"No one has passed through here in quite awhile that has intrigued me as much as you."
"You're a ghost," she whispered, fear washing over her like a vice.
"That I am, darling." His fingers brushed against her cheek lightly, yet all she felt was wha...
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It was only supposed to be a house. A home, maybe. A refuge, perhaps; far away from the rest of the world. My own little world, my own place to dream and turn from dust to beauty.
The seventeen hundreds Victorian Georgia mansion I'd found up for auction online was now in my possession; every inch of the property under my name. It was truly a beautiful old house; completely livable but quite run down. All it really needed was a little love...and a lot of dusting spray.
The living room held the biggest fireplace I'd ever seen in my life-completely hand made, out of what appeared to be granite of some source. The bedrooms had the prettiest four poster bed frames you'd ever seen-each one painted a soft cream, complete with canopy coverings and soft, hand made, vintage blankets. It appeared that the previous owners had tried to keep as much of the original things in the house as they could, which only added to the charm and beauty of it.
There was even a secret stairwell-in the library; at that-it was something you'd find in a book. It always made me think of Narnia. The little flight of stairs led to a tiny room between the first and second level of the house, complete with a tiny bookcase of musty old novels.
But the office was the room that often intrigued me the most, and the room I would spend the most time in after I moved in. The original furniture and books still remained, along with a few papers in the desk that had belonged to the original owners of the property. I loved to sit and just study their handwriting-how did they do it? Such loopy and beautiful cursive.
Little did I know, however, that as I sat on the aging desk chair and studied handwriting older than myself, I wasn't alone.
I was never alone, as long as I was in the house-not that I knew this, at least not at first. Often times I would get the sensation that I was being watched, and living alone in an old, large house tended to give anyone the spooks. Yet there's a difference between just being spooked...and actually not being alone.
There would never be anyone there, no matter how fast I whipped my head around and stared. Unless you count my kitten, Paris, who followed me nearly everywhere. Lots of times I roamed the halls with a butter knife (looking back on this, I really don't know how much good that would have done me) and a candlestick (I believe I did this just for effects-it made me feel as though I were living in the century the house was from). Yet I never found anything...which led me to rest easy, but only temporarily, because the watched feeling always came back.
It was incredibly strong whenever I was in or near the office. Which naturally, led me to avoid the office. Which disappointed me, because I loved that little room-I was fairly drawn to it. Not that I was going to question it though-if being in there was going to give me the creeps, I'd stay out, thank you very much.
This didn't stop Paris from going in there, however, and often I would peek in the doorway just to check on him. The things I saw made me wonder if he was crazy, I was crazy...or he was just being a cat. Because let's face it-cats do weird things. But these seemed just a little too weird.
Often, he would literally rub against the air; as though he were rubbing against someone's legs. Other times he would jump into the air to attempt at catching something, when there would be nothing there. Or he would lean into an invisible hand, as though someone were scratching his chin in his favorite spot.
I was convinced one or both of us were crazy. Well, I definitely was, seeing that I'd bought this house in the first place. It wasn't exactly cheap, and I wasn't exactly rich. Plus it was in a very secluded spot, with nothing but nature and a few other Victorian mansions as far as the eye could see. The backyard was large and had a beautiful garden and pond, but I'd been so busy exploring the house I hadn't had a chance to really see this yet. I was too busy trying to shake the feeling that I wasn't alone.
Which I would never be able to shake, because I was never alone.
I would figure this out soon enough, and my life would be changed forever. There are some experiences you can't ever forget, can't ever move on from; and this was one of them.
