Hello there…and BOO!
I’m playing a little trick on all of you…but it’s not about the story I’m sharing. I have a haunting tale to tell in four parts…. but for Part I of “The Disappearing Girl” you’ll need to hop over to my Heart of the Matter post to learn about an unusual photo I took in France many years ago. Then? Please, please, please pop back here to learn how the story unfolds.
I’m going with the honor system here…no fair reading what follows if you didn’t go to the other post first. Pinky swear? Alright then…Let’s continue, shall we?
She’s on the Move
I framed the photo (see image above) thanks to Paul’s encouragement, but I never felt comfortable displaying it. It’s still hard to describe why, but the 8 x 10 pic sat in my bottom dresser drawer for almost a decade. It wasn’t until Paul and I – after being married for several years – bought a house and among the many carpentry projects he tackled, he created an art ledge in our dining room. We bonded over our love of art and photography – even as cash-strapped newlyweds – and his idea about a ledge for displaying art seemed super cool. Some of his, some of mine. Good, good. A home improvement project that costs only pennies is a plus!
Concluding that the photo from France looked good with the other pieces, I pulled “her” out of the drawer, unwrapped the protective, soft dishcloth and positioned her on the ledge. The whole room looked great. Soft gray tones on the walls and our overstuffed sled-style velour dining chairs (hey, it was 1987 – the height of good-lookin’ décor!).
And so it began. About a week later, I arrived home to find that framed photo (only that one) on the floor, face down in between the wall and the dining room table. The others on the ledge? Fine and dandy. So I figured it was a door slam, an open window (even though none were open and no one was home) or a hefty truck rolling down our street. Vibrations. Oh boy. Maybe. But not from a truck. When this happened repeatedly, I put her away. I gave the photo a stern talking to as I put her/it back in the bottom dresser drawer, little cloth blankey and all.
I told a few close friends and family about the odd experience…the fact that we never saw the frame fall from the ledge to the floor, landing in the same spot each time. No deviations and always face down. But I got input and answers! “It’s the girl – she’s still in the photo, you just don’t see her.” Crazy. Ridiculous.
When we found our next fixer-upper house, we needed to sell our home quickly and, in a torrent, we refreshed and tweaked every room before the ‘for sale’ sign was in place. Several years had passed since the “unexplainable” so I decided to retrieve the pesky photo and put her back on the ledge. Same as before. She looked good, just as I remembered, and I figured I could give her a probationary period to be seen – but only if she behaved.
Living in your home when it’s up for sale can be a nightmare with people in and out and our daughter, Delaney, was just a tot. We needed a quick sale and we were determined. So was something or someone else. Most weekdays our house was empty…we’d tidy up before Paul and I went off to work and Delaney went to daycare. On at least three occasions, I arrived home to find the freaky photo ON the dining room table. A glass dining room table. Face down, just as before when I’d find the framed photo on the carpet.
At first, I figured it was an inquisitive buyer, pulling the photo off the shelf, during a walk-through of the house. But when our real estate agent said she was IN the house when she heard a clatter in the dining room, finding the framed photo face down on the table I was convinced – really for the first time – that something else was going on. So, I put her away. Again. (The photo – not the realtor!)
Meet the Family
Two more years passed and in our new house, I decided to hang the photo on the wall in our living room, secured by a sturdy picture hanging hook and anchored to a stud. I’d put the history of the photo out of my head, the disconcerting memories about the disappearing girl and her floaty dress.
Until…sweet four-year old Delaney asked me one day about “the lady” in the mirror. I was zooming around the house with a basketful of laundry, and I nearly dropped it all in that moment. I looked at our little girl, my eyes scanning from her position on the stairs to the mirror in our entry way and back to the photo in the living room. Delaney motioned and pointed to the mirror and then to the photo and in her matter-of-fact tone she repeated, “The lady, momma, the one from the picture – where did she go?”
I was scared. Delaney walked around the corner as if she was following a trail and said. “She went to the kitchen”. My wee munchkin wasn’t one bit afraid and as soon as the episode began, it ended with Delaney crawling into her chair at the kitchen table, angling for a snack. End scene.
I put my laundry basket down next to Delaney and told her I’d be right back. I walked to the photo and stared at it for a long time. Then I stood in front of the mirror – steeling myself for the possibility that something would jump out at me. Speak to me? Nothing.
When Paul came home that day, I filled him in, away from prying little eyes and ears and he nonchalantly said, “Oh yeah. I’ve seen HER in the living room, too. I thought it was you at first, but you were in the kitchen.” At that point I wanted to smack him so hard. Given what he knew about the photo and our past “encounters” with it jumping around, he didn’t think to mention an apparition in the house?
I know this sounds ridiculous, but with all the family drama playing out with my mom, Sue and my sister Lisa, I didn’t have time for paranormal games. I surrendered and all was quiet. For years. Maybe the photo and “the lady” took pity on me? I dunno. But we put the spooky business behind us and it would be twenty years before we had another encounter. And the target? Not me. Not Paul. Our grown girl, Miss Delaney, home from college.
What’s Next?
I still don’t know what to think. And you might be wondering…where’s the photo now? I could tell you…or invite you to tune in next week where I finish the story. Promise. I’ll fill you in one the last episode with her…the photo…the spooky stuff…that involved Delaney and her friend who was thousands of miles away. I’ll also tell you about my dad’s family and the discovery of an ancestral connection to that picturesque French village in the 1500’s.
See you next week…and thank you so much for reading this deeply personal — and never before shared publicly story.
Vicki ❤
Victoria Ponders 
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