The Ghost In My Room

Chapter 4: Mr M

I glanced at the bright blue numbers on my alarm clock, the seconds passing with small, light ticks, as if mocking my inability to sleep by progressing slower than usual.

It was nearly one.

I rubbed my eyes with my clenched fists, as if erasing sleep itself away.
I took quick, quiet steps out of my room, not wanting to wake Mum up with my late night food hunt.

I hadn't taken three steps towards the stairwell when I heard a sound coming from Mums bedroom on the other end of the hallway.
I froze for a brief second, my mind going over the possibilities behind such an indescribable sound- Cole being a prominent one- but I didn't wait further to understand what it was as I took quick steps towards her room, all the while hoping it wasn't anything serious.

I had just grabbed the cold door handle, ready to push open the door when something made me stop just at the moment I was about to fling it open.

That something being the sound of muffled sobbing accompanied by little keening, like a sound an injured kitten would make. I stood there for a minute, listening to make sure it was what it appeared to be, but there was no mistaking it. It was uncomfortably reminiscent of the dream I had before.

Mum was crying again. It was becoming evident that she had never stopped.

Every part of my body wanted to do nothing more than throw open the door, and hug her tight until she stopped, comforting her with words we both would know were lies, but I knew the one thing Mum hated more than anything, was anyone seeing her so vulnerable and weak.
After all she prided herself in being a strong and a very much independent woman, but she feared that image would be shattered by the tears and pitiful cries that fell from her eyes and lips if anyone saw. So she always hid such a vulnerable state, even from her family.

But I had never realised that she would have hidden it so well. I thought she was passed the crying stage, but as I stood outside her door, I was reminded very much so that the wounds were still very much fresh and bleeding.

With my own heart breaking, I sat slowly down on the floor, adjacent to her door, looking up at the ceiling as I tried to blink away my own tears. I paid little mind to the cold as I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around my legs, before laying my head on top, listening and listening until I no longer heard her crying.

I don't know how long I sat there waiting for her to stop, but once she did, I quietly stood up, wincing at the sore muscles, stretching as silently as I could, before heading back to my room, my hunger lost.

I froze for the second time this night when I saw Cole leaning against the wall opposite a little further on, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at the wall opposite him. I had no idea how long he had been standing there and how much he had seen and heard, but his face gave nothing away. Not an inkling on how he felt.

After a moment of silence, he looked at me, eyes as cold as shards of ice, no longer holding the curiosity that I had started to become accustomed to.
"She has not once ceased in her crying since you've moved here. Every night she cries and cries when she thinks you're asleep." He said in a voice as deadpan as his expression, but something in his eyes warned me to tread carefully, a flicker of a brewing, angry storm in those green eyes of his.

I swallowed, my throat dry but my eyes unnecessarily wet. "I didn't know until now." I whispered hoarsely, somewhat taken aback by his abrupt and insensitive manner.
Maybe being a ghost for so long turned him callous and hardhearted.

I was about to brush past him, fully intending to ignore him and try to make sense of my befuddled emotions in my isolation, but Cole reached out and grabbed my arm.