Real Life Spooky Story: "The Crying Man"

The Crying Man

This is the first of my new blog series of Real Life Spooky Stories, based on real events and sent in by fans and followers of helendeakinauthor.com and my social media pages.

As I sat on my garden bench, enjoying a hot cup of coffee and reading my newest book, my four year daughter Jesse played contently on her swing set. It was a really nice day; too nice to waste it inside and with my husband at work and no errands to run myself, I decided the day was best spent in the yard with my daughter.

I was so engrossed in my book that it took me a while to realize the perpetual creaking of the swing’s chain had stopped. I looked up from the chapter which had me so hooked it pained me to tear myself away from it, and there stood Jesse, now standing over by her slide, staring strangely towards the fence.

The look on her face had me concerned. It was not quite fear, but close enough to. Even with her golden brown hair partly obscuring her face, fallen in a mess from her pony tail during her hours of play, I could still see there was definitely a strong sense of dislike radiating from her soft features.

“What’s the matter, sweetie,” I called out, placing my book and my coffee down on the bench and going to her.

“Why is the man crying, Mummy?” She asked, concerned and yet displeased also. “I don’t like it. I don’t like the crying man.”

Goosebumps erupted all over my skin. This wasn’t the first time Jesse had seen something or said something strange. I wasn’t at all unfamiliar with occurrences such as these. But something about the look on her face, the tone of her voice, and the way she seemed to shiver in the warmth of that wonderfully pleasant day, made me want to swoop her up in my arms, run inside and lock the door.

I got down to her level and turned her to face me; turned her away from whatever it was she was looking at. Yet she kept her head turned in the same direction, towards the phantom crying man.

“Who is the crying man, honey?” I asked. “Where is he?”

She pointed towards the fence. “He’s just sad. I don’t like it.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Let’s go inside, Jesse. We can watch a movie instead if you like.”

When my husband returned from work later that day, I told him what had happened. This wasn’t the first time I’d had some kind of creepy occurrence to tell him about, but he was always skeptical. Not that he thought I was making these things up, or imaging them, just that perhaps I took things out of context. He isn’t a believer in the spiritual world as I am.

“It’s probably just her imagination,” Luke said. “She’s a kid. She likes to pretend and play games. That’s probably all this is.”

“Like all the other times?” I snapped, defensive. I hadn’t expected much more than that.

“I don’t know, let’s not argue,” he replied. “It’s not a big deal. It’s not like she’s hurt or anything.”

“But it’s scary,” I said. “Why her? Why does she always have to see strange things?”

“I don’t know, but I’ve had a long day and just want to have a shower and go to bed. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.

But of course we didn’t talk about it the next day, or the day after that. It wasn’t until a week later when he was forced to talk about it again after the crying man appeared for a second time, and he was there to see how unsettling it was.

“Go away!” Jesse screamed all of a sudden, after stopping her happy play. This time she was jumping on the trampoline. “I don’t like you, crying man. Just go away.”

Then there was a third time, and a forth. It seemed the appearance of the crying man was going to be a regular occurrence. Even Luke was starting to see the reality of what was going on. Even he was starting to believe.

One day, after the crying man appeared for the sixth time, I called up a woman who I regularly saw for a psychic reading. She had always been right about so many other things; I knew she would be able to help me with this one.

Sitting at her kitchen table, the smell of lavender incense tangling in the air with her Red Door perfume, I explained to her what was happening.

“I don’t think the spirit means your daughter harm, Katie,” she said to me. “But he is obviously upsetting your daughter. You need to tell him to leave. You do, not Jesse—you. It is your house so you are the one who must ask the spirit to go.”

I couldn’t believe it would be that simple, but I trusted Loretta so I knew I had to give it a go.

It was two or three days later when the crying man appeared again and my daughter became agitated.

“Where is the crying man, sweetie?” I asked her, and she pointed towards the fence. The same spot he always appeared.

“Please leave, crying man. You are upsetting my daughter and scaring her. I want you to leave our home and do not return. Please go now.”

I felt silly, telling the empty air by my fence to go away. What if the neighbours saw me? They would think I was nuts. But I knew I had done the right thing. I knew it had worked.

“Thank you, Mummy,” Jesse said, her playful mannerisms returning to her. “He’s gone now. Thank you for getting rid of the nasty crying man.”

She went back to playing on her swings, without a second thought and I felt as if a huge weight was lifted from my chest.

A week went by, then two, and every day I expected Jesse to stop playing and tell the crying man to go away. She never did.

He wasn’t the first visitor to appear to my daughter, nor was he the last, but those are different stories for another time.

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*"The Crying Man" is based on a real life spooky story sent in to helendeakinauthor.com and names have been changed for the purpose of the story.

Submit your own story here or email to: realspookystories@outlook.com

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