1D Horror Stories (One-Shots)

Letters to my Dad

Harry's  POV.

My mother (Anne), my siblings (Liam and Louis) and I moved into this awesome new house a few months ago. It's a really cool plantation-style home out in what was once a rural area outside of New Orleans. By now the area is a little more built up, so it's really more like a spacious suburb.

Anyway, it had been about 9 months since our father died. My mom really wanted us to get away from our old house; it was full of too many memories. She wanted us to have a cool, spacious house to play in and give us a fresh start.

Apparently we got this place at a decent deal because the former owner was this man who passed away and his family wanted to get the extra house off their hands. He died peacefully in his sleep, but it still made us a little uncomfortable so no one moved into his bedroom. We just let it be a guestroom if anyone had visitors.

We have a wonderful neighbor named Niall who lives next door to us (about a half mile away). He's a small but powerfully builtman who welcomed us to the area with open arms. The former owner of the house was an old friend of him who he visited all the time, and my own mother soon took on the role of her new friend. They immediately became best friends, always giggling in our kitchen on the weekends.

Niall loves telling tales of Voodoo and even practices it himself (many people in New Orleans do). He mostly practices the "light" voodoo, like charms for good luck and protection. He told me that you can talk to spirits if you write them letters and put them in a place where they know to find them.

I started seeing him every now and then, late at night when I can't sleep, sticking envelopes into our mailbox (I can see it from my window). When I'd go out in the morning, though, no envelopes would be there. One night I saw him doing the usual mailbox routine, and as soon as he walked far enough away, I ran out to see what he was putting in our mailboxes. I saw a little, silvery, unaddressed letter to Zayn, which turns out to be the name of the man who lived in our house before us. I always thought Niall was joking about talking to the dead, but it's clear he practices it himself. Just to test things out, I stood at that mailbox, watching it for a few hours. Eventually, the sun began to break over the horizon so I figured I had waited ample time. I opened the mailbox.

The letter was gone.

At first I was in complete disbelief, but then I was overcome with excitement. If Niall could talk to Zayn, maybe I could talk to my dad!

I keep a little shoebox under my own bed. It's full of little trinkets and pictures that remind me of my dad. I go through it every now and then, when I miss him most, as a sort of therapy.

A few nights after trying to rationalize what had happened with the note to Zayn, I decided the best way to test it out was to try it myself. I wrote a letter to my dad, which felt silly at first because I don't know what dead people like to talk about. I wrote:

Dear Daddy,

Miss you! How are things on the other side? Mom bought this cool house for us and we have a fun neighbor lady named Niall. We're all doing ok over here but I especially miss waking up every morning to the sounds of your loud singing in the shower. I hated it back then, but now I realize how funny and charming it was.

Sincerely,
Harry

I placed the note into my special shoebox and slipped it back under the bed. When I woke up in the morning, it wasn't there. I wasn't sure how to handle it. Did he really get the message? Does he write back? What do I do now?

Well, I still needed to go to school that day so the excitement of my supernatural letter-writing subsided and I headed over to the bathroom to get ready.