The Faceless Girl in the Mango Tree

 

Submitted by Juno

When I was a kid, life was beautifully simple—dusty streets, endless games, and laughter that lingered long after the sun dipped below the rooftops. Our home was shaded by towering mango trees, their ancient branches twisted like the fingers of old gods. Those trees weren’t just trees—they were castles, pirate ships, whole worlds. At ten, I didn’t know much about ghosts. They were just bedtime stories meant to scare us into good behavior.

Until I saw her.

It was a regular evening. My friends and I were playing beneath the mango trees, our voices echoing into the dimming sky. As night fell, I felt a chill—not from the breeze, but from something... wrong. A disturbance I couldn’t explain.

Then I looked up.

She was there—perched on one of the branches, maybe twelve years old. Her white dress hung perfectly, untouched by the dust and dirt. Her long black hair shimmered faintly in the orange glow of the streetlight. At first, I thought she was just another neighborhood kid.

But then I saw her face. Or rather, I didn’t.

Where her features should have been, there was nothing. Smooth, blank skin. No eyes. No mouth. Just an eerie void where a face should be. She sat still, her legs dangling, one hand stroking her hair over and over. Her head was tilted slightly—like she was listening.

Not to me.
To my friends.

I stood frozen, heart pounding. I couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. I just stared, trapped in a waking nightmare.

“What are you looking at?” one of my friends asked, nudging me.

I raised a trembling hand. “That girl... in the tree.”

They followed my gaze. One laughed nervously. “There’s nothing there.”

But she was still there. Still brushing her hair. Still swinging her legs like she had all the time in the world.

Just then, my yaya’s voice pierced the moment. “Come inside!”

I hesitated. Looked back.
Now, she was facing me.

Even without a face, I knew she was watching.

I ran.

Inside, I blurted out what I’d seen. My yaya’s face drained of color. Her hand covered her mouth, eyes wide. For a moment, she said nothing. Then, forcing calm into her voice, she said, “It’s nothing. Just your imagination. Don’t speak of it again.”

That night, I heard her whispering to my parents.

“She saw her,” she said, barely above a whisper.

“What did I see?” I asked, stepping into the room.

My parents turned, startled. My dad smiled—too quickly. “Just a shadow. Don’t worry about it.”

But their eyes told another story. And my yaya’s trembling hands said it wasn’t just a child’s imagination.

Years later, my brother told me the truth.

“You saw her too?” I asked.

He nodded. “She’s always been there. I saw her when I was your age. So did Dad. But no one talks about it. They think if we ignore her, she’ll leave.”

“Did she ever move?” I asked.

He hesitated. “No... but once, I swear I heard her laugh.”

The mango trees are gone now—cut down and replaced by walls of concrete and steel. But her memory lingers. That faceless girl in white. Sitting in the branches. Watching. Waiting.

She wasn’t just a trick of the light.

She was real.

And maybe… she still is.

🕯️ Some stories fade with time. Others… wait in the dark.
What Juno saw that night beneath the mango trees wasn’t just a shadow—it was a warning. A reminder that some places remember… and some things never truly leave.

Have you experienced something paranormal?
Do you carry a memory that still makes your skin crawl?

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