.:Ghostly Whispers:.

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

I stare at the door of Felicia Buford's home. It is a pale blue door with a small, blurry glass window and red lining. The door is labeled twenty-seven and it seems like exactly the home I would picture a grandmother living in. Nothing like the house my grandmother lived in. I begin to doubt whether I should knock and bombard this poor old lady. She doesn't deserve to be asked about something that is likely to traumatize her! What if she doesn't remember? Plenty of old people don't remember things from when they were teens.

Eventually I decide to stop second guessing and just knock. What is the worst that can go wrong? I rap on the door. I wait for about 3 minutes before knocking again, a bit louder this time. Still nothing. I decide she must not be home, it's probably better this way anyways.

Then right as I am about to leave, the door creaks open and a little old lady walks out. She's shorter and thinner than me.

"Are you the salesperson for those Tempurpedic mattresses that I ordered on amazon?" She asks me in a shaky yet confident tone.

"Um.. No?" I say a bit flustered. I never really thought this far into my plan. What was I supposed to ask her?

"Then why did you ding-dong me?" She asks.

"I-" I don't know what to say at this point. Should I pretend it was all an accident and move on? No, I should just ask the damn question and get past the old lady awkwardness.

"I'm here to interview you." I lie. "I just have a few questions. May I come in?"

"How old are you, young lady?" she asks, blocking the door and looking over me skeptically.

"Uh... 16." I say. I don't know where lying will get me.

"Hmph, I coulda sworn you were younger, kids these days just keep getting younger! Now come in." As she beckons me inside, I see her hair is pinned up using a little pink bow, as if she's a child.

Everything in the room is shades of blues, pinks, oranges and reds. Dream catchers and stained glass arts are everywhere and pictures from every age with bright colored frames scatter the walls. It's like jumping into a prism—-the whole house is bathed in rainbow light. In other words, Felicia seems like a hippy.

"Wow, your house is so pretty!" I say as Felicia sits down on the worn blue couch. If my house had even a fraction of the color in this room, maybe moving here wouldn't be so terrible.

"If you say so," Says Felicia, straightening her yellow skirt. "So, what did you say you were doing here?" I gulp.

"I'm here to ask you stuff about someone that you knew a long time ago." I say, and Felicia looks up at me with a confused expression.

"I didn't know anyone famous, hun, I'm just a normal old lady."

"Okay, let's start with a quick biography of your life, just run me through a summary." I need to test these waters.

"Mm. Okay, why not. I grew up here and have always lived in Sleepy Hollow. I'm now 97, as of last week, and I got married to Scott Buford in— actually I can't remember the year, but I was 'round thirty. He died 3 years ago and we had one daughter, named Alice, who is now forty somethin' living in Oklahoma." She then takes a quick breath, "That's enough for you?"

"What about past relationships?" I prompt. "Ever been married or engaged before Scott?" I need answers and this was going too slow for my liking.

"Nope. Only kissed a bartender while drunk in my twenties!" She laughs and changes the subject. "Want tea?" I sigh with exasperation. She is denying it. This is going to be difficult.