Charlotte Grey, Ghost that Lost Her Way.

          “Charlotte Grey, The Ghost That Lost Her Way.” “This story took place not far from right where we’re sitting. Well it was in a small community just outside Wicksburg on the other side of Dark Woods Forest. There were only a few hundred people that lived in that little town. Most of them farmed the land along the Sweetwater River as it winds its way through the forest and out the other side on its way past Wicksburg. Charlotte was sixteen years old and an only child who lived with her father and mother on a small farm. They had a lot of work for a small family and only two farm hands, as they grew corn, cotton, raised chickens for eggs and about twenty cows for milk, which is how they made money to survive. Everyday Charlotte would get up before the sun did to help with the chickens and the cows, before her long walk to school. The worst part was that she had to walk past the old Barton farm that hadn’t been lived in for nearly sixty years. Besides being creepy looking, especially around dawn or dusk, local legend had it that Cornelia Barton, who was the last known person to live there, was a witch. No one seems to know whatever happened to Witch Barton, but a lot of scary tales were still being told. It was a warm spring morning that Charlotte was on her way to school and the sun was still below the horizon. The eerie, pale, yellow-red light of morning added a foreboding glow to the run down farmhouse she was approaching and was hard to ignore. The farmhouse was about a hundred yards from the road. It was probably a trick of the struggling daybreak, but it looked as if someone had passed a window inside the farmhouse. She stopped to get a better look. Yes, there it was again, and then again. Only this time she could hear a woman moaning, as if she were in deep agony. The moans were sounding more and more painful. Maybe someone had gone inside and was hurt and needed help. Reluctant, but not wanting to ignore someone who needed help, Charlotte turned up the road that led up to the farmhouse. Slowly, with each step, she was getting closer and closer. The agonizing moans growing louder and more frightening with each step.”Lifting an eyebrow, Miss Bicker in a stern voice, interrupted herself, “Elaine! Your marshmallow is totally engulfed in flames. Would you please blow it out, and for goodness sake, don’t burn yourself.”Miss Bicker continued, Reaching the front door of the farmhouse, in a shaky voice, Charlotte weakly calls out, “Hello?”No one answered. There were no more moans. Just a faint whimper. “Hello?”She called again. Still, no answer. She tried the door and with a deafening creak, the door swung open revealing a room of swirling dust that was capturing the first rays of morning sun. Looking around, she could see no one. One step and then she took one more. Hello? Still, no reply. Searching the room full of swirling dust, she saw no one. And then, a faint moan could be heard, coming from the second floor. Cautiously moving toward the staircase, she calls out, “Is anyone there?  Are you all right?”  Still, nothing. Slowly starting up the stairs, there is no sound except the creaking of the stairs. Reaching the top of the stairs, she finds two door ways, one to the right and one to the left. She goes to the left and opens the door. Just another empty room. Turning around she walks to the other door, opens it and finds another room, empty except for a picture of a woman on the wall and in the far corner a rocking chair. And it was rocking to and fro, with no one to be found. Frightened beyond belief she turns to leave and right behind her is an old, old woman standing there, laughing, cackling almost shrieking in delight. A blood curdling scream comes out of Charlotte. It has been said that it was heard for miles away. 
         Charlotte never made it to school that day, nor did she make it back home. Ever. But, to this day, people still swear, that on a full moon, Charlotte’s ghost can be seen wandering the road in front of the Barton Farm, still, carrying her school books, blind, crying and begging for someone to show her how to get home.”