 After my parents got divorced, I went to live with my father. I would have preferred to live with my mother. But my parents agreed that since I was a boy, I would live with him. A boy should be raised by his father, honey. I love you. Be good for dad. Were the last words my mother said to me as we left the courthouse. She got in her car and drove away. Dad and I got in his truck and did the same. I was 12 years old at the time. As the years went on, I would see my mother every other weekend from five o'clock on Friday until five o'clock on Sunday, just like they agreed to, as well as Wednesday nights from four to eight. Mom kept the house while dad and I lived with his parents, my grandparents, in their small cottage home. It was a little cramped, but we all seemed to manage. I had finally gotten used to the weekend visits with my mom and the cramped living arrangements at my grandparents' house. When my father threw a monkey wrench into the whole thing, he came home from work one afternoon and announced that he was offered the position of store manager for the Chester town store. He accepted the position and that we'd be moving to Chester town in two weeks. I was 16 at the time. Now, I had no idea where Chester town was. So I asked my father. He had no idea either. He took out his phone, loaded up Google Maps and typed in the address of the store. Come to find out. It was five hours away. I was not happy. I mean, I wouldn't be able to see my mom as much and I'd have to leave my friends at school. The last day before we left, I spent the whole day with my mom. Unlike most divorces, my parents were actually civil toward each other and just grew apart over the years. So when my mom dropped me off that night, she told me that my father and her had worked out an arrangement. He would have me during the school year and she would have me during the summer and that I could call her any time. I felt a little bit better. She then hugged me. We said our goodbyes and I went into the house. The next morning we left. On the way there, my father told me that he'd bought a house for us to live in just outside of town for barely next to nothing. It was a town referred to by the townspeople, unbeknownst to us at the time, as the dollhouse on the hill. Kinda corny, right? We later found out why it was called that and why it was so cheap, but more on that later. Now, it was a big house, huge even. It was three stories high, four if you count in the attic, with seven bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a large industrial sized kitchen, a living room bigger than most studio apartments, two fireplaces, a parlor, a study, and a full-sized, fully functioning in-ground swimming pool. And what looked to be a child's playground in the basement? That's right. The basement. Complete with a slide, a sandpit, a metal climbing structure, a swing set, a few bouncy balls and building blocks with astroturf on the floor giving the illusion of grass, as well as six little doors, about four feet tall, three on the left and three on the right. Which was kinda odd to me. The house also had a small conservatory, or greenhouse if you will, on the back side of it. I told you, it was huge. It came fully furnished with old Victorian-styled furniture and accessories. Now, the first couple nights we were there went rather uneventful. My father and I settled in, hung out, drank coffee, and talked. Shortly after that, things began to get weird. Nothing really too extreme and could easily be explained away, but still unnerving. You see, my father chose a bedroom on the second floor, and I chose to make the attic my bedroom. It was a huge attic that extended the whole length of the house. Right with a ceiling fan with lights in the middle, sand colored carpet on the floor, and the drywall painted sky blue. The attic door had three little holes in a triangle pattern, about three quarters of the way up on the left side, as well as three identical holes just in reverse, in the door frame next to the other three holes. Like someone put a hasp for a padlock on there, and then removed it. There was already a twin bed and a small dresser with a lamp up there. The rest was completely empty. So I guess you could say that the house had eight bedrooms. I was lying in bed one night, the moonlight shining in through the window, trying to go to sleep. When I heard them, very faint whispers. I couldn't understand what was being said and just chalked it up to the wind blowing through tiny air gaps between the window frame and the structure of the house. And I just went to sleep. It was an old house after all. The next morning I asked my father if he'd heard anything, and he said no and left for work. I didn't start school until the coming Monday, so I was home all alone. With the cable guy scheduled to come on Tuesday, I couldn't watch TV, so I decided to explore the house a little. Downstairs was pretty much normal, living room, kitchen, parlor, study, a half bathroom, and the pool. The upstairs, however, was a little different. The second floor had two bedrooms on the left and two on the right, a bathroom in the middle of the ones on the right, with a master bedroom, my father's bedroom at the end of the hall with its own bathroom, and a staircase leading up to the third floor on the right of the bedroom door. The third floor had two giant bedrooms, one on the left and one on the right, a bathroom at the end of the hall, and the attic door on the left of it. Why my father bought such a big house when there was only the two of us I didn't understand, but I really liked it. I remembered the layout from when my father and I first walked through. I then began exploring the unused bedrooms. I walked in the first bedroom on the left, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. At first, there was a bed, an armoire, a desk with a mirror, a chair in the corner, and an area rug on the