Ghosts Of The Attic

7. History

7

     Why hadn’t I noticed it before? The question rolled through my mind as a crisp breath tickled the back of my neck. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up while Madame Sybil’s charcoal eyes stared past me. “She’s not real.” My voice sounded hollow while a familiar, soft tone sounded behind me.

     “I shouldn’t have come.”

     “No, no,” Madame Sybil disagreed. “The boy’s just stubborn. Doesn’t want to see what he needs to see.”

     “She’s not real,” I said, more to myself though.

     Closing my eyes, I tried slowing my racing heart, but a shock was sent through me as an icy hand touched mine. After a second, I opened my eyes. The dead girl stood next to me, her almost translucent hand examining my bandaged one. Her blue tinted lips were pursed as she stared intently at me. “What happened?” she whispered.

     “N-nothing,” I stammered.

     Her inquisitive, amber eyes snapped up to my face and onto the gauze on my forehead. Slowly, she traced the bandage, sending shivers down my spine, before finally lowering her hand to her side. Then she turned and flicked her hand, causing a chair to slide behind her. She sat down, but seemed to levitate over the cushion a bit. “As you can see,” Madame Sybil smiled, “her touch is real therefore she is real.” The girl gave a shy smile and her eyes glanced to my face before settling on the tea tray. “Maybe I should try to explain myself,” the girl suggested.

     The ancient psychic slowly stood up and scurried off; the red, velvet curtains rustled as she brushed past them. My attention turned onto the girl, who was adjusting her pea coat collar. As she did so, a flash of scarlet on her deathly pale neck caught my eyes. At first, my hand reached out to stop her, so that I could examine her neck, but the thought of touching her was sickening and my hand immediately lowered. When she was done, she brushed a lock of hair away before beginning her tale.

     “I knew the man who took your sister. We were actually quite close, you see, but I always knew he was a peculiar person. He did….gruesome things when he was alone and I happened to stumble upon those acts a few times. I should’ve said something, but he always managed to talk his way out of it. He was always crafty, but one night, he went too far. His obsession with a girl went to the point where if he couldn’t have her, nobody could. I heard her shouts and witnessed his act then….he killed me.”

     Silence filled the space and as I was about to say something, she unbuttoned her pea coat and stood. The wine red cut on her slender throat gleamed like a morbid grin while blood stained the front of her white dress along with slash marks. “He cut my throat,” she whisper, her voice shaking,” and stabbed me in the chest.” With wavering hands, she buttoned her coat back on and sat back down, her eyes tearing. On her weary face, a small smile took form before she stated, “My name is Verona by the way.”

     “I’m sorry,” I finally managed to say.

     “I never understood why people say that,” she commented. “It’s not as if you’re able to go back and stop him.”

     “And this is why you’re willing to help me?”

     “Yes, I am willing to help you, but you need to stop acting…strange around me.”

     “It’s hard not to act strange when you have a dead girl saying she wants to help you find your supposedly dead twin.”

     “I suppose so.” The smile on her face stretched even more and there was an undeniable twinkle in her eyes. The urge to grin back at her almost overwhelmed me, but I managed to suppress it. The rustling of curtains broke my attention away from Verona and I turned to stare at Madame Sybil, who looked pleased with herself. “Now since that’s settled,” she announced, “we have business to attend you.”