Although scary stories are popular year ’round, it seems like even more spooky books and movies start coming out in autumn, leading up to Halloween.

When I was a kid, we had the hard cover version of this Alfred Hitchcock book in our house. The first story in it is “The Birds” by Daphne du Maurier. I was captivated! And of course, I had to see the movie when it came out. I still love that movie to this day. What fun it might be to attend the annual film festival held in Bodega Bay, where some of the scenes were shot!

I still love creepy stories and have recently tried my hand at writing a few for kids. I’m happy to say that one of them, “Waters of Change,” has been published in the 8th Volume of the U.P. Reader! My story is based on a local legend from the Tawas area of Michigan, where I grew up. Two of my grandsons are the main characters. It was such fun to write! I can’t share that with you here until next year, but meanwhile, I’ve written another other-worldly story for kids.

Here’s some background: Several decades ago, I had the pleasure of living next door to Margaret Johnson in North Carolina. Her husband, F. Roy Johnson, was no longer living but had been an author and collector of local legends. I wove another grandson, neighbor Margaret, and one of her husband’s retold tales into this story:

The Girl Dressed in Brown

by Becky Ross Michael

Soon after the plane landed, Grandma spotted him wearing earbuds.

“Danny!” she said, giving a hug.

“Hey, Grandma. But I go by ‘Dan’ now that I’m in middle school.”

“I’ll try to remember,” she agreed with a smile. “Grandpa’s outside.”

Once settled in the car and riding toward their Murfreesboro, North Carolina, home, Grandma turned in her seat and motioned. “How about you unplug so we can talk?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dan said, freeing his ears. “Mom says you have a dog?”

“We do! Grandpa bought him for a few dollars in a parking lot. So we named him Parker.”

When they neared their destination, Grandpa pointed out a few spots of interest. “This is the main street. As you can see, it’s quite a small town.”

“I’ll say. I don’t know why I couldn’t just stay home with a friend. This is my last week before school starts.”

“Your mom had to travel for her job and thought it would be a good chance for you to come and visit,” Grandma said. “Our semester at work has already started, but we’ll take you to the beach this weekend.”

“Mom’s always gone,” Dan frowned.

“We’ll show you the Chowan University campus where we teach before going home,” said Grandpa, filling the silence. “We live right across the street.”

Students dressed for the hot weather hurried along the sidewalks, and low buildings lined the curving drive. Trees blooming in reds and pinks decorated the lush green lawns.

“Is this all of it?” asked Dan.

“Yes,” Grandma said, “it’s a small school but a good place to work.”

“That beauty ahead,” said Grandpa, “is McDowell Columns Hall. It’s a great example of Georgian Colonial style and was built before the Civil War. They use it for administration offices.”

In front of them, the white, three-story building with eight tall columns rose majestically. A second-floor veranda reached along the front, and a wide porch on the main floor held white, wicker rocking chairs.

When they arrived at their nearby red brick residence, the little black dog, Parker, yipped in glee and ran around in circles.

“Let’s take him out, and we’ll show you the yard,” suggested Grandma. Outside, they tried to interest Dan in the various plantings.

“What’re those weird fruits?” he asked, snapping to attention. Dan pointed at a small tree near the edge of the yard. “They look kinda like an apple mixed with a pear.”

“They’re quinces,” Grandma said. “We’ve never eaten them, but the blossoms each spring sure are pretty.”

After dinner, Dan excused himself to the fold-out couch in the study. “I’m meeting a buddy online to play a game,” he said.

Much later, Parker yipped into the dark to go out. “I’ll take him,” offered Dan, meeting Grandpa in the hallway.

The campus was well-lit and quiet, so Dan crossed the street. Nearing the stately Columns Hall, he saw a young girl standing on the wide porch. As he approached, Dan noticed she wore a long brown dress made from a fancy material that seemed out of place.

“Hello?” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

“Why, I live here at the school,” she answered in a heavy Southern drawl.

“You don’t look old enough to be a college student.”

“This is my last year at the girls’ school. I have promised to marry my beau when he returns from the war.” Leaning to pet the dog, Dan heard her dress fabric make a soft swishing sound.

He studied her pretty face, shimmering in the reflection of the porch light.

“Be well,” she said, raising her hand in goodbye.

“Good to meet ya,” Dan said but realized the girl had already disappeared.

The next day, while riding to the ocean, Grandma insisted on no devices and tried to make small talk. “Are you looking forward to school starting?”

“Nah.”

“How was it last year?”

“I have a few friends from elementary,” said Dan. “The other kids seem mean or stuck-up.”

“How so?”

“Some of ‘em put you down if you don’t play sports. Others brag about their high grades and careers they’re already planning.”

“Where do you fit in?”

“I don’t. That’s the problem. Are we almost there?”

That night, Parker didn’t even have to ask. Dan grabbed his leash and slipped from the house, heading for Columns Hall. There she was. As he approached her, the girl smiled in recognition.

She wore the same brown dress, which seemed odd. Suddenly turning her head as if picking up a sound, the girl glided away into the shadows. Dan stared into the dark, feeling a shiver despite the warmth.

Dan was happy to be alone while his grandparents were at work the following day. He took Parker into the backyard to play. That was when he caught the white-haired quince robber.

Grandma later asked, “How was your day?”

“You didn’t tell me there’d been a famous person living next door.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miss Margaret gave me lemonade and showed me a bunch of her husband’s published books and stuff.”

“Oh, Margaret! Yes, her husband died before we moved in.”

“Sounds like he was kinda famous around here.”

“That’s what I understand. How did you meet?”

“I thought she was stealing quince from your tree and yelled at her. She promised that you had told her it was okay. And then she asked me to call her Miss Margaret. She plans to make quince jelly.”

“Glad you met,” laughed Grandma.

“Yeah, and she loaned me one of her husband’s books. She seemed kind of lonely. We talked for quite a while, and she told me I’m a good listener.”

“You must not have had your earbuds in,” Grandma chuckled.

Soon after sunset, Dan holed up in the study. He texted with one friend and then played online games with another. Finally, Dan opened Miss Margaret’s book. That’s when he saw it. A story written by her husband was based on a local legend called “The Brown Lady.” With his heart beating wildly, Dan read about the young woman who “died of a broken heart” when her future husband was killed in the Civil War. People on campus reported hearing her garments swishing in the breeze. Others caught sight of her ghost wearing a long brown dress.

Was he already too late?

Sneaking downstairs, Dan clipped on Parker’s leash and let himself out the door.

But he realized she was nowhere in sight when he crossed the street.

Maybe he was wrong. Was he crazy?

Parker saw her first, raising his whiskers toward the second-story veranda. The girl was leaning out over the railing as if planning to jump.

“No!” Dan yelled. Wrapping Parker’s leash around a pole, he ran and climbed a trellis covered with thick, flowering vines.

When Dan reached her side, the girl shook her head as if returning from a dream. She began to cry.

Dan dug a tissue from his pocket and then urged her down the trellis. After gathering Parker, they sat and rocked on porch chairs. He listened while she poured out her heart. At first light, the girl told him how comforting he had been

“You are a wonderful listener,” she said. “I imagine you often help others with that kindness…” And in the next instant, she was gone.

When Dan’s visit ended, Grandma found the book with a note stuck inside. She walked them over to her elderly neighbor’s house. Margaret handed her a glass jar of quince jelly in exchange. As Grandma passed her the book, the note fluttered to the ground:

Dear Miss Margaret,

Thanks for sharing the good book. And I might know what career I want to follow someday. You and someone else told me I’m a good listener. Maybe I’ll be a counselor who helps others!

Dan