floor. Normal, right? Well, it wasn't until I went into the closet that it became not so normal. I opened the closet door and there, right in front of me, was another four foot high door, just like the ones in the basement. What the hell? I thought. I bent down and extended my hand to open it. When I heard a little girl giggle right behind me, I quickly leapt to my feet, spun around, and there was no one there. Who was that? I said, Come play with us. I heard a little girl's voice say from behind me, followed by another giggle. I turned around to see the little door opening all by itself and an arm slowly extending out of it. I was completely terrified. I ran out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door, and ran halfway into the yard, turning back to look at the house. I swear, I saw a little girl with blonde hair, wearing a blue dress standing in the window of the room I just ran out of. She was waving at me. I blinked my eyes a couple times and she was gone. Needless to say, I did not go back in that house until my father came home. That was a really long and hot day. When my father got home, I told him what happened, and he just laughed and said, You have such a wild imagination. No wonder you're a writer. And when in the house? I cautiously followed behind him, and I didn't let him out of my sight all night long. Well, except when he used the bathroom, but I was still close by. I slept with every light on I could find in my room that night. The ceiling light, the lamp light, and even my phone light. My father left for work again the next morning. Now, even though the voices and seeing that little girl in the window really freaked me out, I was intrigued by the little door. So I grabbed my phone and to try to protect myself, I grabbed the Bible off the coffee table in the living room and carried it upstairs with me. I wanted to see if every bedroom had a little door in the closet, and they did. I wanted to see where the doors led. So I opened the closet door, saw the little door, and I opened it. Pure darkness. I turned on the flashlight on my phone, and I shined it inside there. I saw a set of old wooden steps leading down. I'm pretty tall, so I knew I wasn't going to fit through a four foot door. I got down on my hands and knees, and I crawled through it and very carefully maneuvered my way down the steps, still holding the Bible in my left hand and the flashlight in my right hand to lead the way. After about 15 minutes of painfully crawling down the steps, I came to another door. I pushed it open and discovered I was at the basement playground. I crawled through the door, stood up, stretched, and said, shit, this is cool, hidden passages. I said aloud. I then ran to the middle door across the room, opened it, and began crawling up the steps using my flashlight once again to lead the way. These steps were steeper than the other ones. I got about halfway up when there appeared to be sunlight shining down from above, like someone or something opened the little door above me. I looked up and saw another little girl walk through the door and begin walking down the steps. This one wore a light green dress and had brown hair. I was frozen in fear, I couldn't turn around, I couldn't stand up, hell, I couldn't move. I watched in complete horror as this little girl ghost walked down the stairs and directly threw me, not stepped over me, not stepped on me, but went through me. And as she did, my entire body became extremely cold. Find us, Michael. She said, as I watched her walk down the steps and out the other door, I immediately crawled as fast as I could up the steps and out the door and into one of the large third floor bedrooms. I then ran downstairs, put the Bible back on the coffee table, and sat on the couch for the rest of the day, even after my father came home. I didn't even eat dinner that night. I slept on the couch, as I didn't want to go anywhere near either one of those rooms. Sometime in the night, I had this really bizarre dream. I was downstairs in the basement, directly in the middle of the playground. I heard a little girl giggle. Then the third swing on the swing set next to me started swinging all by itself. I went to run up the stairs, but when I got to them, about 20 bouncy balls came bouncing down directly at me. I swatted them away, but some of them hit me. I fell to the ground, closed my eyes, and covered my head with my arms. Tag, you're it. I heard a little girl's voice say, followed by another giggle. I was then laying on the cold cement floor of the greenhouse. I sat up and I saw another little girl wearing a yellow dress with red hair, bouncing an orange ball about 20 feet away from me. I reached out to her, find us, Michael. She said, find the dolls and floated downward into the floor and disappeared. I was horrified. I screamed and then I woke up. My father came running. I could hear his loud footsteps on the hardwood floor. I told him it was just a bad dream. He smiled. It's time for school anyway, son. I'm glad you're all right. You scared the hell out of me. Come on, I made us some coffee. He said, then rustled my hair and walked away. I got up, had coffee, and got ready for my first day at my new school. I had to go upstairs to get dressed, so I ran up the stairs, ran past the first bedroom, up the other set of stairs, and into my room, the attic. Now, since I didn't have a driver's license yet, I had to take the bus. I walked out of the house down the long driveway and waited at the end of it. The bus came and picked me up. I stepped onto it and immediately felt every single eyeball staring at me, including the driver. I walked down the aisle, heads turning as I did. I was just about to pass this one kid about my age, kind of chubby, with red hair and freckles, who then leaned over to the kid next to him and whispered, that kid's crazy. I wouldn't step foot in the dollhouse. I took the empty seat behind him. After