This haunting, like the last one, occurred in Connecticut; only this one happened in Waterbury, specifically a section of the town called Watertown, but that's like saying The Inner Sunset when describing the Sunset in San Francisco. If you've never been, which I'm guessing most of my readers haven't, it's a cute town that looks a lot like every other town in Connecticut complete with historic graveyards and haunted houses. When I was in elementary school, truthfully, I don't remember which grade-I'm guessing third, so let's assume I was nine years old-my class took a field-trip to historic Waterbury to learn about Connecticut history and see how people lived in the early settlement days. Our first stop was a historic home that was still set up as it would have been in the early 1800's.
Our tour guide was deep in character, she spoke with an accent, dressed in a petticoat and acted as though quilt's were the world's greatest accomplishment. My eyes were beginning to glaze over when we entered a bedroom. It was small, there were a few beds inside and a doll in the corner. The guide explained that this is where the family slept. The whole family. In one room. The entire class was in a tizzy discussing the idea of sharing a room with their entire family, discussing snoring and annoying siblings, but not me. I was drawn to the doll in the corner of the bedroom. It was away from the beds, which struck me as odd. I wandered closer to the doll which caught the guides attention. She came up close, away from the other kids, and spoke in her normal voice to me. It was along the lines of, "Aw, you noticed the doll. That doll belonged to a little girl who lived here. In those days, when little children got sick, many of them never recovered. We'll be visiting her grave when we go to the cemetery." It was spooky and probably not something she should have told a nine year old little girl, but I was fascinated. As we moved on to the next room I never took my eyes off the doll. It captivated all of my attention.
Soon after, we left the historic house and our guide took us to the cemetery across the street. It was a beautiful Connecticut day. The sun was shining, there a barely any clouds in the sky and zero wind, perfect for wandering around a cemetery. The guide pointed out tombstones that were believed to be from the late 1700's but the dates were too faded to determine. As she gave us history lessons on some of the grave styles and family plots, I discreetly picked flowers. They were mainly those little purple violets that grow likes weeds all over Connecticut with a few Dandelions for a splash of yellow.
I had picked a pretty sizable bouquet when we made it to the family plot of the home we had just visited. The guide told pointed out each tombstone and made sure to look at me as she mentioned the little girl's headstone. As the class took turns looking and moving on, I made my way to the little girl's grave. I placed the bouquet of flowers on top and took a second to take in the scene. There was a little girl my age buried there. That really hit a nerve.
When I came back to reality I realized my class was gone. I mean gone. I couldn't see them anywhere! I began to panic and cry. I was standing in the middle of a cemetery gasping for air through my tears in an utter state of panic when out of no where I found myself surrounded by a gust of wind and began to get chilled. Through the wind I heard a little girl's voice say, "They're over the hill." It was crystal clear, as though someone was standing next to me, speaking into my ear. As soon as I heard the words the wind disappeared and the numb panic I was feeling began to subside. I followed the directions of the wind and walked up over a hill to spot my class and a very worried tour guide and classmates. I re-joined them and was scolded to staying behind.
Shortly after we went home and I told my parents about the field trip. My parents urged me to research Waterbury and the little girl. Computers were far from what they are today, when I was nine, so I had to go to the local library and look through history books about Waterbury, Connecticut. I think my parents assumed I wouldn't find anything, get bored and move onto a topic other than ghosts. Instead I found a few "real life ghost encounter" books mentioning a little girl ghost in Waterbury. I obsessed over this for a while, begging my parents to take me back to Waterbury, but it was almost two hours away and they were not playing into my "haunted" fantasy. Over time, I began to focus on other things and slowly forgot my ghost encounter.
Now fast-forward seven years. When I turned 16, like every other teen I was eager to get my driver's licence. I took a driver's ed class, got 100% on the written exam, arrived to take my test and was told I had to use a driver's ed car, not my parent's car. I had only ever driven my parents car. The driver's ed car had a brake that stuck and a broken rear view mirror. The man administering the test clearly had an upset stomach and did not want to be there. When I got in the car, he asked me if I was Latina I nervously replied, "No, Jewish." I'm pretty sure that was when he decided to fail me. I swear I drove like a pro, but he marked me down every time I hit the break. For the record, 12 students took the test that day. The only one who passed was a true Latina chick from Guatemala. The rest of us failed.
I instantly called the DMV and tried to get a real appointment, asap. They had one opening, the following Saturday, but it was in Waterbury, Connecticut. No problem. My parents let me drive the entire way to the DMV. We even followed a driver taking their test and took a few practice laps before the test. I knew that shit cold. When the tester called my name, I cold feel her hating me already. The first thing she asked was why a Greenwich girl was taking my test so far from home. My heart sank but I reminded myself that I was a good driver and had no reason not to pass. We got in the car, my parents car, and I began to drive. I was doing great! I stayed in the center of the lane, I counted to three in my head at each stop, I used my signals; then she asked me to turn left. This wasn't on our practice lap. I turned my left signal on and swallowed hard. I could do this. I counted to three at the stop sign, looked both ways and pulled into the intersection. I pressed the gas and began to acceleration when a little girl appeared in the middle of the road. She looked pissed. I slammed on the breaks, terrified. I blinked. There was no little girl. The tester was smirking, she had ever pulled the emergency break to ensure I wouldn't drive as she documented the situation. I took in my surroundings and realized I was smack in the middle of a deserted road between a historic house and a cemetery. Every ghostly memory came flooding back to me.
Needless to say, I failed the test; but I didn't care. I wanted to know why the little girl was pissed. I pondered that the entire ride home as my parents let into me about failing an official driving test. For the record, I re-took the test a few weeks later and the tester told me I was a fantastic driver and that the lady in Waterbury was known for nitpicking, he made me feel much better about my driving skills.
I still ponder why she was pissed at me and why I had such a strong connection with her. Maybe she was angry because I grew up? Or maybe because I never went back to visit? Maybe I knew her in a past life? I'll probably never know; but I do know that it still makes me feel empty when I think about how young she was when she died. One of these days I'll take a trip back to Waterbury just to put a bouquet of flowers on her grave.
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| Flowers much like the one's I put on the little girl's grave... |
P.S. Now that the internet exists, it's much easier to find proof: http://www.ghostsofamerica.com/0/Connecticut_Watertown_ghost_sightings4.html
