The Cobblestone Playmates

I hadn’t logged into this forum in months, mainly because of what happened at the old mill town. You see, I’m part of a traveling history club that visits historical sites, and this summer we went to a restored colonial village in the Carolinas. Our guide was a theater kid who loved to lay it on thick. He’d pause dramatically, lower his voice, and stare at the ground like he was about to summon something. That day, he outdid himself.

We were walking down a lane lined with wooden houses, their windows like dark eyes, when the guide stopped dead in the middle of a cobblestone crossroad. He raised his hand, palm out, and whispered, ‘Does anyone hear that?’ We all froze, straining our ears. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees, and maybe the distant caw of a crow. We all shook our heads. He nodded slowly, as if confirming a secret. ‘They say,’ he began, his voice dropping to a near whisper, ‘that a long time ago, there was a miller who had a son, just a boy of seven. And the miller also had an indentured servant, a girl about the same age. The two were inseparable on that road. They’d chase each other between the houses, laughing. But one autumn, they were playing near the mill pond, and they both fell in. The current was strong. They never found the boy. The girl was pulled out, but she died later that night. They say their laughter still echoes here when the moon is full.’ He paused, letting the silence press down on us.

I’ll admit, my heart was beating faster, but I was also relieved that the story was just that—a story. We continued walking, passing a row of shops converted into museums. The group was chattering nervously, but I kept my eyes on the cobblestones. That’s when I saw them. Two small figures, a boy and a girl, standing at the edge of the road, half-hidden behind a barrel. They were dressed in old-fashioned clothes, the girl in a simple dress, the boy in a white shirt and suspenders. They were laughing, their mouths open, but no sound came out. Then they turned and ran between two buildings, disappearing as if they’d slipped through a crack in the world. I blinked, and they were gone. My skin went cold. I grabbed my friend’s arm, but when I pointed, she saw nothing.

I tried to convince myself it was a trick of the light, or maybe some kids in costumes playing a prank. But I couldn’t shake the image. Later, we stopped at a small inn for lunch. I excused myself to the restroom, which was down a narrow hallway at the back. As I walked, I heard it: the faint sound of children giggling, like the echo of a bell. I spun around, but the hallway was empty. The giggling seemed to come from the walls. My heart pounded. I rushed back to the main room, nearly knocking over a chair. My friends asked if I was okay, but I just nodded, not trusting my voice.

That night, back at the campground, I couldn’t sleep. I lay in my tent, listening to the rustle of insects outside. At around midnight, I heard footsteps on the gravel path outside my tent. Soft, deliberate. Then a child’s voice, barely a murmur: ‘Come out and play.’ I held my breath. The voice came again, closer, right outside the flap: ‘We’re over by the mill pond.’ The flap moved slightly, as if being pushed. I grabbed my flashlight and shouted, ‘Who’s there?’ Nothing. When I finally worked up the courage to peek out, the path was empty.

I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I told the guide what I’d seen. His face went pale. He said, ‘The children in that story, they weren’t just any children. The boy was named Oliver, and the girl was named Clara. They were playmates. But some say they still look for a third friend to join them.’ He looked at me with pity. ‘You saw them, didn’t you? They’ve chosen you.’

I didn’t want to believe him. But that night, I packed my bag and left before sunrise. I walked to the main road and hitched a ride back to the city. I’ve been here for months, trying to forget. But sometimes, in the dead of night, I hear laughter—high and bright—right outside my window. And I know that the cobblestone playmates have followed me home.