The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

46. Letters

My folded legs twitch into parallel lines as I try to calm down my rapid blinks. A grunt comes from the south pole, and I hold myself up by elbows to see that one of my feet actually hit Dylan at the jaw.
I cringe slightly and mutter a sorry before steering my gaunt leg in the other direction. My brother rubs his jaw while my eyes widen as they set themselves upon the dressing table near the four-poster bed.

Allison puts her foot down from the dressing while Ethan waits for her to land before doing so himself.

"How..."
The rest of my words stray away in my throat as swift steps resound from the corridor.

"Heavens, why is this room open!" Ms Bragge enters the room in her usual long skirted dress and wire-tight hair bun. She looks back and forth between our frozen figures.

My lips part, but she holds up a hand and says,
"I don't want to hear it."
Her hand falls to her side as she picks up her skirts and leaves the room.

Allison's leg that was stuck mid-air falls down while Ethan tumbles along, as well.
Dylan and I also brush ourselves as we straighten up.
Though, Dylan's gaze is somewhere else; it is at the centre of the room.

The journal lies open, but not with the handwriting I expected.
But with Henry's own.

But I thought Matthew wrote the last entry...
Does that mean he can copy handwritings?

I look closely at where my brother is gazing but his eyes are not on the journal: they are on the crumpled daffodil next to it. His back arches downwards as he puts the daffodil back into the journal; a petal falls to the floor as he closes it. His fingers glaze against the journal's spine as he turns around and advances forward, without a single glance towards any of us.

The cousins and I remain stuck in our positions till Dylan stops at the doorframe and whispers:
"Aren't you all coming?"
With that, he leaves the room with the rest of us following suit: I in the centre with Allison and Ethan at my sides.

We tread across the same vintage table and the same classic painting, but, instead of turning to our usual route, Dylan's feet twist to the opposite direction. His sudden change of course surprises me, but I decide to not protest; I just don't have the energy left. My usual straight shoulders hunch a little as I stride forward.
Allison gives a single shoulder shrug while Ethan only flips his hand.

There is a seating break in between the corridor; it having more space at its back for not compromising with the corridor space.
Two single seaters are at the poles, upon one of which Dylan sits, with a single double seater sofa at the middle.
The sofas are adorned with golden-twisted lines and leaf-pattern blue cushions. The same blue of Mum and my eyes.

I used to come here all the time but now, a nostaligic weight drops in my chest. Allison and Ethan's shoulders brush against mine, forcing me back to reality.
They sit on the larger sofa while I rest myself of the one opposite Dylan. His back is arched forward with his elbows resting on his spread knees; his thumbs carress the journal's cover.

My spine falls back of the sofa with my arms locked on my chest and one leg on top of another.

The cousins exchange a look with each other before focusing on the two of us. Even the breeze coming from an open window stifles the air.

Dylan falls back in his seat with his left fingers under his chin, looking at the window.

The way he looks at the window almost makes sweat scar the side of my forehead.

"Henry... lad... you can't..."

Henry's limp figure flashes in my eyes, forcing me to look away from my own brother.