Halloween had always been my favorite holiday, ever since I was a child. The excitement of dressing up, running through the streets with my friends, and filling our bags with candy was a memory I cherished.
As I grew older, things changed. I was no longer a child, too old to go trick-or-treating, but I held onto the tradition in my own way. Every year, I would decorate my house with cobwebs and pumpkins, buy too much candy, and wait for the neighborhood kids to come by. Their smiles and excitement as I handed out treats always brought me joy.
Two years ago, I was still walking from house to house, holding my daughter’s tiny hand, helping her knock on doors for candy. But now, those memories felt like they were from a different lifetime. We lost her, and with her, I lost my husband, John. The grief tore our marriage apart, and we couldn’t find our way back to each other.
That night, after giving out the last of the candy, I put up a sign that read “No More Treats” and closed the door. A familiar ache filled my chest, a sadness that never truly left. My house, an old creaky place, stood across from a cemetery. Some people found it eerie, but it didn’t bother me. The house was cheap, and I never believed in ghosts.
I made myself some cocoa and sat by the window, expecting to see teenagers pulling pranks among the gravestones. But instead, I saw something that made my heart stop. Near one of the graves was something that looked like a baby car seat. I blinked, thinking my eyes were playing tricks on me, but the car seat remained.
I grabbed my coat and stepped outside. The cold night air bit at my skin as I made my way toward the cemetery. My breath caught in my throat when I saw it up close. Inside the car seat was a baby.
Kneeling down, my voice trembled as I whispered, “How did you get here?” I gently lifted the baby into my arms and carried her back to my house.
Once inside, I laid her on the couch and noticed a note taped to the car seat. It simply read, “Amanda, one and a half years old.” There was no phone number, no explanation. I looked at the little girl, stirring slightly in her sleep, and my heart clenched.
I called the police right away, but when they informed me that no one had reported a missing child, frustration surged within me. They suggested I bring Amanda to the station, but something about her made me hesitate. I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet.
