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Rated: E · Short Story · Family · #1742718
A childhood memory of a child who visits her friend in an old house that used to be her
When I was little I used to live down the road from my grandmother. My grandmother lived with my aunt. I really loved my aunt she was so sweet and sometimes she acted like a child. There was good reason for that since she was mildly slow. I loved to walk down the road and visit my aunt ,she would spend time with me as long as she was'nt taking care of my grandmother.

My grandmother, God rest her sole was not a person you would want to know. The best memory of my grandmother was of my aunt brushing her very long gray hair that was always in a bun. When she took it down it just flowed and flowed! My grandmother was a evil mean woman who expected my aunt to take care of her. My aunt did it with no complaints.

One day I went to my grandmothers to see my aunt and my grandmother was crying. Something that I never had witnessed. I was concerned since this was not ordinary, I called my parents. They came down the road and after finding out that my grandmother was hurting and in pain they rushed her to the emergency room.

My grandmother lasted a couple of days. They found she had stomach cancer and when they opened her up they found that the cancer had spread throughout her body. They closed her up and told the family she would not last more than a couple of days. After my grandmother was gone my aunt moved to a highrise home for the elderly. I missed her alot but we often went to visit her.

A new family moved into the home that was my grandmothers and aunts. I started to hang out with the kids that lived there. One day they invited me in and when I entered the living room, I looked toward the mantle and on the mantle sat a picture of my grandmother. I asked my friend where they found the picture. They said "it was a picture of their grandmother". I said "no way it was my grandmother and my dad should have it since it was a picture of his mother." They swore up and down that it was their granfmother and I was not getting the picture.

I told my parents and they said there was nothing left in the house, so it could not be my grandmother. Needless to say I never went back in that house again .It just creeped me out seeing that picture. It was like my grandmother was waiting for me to come and visit that house again. She was more than likely plotting evil from the grave. No matter what my parents said I know that picture was my grandmother I did remain friends with the kids that lived there however. My memory of that picture on the mantle has always stayed with me.



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