I had a random memory recently of a strange little story from my childhood; something I hadn’t thought about in many years. I thought it would be interesting to revisit it, as I don’t think I ever gave it too much thought after it initially happened. This could possibly be categorized as a ghost story, though it’s more likely just the tale of two spooky kids messing with each other. Either way, I think it’s kind of interesting.
From the time I was about eight or nine years old, through my early teen years, I was best friends with a girl named Samantha. She was the granddaughter of my then next-door neighbors, and we were together pretty much every day during the summer, when she was basically living at her grandparents’ house. She did actually live in the same town, but in a different area, so we didn’t go to the same school and I rarely went to her actual home. Most of the time we hung out at my house, usually in the basement, where the majority of my toys and games and things were.
Samantha and I were both fascinated by spooky things, but, like me, she scared easily. We would often convince ourselves that there were ghosts or other sinister entities in the house, based on silly things like a slight breeze from the air conditioning vent blowing something around, or a noise from the boiler room that sounded like a growling dog; the very same demon dog I’d had a nightmare about years before. Many of our childhood get-togethers turned into rounds of “ghost hunting”, complete with cassette tapes of us running around trying to prove the existence of these supernatural creatures, that we were so sure were there. Even in adulthood, the few times I’ve run into Samantha, she still speaks of how scary my house could be and how it was most likely haunted.
One day, when we were around middle school age, I think, we were sitting in the basement and I, for some reason, came up with the idea to make up a character and claim she was someone who used to play with us when we were little, and ask Samantha if she remembered her. I guess I wanted to freak her out for some reason, as these were often the types of “games” we’d play with each other. And so, looking around the room for inspiration, I asked a question:
“What do you think ever happened to Penny Launder?”
Penny Launder was not the name of anyone either Samantha or I would have known. I made the name up by looking at two things in the room: A piggy bank, hence “penny”, and the door to the laundry room across from where we were sitting. Samantha looked at me like I was crazy. But then I started to describe her.
“You really don’t remember her?” I asked. “She used to play with us, and sometimes Jessica, all the time! She always wore pink and had bows in her hair; we always said she’d get made fun of if she continued to dress like that in middle school?”
In reality, I was describing the cartoon picture on the side of this baby doll swing that was sitting the basement. It was a little girl in pink with bows in her hair. I was more or less looking right at it as I spoke. I think the fact that Samantha couldn’t see that I was clearly making this all up, based on things that were in the room, was egging me on to keep going.
“She just disappeared one day,” I remember saying. “We never knew why.”
Samantha kept telling me she had no clue who I was talking about, and asked me if I was sure she had been around when Penny Launder would come over. I finally dropped it when it was clear she wasn’t going to believe me, or figure out that I was making up a story about a phantom girl to scare her. We continued on whatever we were doing, and then suddenly, Samantha just stopped and said,
“Oh, that’s right! Penny Launder! I must have forgotten her name. I remember her now. I remember her always wearing pink.”
I was shocked that she was suddenly responding to my silly story, and kept asking her if she really remembered this person. She started telling stories about her, similarly to how I had been, to the point where it started freaking me out, and finally I felt like I had to tell her I had made the whole thing up. I pointed to the picture on the doll swing and told her that’s where I got the idea from, and I named her after the piggy bank and the laundry room. I expected us to both laugh and admit we were just messing with each other as usual, but Samantha kept insisting that she did in fact really remember this little girl, and that I couldn’t have possibly been making it up.
I walked with her back to her grandparents’ house that day, and she even brought it up to her grandmother, asking if she remembered a little girl called Penny Launder, saying I was claiming to have made her up, but she was sure this person actually existed. Her grandmother had no recollection of ever knowing a Penny Launder, of course, and thought we were just playing around, making up ghosts as usual. My family actually went away on vacation the next day, and the subject of Penny Launder never came up again that I can recall.
I can’t help but wonder, though, thinking about this as an adult, if Samantha had just figured out I was messing with her and decided to mess with me right back, or perhaps the image of Penny Launder that I created actually did remind her of someone she had known and I hadn’t. Living in a different part of town and going to a different school, she did have friends that I didn’t know. It’s entirely possible she knew someone who fit the description of Penny Launder, and was possibly remembering playing with her, but when she was with someone else besides me.
Or maybe, just maybe, my basement was haunted after all, and a little ghost girl named Penny Launder was someone we both subconsciously knew. I mean…I really can’t account for why I wanted to tell such a story in the first place.
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