Chatterbox: Inkwell

So I wrote a ghost story while I was on vacation.  But I don't know what to call it.  Can you guys give me suggestions?

Here's the story:

My name is Annie, and I'm sixteen.  I was on vacation in Pacific Grove when this strange thing happened.  It was ablut 9:30 at night on July 6 when it happened.  It was very dark and the street I was walking down was empty.

I was looking at the old houses when I noticed a plaque with a name on a date on one of them.  I read it aloud: "H. T. Ferrington, 1888."   It was weird how the date was over a century ago.  I walked to the next house and saw another plaque: "Mrs. H. Goodall, 1884."  There was a plaqu on the next house saying, "Harry Goodall, 1886I thought that Mrs. H and Harry Goodall were somehow related.

I came to the corner and looked for a plaque, but thee wasn't one.  Odd.

I crossed the street and looked for more plaques.  I saw five more of them.  The first one: M. D. Howes, 1888.  The second one: J. G. Emmel, 1886.   I wasn't sure about the date  That particular plaque was on a house that was raised, and I had to look up to see it.  I looked up at the sky and noticed the full moon.  "All the more eerie," I commented, adding, "It's cold, too.  That just makes it worse."

I contimued reading the names.  Nancy davidson, 1892.  Helen Campbell, 1904.  That one was later than the other ones.  The last one I couldn't read.  "Miss M. D. . . .  What?" I half-asked myself.  The door to that house was open and the TV was on.  That was strange.

I looked down at the sidewalk.  There was an old-school voice recorder at my feet.  I leaned down and picked it up.  When I pushed the play button, I was surprised to hear my own voice, reading the names and dates!

I broke out in a cold sweat and jammed my finger on the stop button.  Now THAT was weird.  I looked up again and noticed that the path lead off into the abandoned park that was more like a forest.  I, driven by curiosity, followed it.

I was about twenty feet in when I met another person.  If you could call her a person.  Her form was a pale blue color and glowing, and she was surrounded by several other similar forms.  "My name," she said sweetly, curtsying in her victorian style dress, "is Helen Campbell.  I died in 1904."

"Wait, so you're a ghost?" I asked nervously.

"Er . . . yes," Helen said.  "Or rather, we all are."  She gestured around her at the other ghostly forms.  "You brought us here after you read our names.  We are now free to wander as we wish."

"Uh, you're welcome, I guess," I replied.  "But please don't . . . haunt anyone, if you can.  I should really be getting home, though.  It's getting late."

"Thank you again, young lady," Helen called as I jogged away.  I looked over my soulder to catch one more glimpse of them.  But there was nothing there.

~~~~~~~~~

So I still don't know what to call this story.  Is it good?