During a recent Ghosts of Denton tour, a young girl wanted to tell me a ghost story. She was bouncing up and down the whole tour waiting to get to tell me her tale. After the tour was over, I invited the other guests to remain, if they would like, so that this child could have an audience. Everyone stayed and they were glad they did! The girl was only about nine years old, and already had the makings of a good storyteller. Her story was short, sweet, and spine-tingling.
For the sake of her anonymity, I’ll call her “Danielle.”
“I’m named for my uncle,” Danielle told us. “But, I never met him. He was murdered when he was a teenager. I wasn’t born yet.”
Danielle explained that on the night her “Uncle Danny” was being attacked, he tried to call 911 for help. The call never went through, and the results were tragic.
“My Mom and Danny were very close,” she said. “After he was killed, my mother missed him so much that she dreamed about him all the time. Usually she dreamed about the night he was killed, and she dreamed she was trying to help him. Every time she had one of those dreams, she woke up all sweaty. Every time, when she looked at the clock beside her bed, it was flashing red numbers. It was always 9:11.”
“When I was born, my Mom named me for my uncle,” Danielle continued. She said her mother didn’t have the dreams quite so often after that. “But,” she said, “I think that Uncle Danny is trying to let me know that he is with me. Every day when I am in school I always just happen to look at the clock in the morning. It’s always 9:11.”