The red crayon

When the young couple first moved into their new apartment, they thought they had found the perfect place.It was small, but cozy. The rent was surprisingly affordable, the neighbourhood was quiet, and the apartment had large windows that let in plenty of sunlight.There was only one strange thing.One of the rooms had a wall that looked as though it had been painted over several times.The couple assumed the previous tenants had simply decorated it badly.
They didn’t think much of it.Not until their daughter found the red crayon.She was playing on the floor one afternoon when she suddenly picked up a tiny red crayon from underneath a piece of furniture.“Mama, look!”Her mother smiled.
Where did you find that?”The little girl pointed toward the wall.“Over there.”
The mother walked over and looked carefully.There was nothing unusual.Just the wall.She took the crayon from her daughter and put it away.
The next morning, however, the little girl found another one.And then another.Every time her parents threw the crayons away, more appeared.
Eventually, the girl began drawing with them.She drew the same thing every time.A small red house.Her mother asked her why she kept drawing the same picture.
The girl simply replied:“Because that’s where the little girl lives.”Her mother laughed nervously.“What little girl?”The child pointed toward the wall.
“That girl.”The parents exchanged a glance.There was no little girl.At least, there shouldn’t have been.That evening, the father decided to inspect the wall.
He knocked against it.Most of it sounded solid.But one particular section sounded different.Hollow.He called the landlord.
The landlord became strangely quiet when he heard which wall they were talking about.Then he asked a question that made the father uncomfortable.“Did you find a red crayon?”
The father froze.“How did you know?”The landlord didn’t answer immediately.Instead, he told them something about the apartment’s previous history.
Years earlier, another family had lived there.They had a young daughter.One day, the girl disappeared.The family moved away shortly afterward.

Nobody knew exactly what had happened.The landlord insisted there was no reason to worry.The wall had been repaired long ago.But the father wasn’t convinced.
That night, he waited until his wife and daughter were asleep.Then he returned to the suspicious section of the wall.He tapped it again.Hollow.He removed part of the covering.

Behind it was a narrow space.And inside that space were children’s drawings.Dozens of them.All made with a red crayon.The drawings showed the same apartment.The same rooms.The same little girl.
The father’s hands began to shake.Then he noticed something else.There was one final drawing.It wasn’t of the apartment.It was a drawing of his family.
His wife.His daughter.And himself.All standing inside the room.Underneath them, written in childish handwriting, were a few words:
I’m still here.”The father stepped backward.Then he heard something behind him.A soft scratching sound.Like a crayon moving across paper.He turned around.
His daughter was standing in the doorway.She was holding the red crayon.And she was staring directly at the wall.“Daddy,” she whispered.“There is someone behind it.”The father looked at the wall again.

A fresh red line slowly appeared across the surface.From the inside.And then another.And another.Until the outline of a tiny hand appeared beneath the paint.
The family moved out the very next morning.They never returned.But the landlord later told another tenant something strange.When the apartment was renovated, workers found a tiny hidden room behind that wall.
And inside it…There was just enough space for a child.Along with dozens of old red crayons.Some stories end there.Others say the little girl was never found.
And some say that if you ever discover a red crayon in a room where you know you didn’t leave one…don’t use it.Because sometimes, a child’s drawing isn’t just a drawing.
Sometimes…it’s a way of telling you that someone is still waiting on the other side.