The Girls of Stone House

heart of stone

  The cold bit through our skin. I'd put my blazer away, donning a puffer coat instead. Stella wore a vintage fleece/denim jacket.  It was thisclose to raining, the lampposts lit on the path, which seemed more familiar now. They were gothic, with weird carvings of saytr feet on them. Stone House was lit up with Hazel and her friends hanging out in the living room. 

Stella and I sat on the sofa on the other side of the room. Being alone with her made it easier to talk, and so I finally spoke in coherent sentences.  I wasn't flirting, I was actually making conversation! She was also so much more interesting outside of a crowd.  We talked about the Women's March and Trump.  

"He SUCKS," Stella began. "I can't believe he's actually raped women and he's...running for President! I wish we could vote. I'd vote for Bernie or Warren." 

"Well at least there's a movement against him," I said. "It's amazing. I've been to a women's march. You know, I actually wrote a speech for someone at one." 

"Seriously? That's so badass. I love that you're like, so preppy but really you're a rebel." 

I blushed and looked at the ground. There were so many things I could have said-I loved her art, her hair, her shininess, but I just kept quiet because I liked listening to her more. We finally got into Stone House. The fire was crackling, but no one was in there. We sat down on the sofa. It was nice, we could finally relax. 

I was half-asleep when a huge crash woke me up. We ran upstairs. The window of the first bedroom on the second floor was completely shattered. There was no one up there.  it was something out of Edgar Allen Poe. 

"What the hell?" I muttered.  Stella watched me as I stepped toward the window to examine it. There was a stick on the floor, presumably to hold it up. But it wasn't in the window. I pretended not to notice Stella staring at me. 

"Go check the other rooms," I ordered her. She went. 

I went to get a dustpan and broom from the cleaning closet. 

I came back into the room, and a gust of wind shut the door behind me. I was 15. This wasn't Supernatural. I took a deep breath. I swept. The old lights cast a strange yellow glow in the room. 

Then I saw it-cracks in the walls that weren't there before. I stared at it, hypnotized. The cracks spread like vines across the wall in front of me. It seemed like it was a message. I didn't recognize the language. Maybe Latin or something ancient? Whatever it said was meant for me. 

Then Stella came back in. 

"I didn't find anybody, but I found this," she said, waving a leather journal at me. 

I dumped the glass in the trash and walked over to her to look at it. We stood so close our shoulders were touching. I tried to focus seriously, but still blushed like a doofus. The cover was black, with entries written in fountain pen. 

It belonged to Catherine Alexander. The woman I was named after.  

"That's mine," I breathed. 

"Catherine was my aunt...but she lived in LA." 

"That's so weird. Are you sure it's hers? How do you know?" Stella asked. 

I couldn't find the words, so I dragged her to the wall with the message on it. "Do you see this?" I asked impatiently. It all seemed so obvious to me, like a fact of the universe. Like breathing. The Ghost of Stone House was Catherine Alexander.

Then that begged the question: Why was my aunt ever at Heartwood in the first place? 

"I can't read it." Stella said. "Why does that prove anything?" 

"Because you found that journal at the same time!"

"Okay!" Stella surrendered. "I believe you." 

"You think I'm crazy." 

"No!I love this! Let's Scooby-Doo this crap!"

I laughed incredulously. 

"Now who's the nerd!" 

She rolled her eyes affectionately. 

And that was just Monday. 

The first week passed, and Stella and I hung out every spare second.  At some point I didn't have to think about where to sit anymore. We became so close that no other girls could touch us. We pored over my aunt's journal in our spare time. I tried to convince her to do her homework, and we stayed up late talking most nights. Our conversations turned delirious past midnight. 

We were hanging out alone in our living room. The house didn't feel haunted when I was with her. 

 "So what about your parents?" I asked. 

"Oh, my parents!" She laughed cynically.  " "They're like, okay. They just don't get it. I'm an artist!! La Vie Boheme! You're lucky, you're rich and preppy." 

I rolled my eyes. "So what?"

"So you don't know what it takes, man." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I wanna be a director but my parents hate me for it." 

It hurt me to think someone hated her. 

"What do you mean?" I asked again.

"Nothing." She paused, staring at the wall instead of me.She took a deep breath. 

"They're corporate. I'm not. And I'm never gonna be. It's hard to...get out of that, coming from my kind of family. They said that if I wanna do it, I have to actually move to LA and make money. Then they'll come around, when I have a mansion in Beverly Hills! Do you know hard that is?!" 

She sighed loudly and laid down on the blue couch. I stared at her. I wanted to comfort her. It hurt to see her hurt. 

"I don't hate you, if that's any consolation," I said. I almost made it sound like a joke, but it wasn't even close to the truth.

She sat up and hugged me. The world spun. I didn't feel bubbly, I felt...real. Like when she touched me, I could feel my own body more than I ever had before. 

"It consoles me," she said with a smile, letting go. "Thank you." 

"Look, let's just watch a movie," I suggested. "You'll be fine." 

"Look, I know I'm supposed to be an artiste, but can it be a Julia Roberts movie? Notting Hill?" 

"Oh, Notting Hill is so cute!" I said. "Don't worry, I won't tell everyone you're a girly girl." 

I laughed and went upstairs to get our blankets. Mine was a Ravenclaw logo and hers was white with fringe. The night was cold and slightly rainy from the coastal mist that rolled in sometimes. When I came back downstairs, I threw hers over her head playfully. She stood up and chased me around.

"I'm the Ghost of Stone House," she wailed. "Katieeee, I'm coming for you..." 

I doubled over laughing. She took off the blanket and we sat down to watch the movie on my laptop. I felt so warm sitting next to her.

I woke up the next morning alone on the couch, covered in both of our blankets.