Ghostly Plea

Ashlyn

"Did someone grab the keys?!" 

I shout into the house. No one answers. I close the French doors behind me and start to head down the hall, being careful not to step on the broken glass from the shattered vase. I look to where the shattered fragments should be and pause. they're gone. My breathing starts to hitch as I remember the shadow by the corner. What was that thing? A shadow? A fragment of my imagination? I was just scared because of what Whintle was saying. Yeah, that's it. Someone must have picked the glass up, like the keys.

I pass the dining room on my way to the foyer and peek inside to see if anyone was in there. Nothing. And when I say nothing, I mean the spoiled food, bird carcass, place settings were all gone. The dirt, webs and mice droppings had vanished. Freshly cut white roses were arranged in a vase that resembled the one that had broken. Fire danced along the wick of the candelabras that were placed all along the rectangular table. I freeze for a moment, not sure how to make sense of everything. This can't be explained away. This stuff doesn't just happen.

"GUYS! WHERE ARE YOU?!" I yell, afraid. I need to make sure they're seeing this too. Again, no answer. Not wanting to be by myself any longer I run to the foyer. It was the same here. No people and completely spotless of grime. No more water marks, cobwebs, or old tea platters layed out. The coffee table now consisted of little tea cakes and cucumber sandwiches. The chandelier sparkled like diamonds, and a fire crackled in the hearth. Newly chopped wood was precisely stacked next to the stone fireplace, while the faded emerald furniture looked up to date and comfortable. In between the sofa and armchair sat a phonograph playing a long-lost lullaby.

I gulp and yell again, "GUYS?!" it came out a little hoarser than before, since my throat had become dry in my panic.

"Ash?! Up here!" Poppy's voice carries from upstairs. I look at the front door, then the staircase wondering if I should make a getaway to the car. Something was terribly wrong with this house, and I wanted nothing to do with it. But I couldn't leave my friends. I'd grab them, and then we could leave this demented house.

Taking two steps at a time I booked it upstairs not wanting to be alone here one second longer. One wide hallway connected all the rooms together upstairs. Potted ferns were lined beside each doorway. All the knobs were crystal, and the doors dark oak. Rich velvet carpeting lined the hallway to keep the chill out from the hard wooden floors. A statue my grandmother would never approve of was placed at the end of the hall by a window draped with heavy maroon curtains. Four doors were placed on each side of the hall. The second to the left was open.

I peek inside and find all my friends gathered around a passed out Whintle laying on a king-sized bed. The room was decorated with creams, pale pinks, and greens. A feather light canopy hung around the bed. The comforter was a soft green, matching the drapes in the room. Dark wood floors were covered with pale pink rugs here and there. The walls were completely creme with gold accents along the wall. A little dresser had a vase of roses like in the dining room. Next to the dresser stood a fireplace made from stone the same colors of the walls. Above the fireplace hung a framed photograph of a beautiful woman with dark spiraling curls, a handsome man that looked like he was keeping a terrible secret, and what must be their two children. One girl that looks to be the age of 10 or 11, and a boy that looks to be 5. I look back at Whintle and see how pale he has become just in a few minutes.

Everyone is standing very still like if they breathe, they might disturb Whintle The room is so quiet if a pin dropped it would be heard.

"Did you see how clean the house is all of a sudden?" I say to no one in particular. Arthur's head whips toward me and he harshly shushes me.

"Someone tells her before-" Finn starts to say before Whintle's breath starts to speed up rapidly. His chest rises and falls too fast to be humanly possible. "Crap! No one make a noise," he says in a forceful whisper.