ByCynthia Renee Pullinger, writer at
Cynthia Renee Pullinger

When I was 18, I helped my best friend move into her new home. Her husband was in the military and away at the time. She purchased a farmhouse built in 1884 and it was set way back in the woods, shaded by tall oak trees. While we were moving in, boxes would go missing. We'd find them in odd places. The barn, the woods, under the porch. It was all strange. We wrote it off as exhaustion and assumed driving 18 hours and getting lost several times got to us. We ended up getting done about 6 am and decided to watch movies. We heard several things that made us terrified to be there, but what got me the most was the horrible screaming and crying baby. We ended up leaving. She still lives there and always complains of the bloody woman and the baby crying. I found out during research that the home used to be a Catholic shelter where they birthed children. But it was corrupt. They murdered the children of unwed women and then killed the women. It was awful, and now I know why I haven't returned.


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