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Phone Calls and Room 11

Posted on August 19, 2010

I am 16 years old and when I was younger my family used to move a lot. By the time I was 12 we had lived in 6 different houses and were looking to buy another; my dad had just got promoted and we were looking for something a bit spacier now that we could afford it. At first I didn’t want to move as I’d have to leave my best friend Ellie behind, but when I saw the old-fashioned house I changed my mind instantly. It was situated in St. Francisville, Louisiana. It was beautiful there. The population must have been small as it was a quiet place to live and the place we moved to was exceptionally remote with little country roads and patches of green. I settled in instantly.

There wasn’t really a lot of talk amongst the neighbors and everybody sort of kept to themselves. It was also hard to find a family with children my age and I often wondered about Ellie and whether she’d gotten a new best friend; silly things like that. It must have been the 8th or 9th day living in the house that our phone rang- this wasn’t unusual; we’d just moved and it could be anyone ringing to check up on us. I hoped it was Ellie. It rang around midday and my little brother rushed to answer it. “No, she doesn’t live here, sorry, bye!” I think were his words and my mom darted in to see who it was. My brother said “A lady who wanted to speak to Mrs. G Barnett about 11″

“11?” my mom had said. “11 what?”

My brother shrugged his shoulders and ran off into the garden.

The next couple of days went quickly as the build up to school was at it’s peak. At about 10pm, the phone rang again. This time my mother answered it. “No I’m afraid not, who’s calling?” she asked. She apologized and hung up. “It’s that woman again asking for Mrs. G Barnett! If she calls again we better tell her to stop ringing the wrong goddamn number” were her exact words and after she had said them something crashed from upstairs in the study. I rushed up the stairs and into the room to see what it was. I froze as I came across the shattered phone on the floor with it’s batteries scattered across the carpet. My mom cleaned it up and decided my little brother had gotten over excited and knocked it off (when in actual fact he was playing outside at the time.)

It was the night before starting at my new school and I was organizing everything into drawers and cupboards, when the phone started to ring. I picked it up immediately and I felt shivers down my spine as the cold feminine voice cooed through the phone: “Good evening, you wouldn’t happen to know if Mrs. G. Barnett is available to speak?”
Silence.

After a few awkward seconds I decided to reply: “No one by that name lives here. You have the wrong number…”

“Oh- I see- well if you do happen to see her please tell her that we need to urgently talk about 11. Thank you.”

I swear to this day that right before I hung up I heard a demonic laugh faintly in the background of the phone call. I decided to check caller ID as soon as she’d gone. The number was ‘unknown’. Perhaps It was a prank? It was getting too sinister to be an everyday wrong-number situation.

The next evening I’d gotten in from school and my mother’s face was a pale white. She was sitting at the counter with a phone in her hand. She told me: “The woman called again. She asked for Mrs. G Barnett like she’d never spoken to me before and I had to hang up as I was starting to wonder whether it was that Ellie pranking us again. But as soon as I hung up on her mid-sentence, something screamed from underneath the floorboards.”

I didn’t really know what to say at all. Who was the woman asking for Mrs. G Barnett and why was she ignoring us when we told her she wasn’t here? My mother decided to consult the previous owner of the house. He was a kind, bubbly man and he got on well with my little brother when he visited. We chatted and had biscuits and then my mother launched the situation on him.

“Recently we’ve been getting repetitive calls to the house asking for a Mrs. G. Barnett. The woman sounded very well spoken…”

The man’s face went a pale blue and he coughed; biscuit crumbs flying onto the carpet. “I haven’t heard that name in 30 years.” he said.

We all looked at each other as if he was some sort of crazy psycho guy from a horror film. His words were true, though.

“I grew up in the house. My mum and dad gave me the house for my 20th birthday and I often let my girlfriend at the time move in. Each girl broke up with me in a terrible state because a woman had rung the phone whilst I was at work and asked for a Mrs. G Barnett. When my girlfriend had asked why, the woman always answered “He made love to her.” and the girlfriend had thought I was cheating on her, so I was lonely for a while. Then my fiancé moved in and I had told her about the haunting woman who asked for a G. Barnett on a daily basis. We moved when my fiancé fell pregnant.

We were all flabbergasted and disturbed by what we had heard. The next thing my mother and the previous owner did was to search the ownership records for the house. They scrolled down the page all the way into the 1960s and still there was no sign of a G. Barnett. However, my mother still wanted to check further and she did. It wasn’t til she’d reached the date 1929 that she’d come across the name “Mrs. Georgina Barnett, 1895-1940.” The record said she had lived in the house for 11 years before she had passed away aged 45. 11. Could that be what the woman down the phone was talking about? I raised the question: “The woman had mentioned a number 11?”

“Yes.” the man said. “There’s a room below the floorboards that was boarded up in the early 1920s called ‘room 11′. My mother and father used to tell me that there was a secret stairway from the walk in pantry down into the room and that the owner used to store stolen money in there. We never found a stairway.” We thanked the man for his time and he left abruptly.

We moved from the house as quickly as we could to the city and have not been bothered by the ghostly calls from 1929. Sometimes, though, I wonder what the woman wanted to talk about and really if there was beneath the floorboards, a room called number 11.

Sent in by Maddie, Copyright 2010 TrueGhostTales.com




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