm not a drug addict, alcoholic, or crazy in any way, nor was I when this even took place. When I was 16, I was helping my boss move out of his house. It was a big house, so the day lasted pretty long. Throughout the day, people mentioned they were getting weird feelings in the house, as was I. Upon asking my boss, he told me he had heard a little girl was killed in the house by her father. When he moved in, he noticed unordinary stains on the wall and the floor. He didn't think much of them at first, until after painting the walls and changing the carpet, the stains came back. He showed me the stains, which he says he painted over multiple times, and they looked like splatters of some kind of fluid. I didn't really believe him, and neither did anyone else, so we went back to moving furniture out of the house. Later in the day, I was upstairs in a room by myself moving a dresser, and something, not sure what, made me stop what I was doing, and look at the wall. It was an old house, and the light fixture didn't come from the ceiling, it was just inside the doorway on the top right side of the wall, just sticking straight out. Under that was a blank wall, and I couldn't help but stare at the emptiness. As I was looking at it, writing started to slowly, faintly appear on the wall. I took a step back and kept watching, then realized what was going on. On the wall was a message saying "MY DADDY HURT ME". It was in big letters not done very well, like a 6 year old was writing it. Immediately, I ran downstairs, and secretly asked Mike, my boss, to come upstairs. He walked in the room, looked at the message, looked at me, and smiled. When he looked at me again, he realized I wasn't smiling either. Right then, we ran downstairs, got everyone else out, and never went back. He ended up getting a moving crew to finish the last of the work. We never really talked about it again, but I can still never get that picture out of my mind. I also feel sometimes like maybe I'm supposed to go back to the house, like maybe I'm supposed to help in some way. It gives me tingles every time I think about it, and it's been 11 years now. Wish I would've taken some pictures so people believe me when I tell them about it.