When I was about 6 years old, my family and I moved to Milton Florida. The house had 3 main bedrooms: the master bedroom, a small room at the end of the hallway, and another large room. My parents got the master bedroom, of course, my older sister and I got the large room, and my older brother got the small room. A few months later, my grandmother moved in with us. My brother gave his room to her, and he took the pool room next to the carport. When he moved out, my sister took the pool room and my grandmother took the large room, leaving me the small bedroom at the end of the hall. I started having sleep troubles almost as soon as we all swtiched rooms. All I could dream about were these two girls trying to make me leave the room. I started feeling like I was being watched, and like I was being threatened, even when I was awake. One day, shortly after these dreams started, my friend and I went over to visit this elderly woman, because her only daughter had just moved away and her husband had passed away. Automatically she and I became friends. I began visiting her more and more. She told great stories.
I told her about my feelings and the dreams I was having, and she told me a story that I will never forget. It was about two girls that had lived in the house I had just moved into. Their parents had just separated and they were visiting with their dad for the weekend. While the father and his two daughters were cruising around Milton in his convertable, he lost control of the vehicle and drove under a tractor trailer, decapitataing all three passengers. The girls' mother was so upset that she took their heads and buried them in the wall in the small bedroom at the end of the hallway. On the anniversary of their death, you can see their faces in the wood grain on the bedroom door. My friend and I took a Ouigi board into my room and tried to make contact with the girls.
All of a sudden, my mother walked in and threw my math book into the room, because I had left it in the living room. She didn't throw it hard, but the book flew right over to the wall and hit it, making a hole. We knew the girls had done it, trying to tell us they were there. Every year on the anniversary of their death, you can see their faces in the woodgrain on the bedroom door. We moved out of that house about 4 years ago, and my dreams are no longer haunted by the girls.