The Woman in White

I have kept this story a secret my entire life. I've only ever told my therapist about it. I once tried to post it on Twitter, but I couldn't bring myself to press the tweet button. Now, I've finally found the courage to share my story online.

It was 2002 in Indiana. My family and I had lived there our whole lives, until I recently moved to Maine for a fresh start. It was the 4th of July, and our district was hosting a festival. There were red, white, and blue fireworks, corn dogs, toy stalls, and crowds marveling at the colorful display in the sky.

I was five years old at the time. My mother and I went to the festival with my older brother, who was fifteen. I held my mother's hand while my brother went off to buy popcorn. A massive blue firework exploded, and I wanted to get closer to the front of the crowd to see it better. I pulled my mother along, and she told me to slow down, but I pushed through the crowd, and eventually, my small hand slipped from her fingers. She called out to me, but I was too excited to stop and ran to the fence that separated the crowd from the large field where the firework boxes were, manned by the men lighting them. I stood there for at least 30 minutes, mesmerized, not thinking about where my mother or brother were. My mind was consumed by the fireworks.

Eventually, most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving only small groups behind. The fireworks continued, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure approaching from my right. I felt a cold, wet hand grip my wrist, and I turned around. What I saw is still burned into my memory.

A woman, probably in her late twenties, looked down at me. Her face was pale, her eyes drooping as if casting a deathly stare. Her eyes were shadowed by the night, but I could see they were sunken, with dark purple bags underneath, as if she hadn't slept in days. Her disheveled blonde hair partially hid her face from the people behind me. Something about her terrified me, and I grimaced as our eyes met. She smiled, but it wasn't a warm, inviting smile. She bared her upper teeth, straight and white. That smile – she looked like a villain from a Sailor Moon episode or another show I watched at the time. Her eyes were wide, and her pale face had several wrinkles, even as she smiled.

Her grip on my wrist was like a vice, and I could see her long nails digging into my skin. It felt like we stood there for hours, just staring at each other. I remember wondering when her face would get tired, when she would stop smiling at me. She didn't. She said something to me, but I was too young to understand, and the fireworks were too loud. She stood up from her crouch. She wore a dirty, long white dress. The bottom was caked with mud, and I wondered how she could wear those long, flowing sleeves in the heat. She was barefoot, and I could see her blue toenails and white ankles.

She began to walk, pulling me with her. I pulled back, old enough to know she was creepy and a stranger. She pulled harder. Overpowered me. I remember screaming for her to let me go, and a few people looked in our direction, but no one stopped her. I kept pulling away. I couldn't see where she was taking me, but I saw tall pines in the distance. The forest. She was taking me to the forest. I used all my strength and broke free from her grip. She turned around and looked at me, her eyes wide and angry. In an instant, I ran. I ran and ran until I collided with a small crowd.

It was my brother. I don't remember ever being so happy to see him as I was at that moment. He looked forward as if he had made a mistake and lifted me up. I remember him asking why I was crying, and all I could do was whimper. We eventually found our mother. Apparently, he and my mother had been looking for another child who looked like me in the crowd, not knowing I had almost been abducted. I never told them about the woman. As everyone headed home, we got into the car, and I sat in the backseat. I turned around as we drove off to see the last firework, and in the darkness, as one lit up the sky, I saw her. She stood at the edge of the last remaining group of people, staring at our car. It was almost as if she could see me through the tinted windows. I kept looking until my mother turned the corner and she was out of sight. Her face, I remember, looked angry, as if she was furious that she didn't get me.

I'm 27 now and living in Maine. I've been here for a few years. Even after that night, I still see her face. Every night I close my eyes to sleep, and almost always, I dream of her, coming into my room and climbing onto me. She just stares at my face with that same smile. I wake up in a cold sweat, and sometimes my dog is at the edge of the bed, staring at me, whimpering. My therapist and I often talk about her. She says it could be trauma-induced sleep paralysis, which is very common.

Last night, she was in my room again. She climbed on me again. She smiled again. I looked at her, unable to move. She never spoke, only watched me. I told her to go away, that I knew she wasn't real, in a weak voice. She kept staring at me, then opened her mouth to speak.

"Sweet dreams, James."