-illegallyblonde wrote this extremely creepy and scary story which will leave you with shivers.

The funeral was eerily quiet. Not a sniffle, sob, or teardrop sounded throughout the entire ceremony, nothing puncturing the ethereal noise of wind blowing through the trees, carving an invisible path to nowhere. Two benches from the front, a petite figure was sitting at the end of the mahogany wood seating, large brown eyes staring straight at the gravestone. On closer inspection, it seemed to be a girl at around the age of six years old. Her deep brown locks were in two braids at the side of her head, tied off with a black ribbon made into a bow. The little girl was quiet the entire funeral, not thought in her mind other than home. She tugged on her right braid absentmindedly, earning a small slap on the thigh.

"Lillian!" The girl's mother scolded, her voice barely audible. Almost as if she didn't want the trees to hear. "Lillian, do NOT pull your braids. Anne spent two hours on those locks." The mother's face was contorted with anger, and even though the small child had faced this many times, she couldn't figure out why her mother was so angry. It was only a braid, after all, one could simply plait it again. But, as an obedient child should, Lillian responded with a small "yes mother" and dropped her pale, plump hands. The entire funeral, the little girl stayed there. She didn't know when she would be able to go home. But the funeral was still going, and Lillian was unable to leave. So she did exactly what was intended: she waited. Waited for moments, hours... the child wouldn't have been surprised if days passed. It was ten minutes to midnight when the girl's dark eyes widened at the priest's arms grabbing her roughly.

"Momma?" Lillian yelled, searching frantically for her mother that didn't seem to want to help. "Momma! Help me!"

Ignoring her endless pleas, the priest carried the little girl up to the coffin, Lillian screaming the entire time. Why wasn't anybody helping her? This bad man was touching her, she didn't like it! This wasn't right! "HELP!"

"Lillian." The sound of her mother caused the child's irises to twinkle, her pale face lighting up.

"Mother?" Mommy would help her. Mommy always helped, right? With all of the chores, all of the housework—she would definitely help her, there was no doubt.

But all the girl's mother did was stare with cold eyes as her daughter was thrown into the empty coffin and closed in it, drilling the edges shut.

Nobody was there to witness a name carving itself into the headstone.

Lillian Marie Harvard.