Ghost

0101

The house was so quiet, I could hear the rain water dripping into the pan in the kitchen.

The storm had been beating against the foyer window, creating lined shadows along the stairway wall that dripped down into the floor in the dull morning light. I had stopped watching an hour ago, picking up my dictionary-sized book and leaning against the last step from the top floor in hopes of preoccupying myself. I let my eyes flick up for a moment to the grandfather clock looming near the front door. Five thirty-one. The night had trickled down to a measly half an hour left.

I sighed and turned the page. Chapter Twenty: Demons of the Ars Goetia. If it hadn’t been for a dash of lightening, I would have missed the sudden pale wisps of breath floating up from my lips.

I dropped the book and looked around, my chest inflating with jittery thumps. Though my eyes could make out the drop of the stairs and the small pit of a room at the base of the front door, the living room beyond was half hidden behind the corner of the stair wall and half a darkened abyss. I picked up the camera that had been sitting in my lap and positioned it over my eye. It was a cheap disposable one, but all that I could afford on a wimpy allowance budget.

I hit the button and let the room fill with a flash, checking back into the hall to ensure I was alone before venturing any further. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, after cranking up the film, I rounded the corner and released another flash into the dining room. When I peeked into the kitchen, the only activity to be found was the water lazily dripping from the ceiling. I groaned.

“Just show yourself already,” I breathed, my voice lost by the low rumble of thunder as the rain picked up. I pointed my camera into the living room before checking the film. Three left. This better be worth it.  

Three more flashes filled the living room before the grandfather clock heaved a song of out-of-tune clashing, and I quickly wound my way back around the coffee table and hurried for the stairs. I was in such a rush, I almost ran into the ghostly figure standing in front of the foyer.

I jumped and it squinted at me, reaching up to rub the drowsiness out if its eyes. It was then that I recognized the scruffy chin and the peppery tuffs of hair. I quickly hid the camera behind my back.

"Natty, this is the third night in a row." my father mumbled, his voice slurred with irritation in his sleeping-pill daze.

“Sorry,” I said quickly. Then after a pause, I added, “I was just getting some water.”

He didn’t even look into the kitchen to see if there was a used glass by the sink. He knew me too well. “If it happens again, your mother and I are going to have a talk.”

I nodded grimly. My mother and father never had ‘talks’. Unless yelling was involved, of course.

I followed him up the stairs, eyes floor-bound. When he met the top step, his foot caught on something, almost pulling him to the floor. When he bent down to pick it up, my eyes shot out like saucers.

“The Book of Angels and Demons?” His voice was questioning at first, then turned sharp. "Where did you get this?”

I shrugged. I kept my gaze to the floor.

“Natalie, why are you reading this?”

Another shrug.

He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do we need to visit Dr. Landry again?”

I let out a noise that sounded like I was being strangled. “Dad, please don’t. I was just reading the angels part, I swear.”

He shot me a skeptical look before tucking the book under his arm. “Well, I think I'm going to have to hold onto this. You’re lucky I found it this time.” I suddenly remembered the time my mom caught me with the witchcraft book and shuddered. “Don’t let me catch you with another one of these satanic books.” I winced at the word satanic, but held my tongue.

I lingered as I watched my father climb up the stairs, limping slightly on his bad leg and muttering about “kids these days,” when I suddenly picked up one of my senses. The hairs on my arms rose like an undead army, and I swung around toward the living room.

That’s when I saw her. She was perched in the corner, the darkness of her hair bleeding into the black shadows along the wall. Her eyes looked like glowing orbs in contrast, wide with fear. They darted around, uncomfortable that I was looking right into them. A smile lifted up the corners of my mouth. Gotcha.

“Natty!” my father half whispered, his head peeking over the top floor.

“Coming,” I said, reluctantly. I waited until he turned and disappeared back into the hallway.

When I looked toward the living room again, the girl was gone.