a few seconds, I tapped him on the shoulder and asked, they call it the what? But I didn't get an answer. When I got to the school, almost everyone in class was staring, pointing and whispering. I just ignored him. At the end of the day, I waited outside the bus for Thomas to arrive, and when he did, I stopped him. Look, man, you gotta tell me what's up with the house. I said, look, I'll get off where you get off and I'll walk home. I said to him, as we both got on the bus. Now, like I said, I got off at his house. We stood outside on the sidewalk, and he told me something I didn't expect to hear. He looked left, then right, then back to me and whispered, my parents don't want me talking about this. But about eight years ago, some crazy stuff happened at your house, some creepy stuff. Back then it was owned by Mr. and Mrs. Chester, descendants of the people who started this town. They were the richest people in it. That's why it sits on a hill. They thought they were better than everyone because they had money. One day, Mr. Chester was killed in a boating accident, which left Mrs. Chester alone in the house. They never had any kids, but rumor has it that Mrs. Chester wanted kids, girls, to be exact. As the years went on, Mrs. Chester's mental state got worse. And she went crazy from being all alone in the house, so they say. Around that time, several little girls around five or six went missing. Police were baffled. Then there was a break in the case. In one of the surveillance videos showing one of the abductions at the mall, it clearly showed that Mrs. Chester was the abductor. When the police closed in on the house, they heard six gunshots. The cops stormed the house and found the dead bodies of five little girls. And Mrs. Chester, with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head, laying on the floor in the living room. Mrs. Chester survived somehow and is now a permanent resident of the Chester town home for the criminally insane. A home that she had built, ironic, isn't it? Now according to doctors records and police reports, Mrs. Chester admitted to kidnapping and killing all of the 12 little girls over a three-year span of time when she grew tired of them, or they began to fight back and replace them with other little girls. Five of the girls were found in the house, returned to their parents, and buried. All the cops in town attended each funeral. That's how I know. Another thing I know is the bodies of the other seven little girls were never found and are believed to be buried somewhere on the property. Several big-name news channels covered the story. Our own newspapers photographer took a picture of the five dead girls and said that they all looked and were dressed like little porcelain dolls. That's where the house gets its name, the dollhouse on the hill. The house is said to be haunted by the spirits of all the little girls. I wouldn't go near that place. How do you know all the details? I asked. My father's the police captain. I overheard him talking about it on the phone when I was little. He answered. Just then my phone rang. It was my father. He yelled at me to get home and then hung up. Well, I ran home, expecting to get a stern talking to. I opened the door and said, Dad, where are you? There was no answer, so I called him. He said he was at the pool and told me to get in there now. He was yelling, and my father never yells. I didn't hear anger in his voice. I heard fear. I ran down the hallway through the kitchen and to the pool room door. That's right, I said pool room. You thought it was an outdoors pool, didn't you? It was completely enclosed, with three huge cinderblock walls extending the height of the house, and a glass paneled wall, the height of the house as well, overlooking the entire town. I heard a door being slammed hard. I saw it was the pool room door. In between the opening and closing of it, I could see my father through the flashing of the overhead fluorescent lights. He was curled up in a sitting position in the far left corner of the room, wearing a bathing suit next to a pile of clothes with his wallet and phone sitting on top. He was moving his head quickly from side to side with a look of fear on his face. I'd never seen my father act that way before, so it scared me to death. I saw what my father was afraid of. The overhead lights were flashing like a strobe light. Both diving boards were bouncing up and down completely on their own. And seconds later, a visible splash in the water, like an invisible being was jumping off the boards and landing in it. The lifeguard stand was rocking back and forth while the sounds of little girls laughing and giggling filled the air. What's happening? My dad said, It's the dolls, dad. I don't think they'll hurt us. They just want to play. Look, I'll explain later, dad. Let's get out of here. I said, I then helped my father up. He grabbed his things and we walked over to the door, which was still opening and closing. We couldn't get out. I just stood there for a second, took a deep breath, turned around and said, I don't know what happened to you and I'm sorry. I will find you. I will please stop. And then everything stopped. No more bouncing diving boards. No more flashing lights. Nothing. All was calm and still. As everything stopped, my father and I both heard several little girls all in unison say, find us. We turned our heads back around and saw not seven, but about 20 transparent images of little girls wearing different colored dresses. They were standing side by side on the edge of the pool, completely dry and not a hair out of place. And then they just vanished. What the hell? My father said, completely puzzled. Come on, dad. Let's get out of here. I'll explain in the truck. I said, well, we got to the truck and we drove around for a while without saying a word. My father then pulled into the parking lot of the coffee shop across the street from the local