Haunted

The little girl sat perched on the edge of the porch swing, her legs slightly swaying beneath her. Her dark ringlets sagged at the edges of her visage, her head bowed in solemn silence. The roses surrounding her were dying and had lost all of their past vibrancy of the summer, only an occasional petal escaping from the blossoms to ride alone on the autumn chill. The sun was trying to unleash its last few blasts of energy onto the world before falling into its nightly slumber, to leave the Earth into the capable hands of the moon and stars.

She tilted her head upwards and sighed at the skies, partially obscured by clouds. She heaved herself onto the ground, standing, her white dress fluttering daintily at her knees. It was time to go inside, the illusion of a wide open space beginning to feel oppressive like there were weights attached to her young soul.

She drifted into the old house like a whisper of breath. Shuffling through the rooms, she falls into the corner of what used to be the main parlour. Her delicate form wilted against the filthy walls, her tiny fingers traced mindlessly against the lonely, barren floorboards.

Night had now fully wrapped its’ shadowy tendrils around the town, with the only source of light being the pale shards of moonlight slicing through the gaps in the torn curtains.

It’s so cold, and so dark. I’m always alone. Someone, please come and find me! Even when people come, they can never find me…I’m so alone…

The wind whispered sweet nothings to the trees, rustling their brittle, dying leaves, but no other sounds disturbed the night air. No insects, no birds, no life.

Then all of a sudden the sound of laughter pierced the air. The young girl’s ears pricked up immediately at the interrupted silence. The incoherent rabble was drawing closer to the ancient, broken home. The sounds filled the girl with cautious ecstasy, the noises stirring a quiet hopefulness within her heart. 

Maybe, maybe this time I’ll be found…

Gradually, the voices became a cacophony and soon a small group of adolescents spilled into the room – two girls and three boys. They fell to the floor and formed a ragged circle, laughing and chatting thoughtlessly throughout. The girl’s minute hopes shattered in front of her eyes. The sound of glass clinking accompanied their abrasive shouts and the stench of alcohol hung heavily on their breaths. Their hands shook slightly and their clothes were soaked in the cheap liquid, the drips were falling to the dusty, old floor – making small ink blot test patterns in the filth.

Poison…it’s everywhere! They’re just like the rest…

The girl sat cowering in the corner, unnoticed by her unwelcome guests as they spoke senselessly, incessantly, barely pausing for breath. Her emotions were building with an intensity that she’d never felt before as each hour passed.

“D’you guys wanna hear the story ‘bout this old house?” one of the boys suddenly slurred. There were rapid nods from the others, and the little girl’s eyes flared with interest.

A story about my home?

“Well…” the boy smirked, drawing out the sound of the simple word – either for dramatic effect or from a lack of control over his voice, “This place used to belong to some rich guy, a Lord something or other…”

Is he talking about my family?

“Um…” the boy waved his hands in the air as if he were swatting at his thoughts, “I don’t remember his name but it’s not important.”

…Not important?!

The energy that had been building inside of the girl rose exponentially as she stood up from her spot on the floor.