The Ghost of Elizabeth Rose

chapter one

Copyright 2012

Cover art found randomly online by Becky.

Story Dedication:

For ъреНдoH

My green-eyed muse

~Chapter One~

I never wanted to leave Glasgow. Her damp, cold streets eerie and dark. That's where I belong. Not here. My parents love Thalia, and it's “cutesy” small town charm. Everyone is so nice here. I appreciate it, but I don't like it. I'm really shy and rather antisocial.

My Mum's successful painting career brought us here. She loves to paint sunshine, which is hard to come by in Scotland where it rains, sleets, and/or snows 364 days out of the year. I had several friends back home, but they don't miss me very much, they don't even write me. Now in America, I have a fresh start, but I'm not sure I know how to make friends anymore. I'd rather be in my old room with my black-out curtains. Darkness is where I'm happiest.

The house is a two story farm house. It's about a hundred and fifty years old, but nicely remodeled. This makes it bright and cheery by day, and dark and spooky by night. Very Spooky. We've seen apparitions and shadows, been followed about the house by footsteps, dark figures hanging over our beds as we sleep. But Mum loves the view from the balconies, so she doesn't want to move. Besides, we are cheap and poor Scots, we don't want to buy another house.

This is where I will live for the next four years. When I graduate from high school I will then move back to Scotland. I live for that day. But for now, my mother and I argue about it.

“You're staying in America!” She screams.

“No, I'm not! I don't like it here!” I scream back.

“I don't care, I won't have you ending up a-” she was cut off by my father who silenced her.

“Listen,” he whispered. Through the thick silence, I heard footsteps. They sounded as if coming from the upstairs bathroom.

My father ran up there quickly, only to come back shaking his head. Things like this have been happening since we moved here. I noticed it's all worse when someone is upset.

Like two weeks ago, I was homesick and crying when my door slammed shut. My father called a “Paranormal Expert” who'd be here in a couple of days. Until then we should be fine. We think.

~♥~

“Clemmy!” My father called, announcing that the “Paranormal Expert” was here. 'Clemmy' is a nickname. It's short for Clementine. Clementine Ferguson.

I hurried downstairs to greet our guest. His name was Stephan. He had a cheery disposition and a sweet smile that was infectious, and hazel eyes that glittered in our bright kitchen.

“Hello,” I said. He seemed surprised by the accent our family carries proudly.

“Hello to you, too. What exactly has been happening?” he asked. We explained about the footsteps and shadows and how odd things usually occur when someone is upset.

“I'm going to try something,” Stephan said. “Sir, could you punch me in the nose?”

“What?!” My father replied, startled. “What good'll that do?”

“I'll do it!” I pipped up excitedly. This earned me a glare.

“Trust me,” Stephan said. My father, still confused, wound up and hit Stephan as hard as he could, in the face.

Tears welled up in Stephan's eyes, and he started to sob.“Ah! Jerk! God, what's wrong with you stupid foreigners!” he cried.

Just as my parents were about to protest, Stephan put a finger over a wry smile. The footsteps once again sounded from above us. The look of befuddlement on my mother's face was hysterical. Until the china began to fly out of it's cabinets, breaking against the cold, tile floor.

The four of us ran out the front door, the door (Which usually sticks in place when opened.) slammed shut after us.

“Well, that was fun,” Stephan said. “It seems that you are haunted. Uh, bad news is, it's not Casper the Friendly Ghost.”

“What are we going to do?” my mother said frantically.

“Calm down, Ma'am. Just stay positive, ignore the 'spirit' or 'ghost,' whatever you like to call it, but ignore it. Don't panic,” he continued.

“Question, how exactly do we ignore something like that? What with the furniture moving about, and all,” I said.

Stephan came close and said,”Well, Sweetheart, when a chair moves itself, say with your beautiful accent, 'Silly chair! You know you're supposed to stay by the table!'” And with that he left. He'd promised to send a type of exorcist who expelled 'spirits' or 'ghosts' (Whatever you like to call them, as Stephan said.) from homes. Her name was Kirsten.

Now, I stare at Kirsten's business card, wondering if she really could help us. Wondering what she will be like. Wondering if she's as nice as Stephan. Wondering if I'll even see Stephan again. Wondering if Stephan was mocking me when he made the silly chair joke. Tomorrow I start at Thalia's finest, Hawthorne High School. Famous for hazings, bullying, educating future murderers and criminals, prostitutes, etc. This is going to be oooooooohhhh, so fun.