New York Apartment – Story by Emily Parker

New York Apartment

This happened a few years ago in New York, and I still don’t have a clean explanation for it.

I was walking home in the early evening, cutting past one of those older gated townhouse gardens you see around the city. It wasn’t late, but it was that winter dusk where everything gets dim fast. I remember being more focused on getting home than anything else.

As I passed the gate, I noticed a little girl inside the garden. Probably eight or nine. She was playing with one of those old-fashioned rubber balls, just bouncing it lightly and catching it. What caught my attention wasn’t even that she was there, it was what she was wearing. It looked like a costume at first, some kind of 19th-century dress. Long skirt, high collar, muted colors. Definitely not something you usually see a kid running around in.

She looked up at me, smiled — not creepy, just a normal kid smile — and then she ran straight toward the gate.

Except she didn’t stop.

She went right through the solid iron bars like they weren’t there.

No sound. No hesitation. Just gone.

And at that exact moment I felt this blast of cold air, like stepping into a walk-in freezer for a second. It disappeared almost immediately, but it was strong enough that I actually checked my arms for goosebumps.

I stopped walking, obviously. Looked around, checked the sidewalk, even peeked through the gate thinking maybe there was an opening I missed. There wasn’t. The garden was empty.

I didn’t feel threatened or anything, just really unsettled. Mostly confused.

I told myself it had to be a trick of the light, or maybe a kid ducking behind something and I didn’t see it properly. That’s still the explanation I go with when people ask.

But I will say this: I’ve walked that same route plenty of times since, and I’ve never seen anyone in that garden again.

And every time I pass that gate, I notice the temperature. Just in case.