grocery store. I bet you can't guess the name of it. Well, anyway, we walked in, placed our order, got it, and sat down at a table. My father then broke the silence. What was that? He asked. Well, dad, you see, about eight years ago our house was owned by this rich couple. He died, she went crazy without him, started kidnapping little girls, killed them, and buried them in our yard somewhere. I got to find them. I said. He looked at me dumbfounded. My friend Thomas told me about it. His father is the police captain. I said, and then we just sat there. We drank our coffee and got back in the truck. Can we stop by the library so I can do some research? I asked. Yeah, why not? My father replied, I'll drop you off and I'll come get you when you're done. Where are you going, dad? I asked. I'm going to the police station to see if they'll confirm your story. He replied. Well, he dropped me off and I made a beeline for the computers. After about three hours of searching, I discovered something. The conservatory was not part of the original build. It was added on later, about six months before the cops rated the house. The little girl from that dream floated down into the floor of the conservatory. That's gotta be it. Now why would you build a conservatory with a concrete floor to hide the bodies? I can't believe the cops missed this, I thought. I immediately called my father and I told him what I'd found. He picked me up and said, you were right, son, the cops confirmed it. It looks like we've got some digging to do. I just smiled. We decided not to go back to the house that night and got a room at the local flop house. The next morning, I didn't go to school. Instead, I went with my father to the all right Reynolds and rented a jackhammer and the accessories to break up the concrete, as well as two pairs of ear protectors. And I'm glad we did that thing was loud as hell. We got back to the house, moved all the tables, the plants and the tools out of the greenhouse and conservatory, whatever you want to call it. My father grabbed that thing, connected the chisel bit and destroyed that concrete slab. After about three hours of breaking up the concrete, taking breaks from time to time, my father was finally done and we moved the concrete pieces outside. I took the lighter ones. My father took the heavy ones. And then we began digging piles of dirt were everywhere. After digging for about two hours, you'll never guess what we found. Nothing just dirt. What the hell? I thought I was sure I was right. My father gave me a if you weren't my son, I'd kill you right now look. He laid his shovel down and went into the house. I laid mine down as well. I just stood there in this huge hole that we dug completely dumbfounded. I grabbed one of the shovels and slammed it down hard in the dirt out of pure frustration and it hit something there in the hole was what appeared to be an old white sheet. Well, I'm sure it was white at one time anyway. I fell to my knees and began digging with my hands. My father came over and looked in the hole. Holy Jesus, he said loudly dropping to his knees and helping me hand scoop the dirt. After a few minutes, the sheet was completely exposed. It was small, about four feet in length. My father then grabbed the sheet and tore it open. And yes, it was bones, human bones. And then we called the police. The cops came and continued digging where we left off. The town coroner came as well. Now, remember when I told you that Mrs. Chester admitted to killing 12 little girls? She lied. The cops found 17 bodies buried under that greenhouse. They were all neatly wrapped in white sheets. The coroner had to make several trips back and forth to pick up all the bodies. When the cops finally allowed us back in the house, it was about 2am at that point. My father and I just went to bed. As I laid there, I heard several little girl voices say in unison, thank you. I smiled and just went to sleep. Years later, a newspaper article stated that all 17 girls were identified through DNA testing. It also stated that they too were returned to their families for a proper burial. My father and I attended every one of the funerals. We put all the dirt back in the hole and we evened out the ground. We decided to leave the greenhouse structure intact and made a kind of outdoors sitting room out there. My father had 22 individual name plates made with all the girls' names on them. The 17 that were buried under the greenhouse and the 5 that were killed when the cops raided the house in case you were wondering where I got that number from. All the name plates are mounted to the far wall of the basement playground. I go down there sometimes. I sit on the swings and I look at the names. I hope they found peace. I was the talk of the school for a little while, in a good way that is. Until the boiler blew up at the grocery store I mentioned earlier, strange things are always happening there. It sounds like a pretty cool place to work. I'm thinking about trying to get a job there. What do you think? Anyway, like I said before, Thomas and I became really good friends. I spent the night at his house a couple times and he spent the night at mine since all the ghost girls were gone. He is completely infatuated with the hidden passages and loves the pool. I called my mom and I told her what happened. She said that I was very brave and that she was very proud of me, you know, normal mom stuff. Dad and I still live in the house and have had no further paranormal incidents. Oh yeah, by the way, I finally got my driver's license and I bought a 1967 Ford Mustang hardtop with flames down the side from the local towing service in town. The cops had it towed a while back and the guy that owned it never came to pick it up. So now it's mine. Well, it's getting late, you guys. I got to get a shower and hit the hay. I've got school in the morning. I hope you liked my story. Good night, everyone.