Trapped

III

A silent scream passed through my lips. "Ouch. You tripped on me." A voice. Not mine. Then who's? I slowly raised my eyes up from the grave, dreading what I would see.

Above me, was a small girl. She wore a plain white dress and a white bonnet. Her long brown hair stuck out of it at either side. She had a childlike look, but an aura of a much older age. She looked to be around nine. Her face was blank, no smile, no frown. Her eyes emotionless. I let out a sharp, abrupt shriek and scooted backwards a few feet away from her.

My eyes travelled downwards, and I noticed something maybe even more startling than the sudden appearance of a random little girl in my backyard, she was floating. Her feet were not touching the ground. She hovered, about a foot off of the ground. I let out another scream and threw my hands up to cover my eyes, on instinct.

"Hi. I'm Greta Adams." She gave me a tight lipped up turning of the lips, that you couldn't really call a smile, but it was an improvement from her expression before. I peered at her from between my fingers. Her big brown eyes seemed to stare me down with a ferocity I had never seen in a girl so young.

"What are you doing in my yard?" I managed to force out. My mouth hung open in shock. She practically appeared out of thin air, and I was really confused about how and why she was there.

"Well, have you read the grave yet?" She spoke the words like she was my superior and not vice versa.

"No." I crawled closer to the girl so I could reach the epitaph on the stone.

Greta Adams
(1684-1692)
Hanged Witch

"Oh my God. That-that's you? This must be a joke. Who put you up to this?" I asked, furiously shaking my head. It couldn't be real. Nothing like this was real.

Maybe it was somebody from town giving me some prank for initiation into the neighborhood or something.

"Nobody put me up to this. I'm just visiting. This place really brings back the memories. Suffocating sure was such fun." She spoke in an old fashioned British accent.

"Who are you? Where are your parents? Go home, please." I refused to believe that anything extraordinary was happening.

"My parents are across town, six feet under. They have been that way for over three centuries."

"You're lying. Stop it. You're not dead. Ghosts don't exist. I'm just going crazy, that's all." I rubbed my forehead and tried my best to rationalize the situation at hand. It just didn't make sense. I must have eaten something bad and this was all a figment of my imagination. Yes, that must be it.

"If you don't believe me, look in your father's office. In his desk, first drawer. You'll find what you need to know there."

"How the hell do you know that?" I asked, raising my eyebrows. Had she snuck inside of my house? No, there was no way she could get into my father's office. He always kept it locked, if he wasn't in there.

"I'm a ghost, I know everything. Just please do what I told you to." She pressed her words, filling them with tense urgency.

"Fine. I'll look, but I know I'm not going to find anything because you're not real, and this isn't happening." I rolled my eyes, not scared anymore, because I thought it was all fake.

"Not real, huh?" She asked. I was about to answer, but then I looked down. Now I, too, hovered about three feet in the air. I shrieked and fell to the earth below me. I landed hard and made an 'oof' sound. When I looked up, she was gone.

It took some planning to get into my father's office. First, I had to wait for a chance. The next day, after school, I was up in my room, when I heard the front door slam. It was my father, leaving for a meeting down town.

Second, I had to find a way in. I stayed up late into the night, teaching myself how to pick locks. When morning came and I still couldn't do it, I resorted to pick pocketing the key from my dad.

After he left, I went down to his office and opened it up using the old brass key. It had the word office etched into it. The door creaked loudly, as I forced it open. I froze, leaving it half open, before remembering that I was the only one home. I opened it up the rest of the way and stepped inside.

The office was small, containing a filing cabinet, a desk, and a whole lost of crap and papers. There was an old fashioned feather pen and ink set on the desk, but I wasn't sure if it still worked or if it was just for show. There was a black lamp with a dark green square shade on it in the middle of the desk. Hanging on the right wall, was a painting of some stern looking man.

I immediately headed for the drawer that Greta had promised what I was looking for would be in. Inside that drawer, was a large stack of paper. It was neat, organized, and practically dust free, unlike everything else in this house. I pulled out a few pages off of the top.

I quickly scanned the first page. It was a copy of the forms from when my father bought the house. The second and third were also more forms.

I put those two aside and grabbed the fourth piece of paper. It was a letter from the person we bought the house from. I scanned it. Some of it was just boring old normal house stuff, such as how old the house was and where the vacuum he left for us was kept. Towards the end of the letter, is where it got interesting. The last paragraph was a warning.

One last thing, this land has some colorful history. I trust you've heard of the Salem Witch Trials. In the late seventeenth century, suspected witches were hanged on this land. There have always been rumors circling around the town about it being haunted, but I assure you it is not. I lived here for ten years and never experienced a thing, so I'm sure it is perfectly safe. One particular little girl who was hanged here in 1693 is buried in the land. Her name is Greta. The previous owner claimed to have seen her, but I never did. Anyways, I'm sure you'll love our quaint town.

The letter went on with passing pleasantries, before signing off. I dropped the papers back in the drawer. "Oh my God. She wasn't lying. She's real. My house is haunted." I ran out of that office faster than I ever have before.

AN: Hey, so my family just bought a new house, and while I was raking on the edge of the woods, I saw the grave above. No joke, I actually saw it. I have no idea who Fred was, but I thought it was really cool and it reminded me of Greta.