Mildred's Room

It was much like it had been the last time Mildred was there. The walls were sparsely decorated with paintings of flowers and grassy meadows. A narrow wrought iron bed stood in the corner, underneath one of the two windows in the room, and covered with a homemade quilt in color blocks of pale yellow and pink. Next to it, a crude pine table with a delicate white doily covering the scars of daily use. The only other furniture in the room was a tall dresser, painted a fresh white to cover it's age. It seemed as if time hadn't moved within the room's walls.

She stepped into the room, carefully looking from one side to the other. The curtains above the bed fluttered gently as a morning breeze caught them through the open window. Why was she here after all this time? There had been grief and healing in this house. Even though she was welcomed as a guest, she felt as if her presence was tearing open an old wound. She had requested this room specifically and the owners, after a tense conversation between themselves, had agreed.

She left her overnight bag by the door, not knowing if she would bother to unpack. Spending the night here suddenly didn't feel like the best idea, no matter how much she wanted to walk in Mildred's footsteps. There was something unsettling about spending the night in a dead woman's room. Especially when the idea itself felt like it came from the dead woman. And Mildred was dead. The whispers and gossip about it didn't change that simple fact.

It wasn't that she was scared to stay in Mildred's room. She just didn't believe the stories about strange things happening here. If that made her a skeptic, so be it. It just wasn't possible that Mildred, or her spirit, was still around. She approached the other window and drew back the curtain. There was a large crack in the glass that had been sealed with something like glue. It didn't hinder the view though and she leaned into it for a better look. From here, she could see the backyard and the field beyond it. The field was dotted with patches of bright yellow dandelions and clusters of Queen Anne's Lace bending gently with the wind. How strange to think that this idyllic landscape was the setting of such a horrible tragedy.

She turned away, only to be startled by the appearance of the housekeeper standing in the doorway watching her with a gimlet eye. She let out a surprised "Oh!" And then laughed at herself. "You scared me!"

The housekeeper continued to watch her with a severe expression. "May I help you unpack, miss?"

"Oh, well thank you, Mrs. Gramble, but that isn't-" She cut herself off as the older woman ignored her completely and bent down to pick up the bag and hefted it to the bed.

"Do you like the view?" Mrs. Gramble asked, opening the overnight bag. "Mildred used to sit by the window and stare at the field for hours."

That caught her attention. "You knew Mildred?"

"Of course I knew her. Everyone around here did."

"What was she like?"

Mrs. Gramble lifted jeans and sneakers from the overnight bag, giving them a disapproving glance before tucking them into the top dresser drawer. "Mind you, I was just a teenager when Mildred lived here but I always thought she was too trusting and naive. Believed anything she was told. Always knew she would come to a bad end."

"Oh." Considering how long ago Mildred had died, she wondered how old Mrs. Gramble actually was. Pressing on, she asked, "Were you here when she...passed?"

Mrs. Gramble paused in her unpacking and turned to glare at her. "You're not one of those ghost hunters are you? I keep telling you people that's all nonsense. There's no such thing as ghosts. When you're dead, that's it. You don't linger around. Jesus died for us all to go to Heaven, not hang around a farm you lived at for a couple of summers."