Short Stories

Hello Eliza

​"Eliza May Thompson! Go clean that attic, now!" My mother pointed her finger angrily towards the staircase leading to the attic.
​I begrudgingly gave in. There had already been more yelling than necessary for one day. I tromped up the stairs, making each step boom. My mother hated when I did that.

​"Eliza," my mother called warningly.
​Satisfied, I ceased stomping. I reached the attic door. It was the only door in the house that had not been replaced when we renovated three years ago. In fact, it is the only thing left from the original house. In all reality, our house is nearly 150 years old. My parents have done a lot of extensive renovation, though I'm not sure why.

​I might as well get started, I thought to myself. Even though this is the worst punishment ever! I shuddered to think what lay beyond that door. It was always locked, and from what I knew, no one had been inside of it for years. I pulled an old, rusted iron key out of my pocket. Mom had thrown it towards me when we were arguing.

​Gingerly, I wedged the key in place and turned it. The lock opened with a click. I pushed the door open and coughed as a gust of wind from a nearby window sent dust rolling over me. I ran to the window and slammed it shut.

​With that fiasco out of the way, I turned to survey the room. Cobwebs lined the decaying rafters. Old white blankets were covering broken furniture and broken white plaster from the wall littered the floor. Old trunks and boxes were scattered across the room. Tons of paintings lined the walls, mold creeping onto their canvases. "Gross!" I shouted in surprise as I spotted a mouse run into a hole in the wall.
​"Mom wants me to clean this whole place? No way!" I stuck my tongue out at a painting. "What're you looking at?" I sneered. The painting said nothing, but stared at me.

​I felt a weird feeling creep over me; I felt like I was being watched. I shrugged it off. Maybe I'll find something really cool, like a treasure map, I thought in an effort to console myself. I started to go through the boxes, sorting them by contents and if they should go to the trash. Lots of the boxes were filled with random junk. It was when I got to the chests that things started to get interesting.

​I began to sift through the trunks. At first, the contents were pretty normal, just a bunch of books, photos, and video tapes. However, the further I dug back into the attic, the older the contents of the trunks became. Again I got the feeling that I was being watched. I glanced behind me. There! A shadow drifted across the wall as an unseen figure fled.

​I jumped up excitedly. "Hey, you! Come back here!" The figure had disappeared.

​Unnerved, I sat back down to finish the last chest. From a distance, I heard a car pull out and leave. Wonder where Mom is going. I opened the chest and pulled out an old worn leather-bound book. Faint outlines of initials were carved into the cover. I squinted, but couldn't make out which letters they were.

​I set the book aside and pulled an old fashioned gown out of the chest. It was beautiful, a pale blue and soft pink gown with golden accents. I stood and held the old dress against me and looked in an old mirror close by.

​"Wow! It's exactly my size!" I exclaimed. Then I groaned. The skirt and sleeves of the dress were in shambles! They were torn and filthy! "The mice must've gotten it," I muttered.
​Reluctantly, I laid the dress aside. Next in the trunk was an old quilt, a fountain pen, and another old book. My curiosity peaked, I pulled the first book out from the dress. I cracked it open towards the end and began to read.

November 8, 1868
​The wind is howling today. The timbers of our old house creak and groan. I do not like these days at all! In fact, if you want to know the truth, I believe our house is haunted! You remember me telling you about all the strange things that began o happen a while ago, of course. But let me enlighten you further, dear diary. These strange things began to happen after Eliza died. I never told you about that. No, I never told anyone. I was afraid to. You see, it was I who killed Eliza!

I dropped the diary in a moment of panic. "This is a murderer's diary?" I shouted. "Why is it in my house and why does the victim share my name?" I was reluctant to read any more out of that cursed book, but I knew it was the only way I would get my answers.

​It was me, diary! I killed my best friend!

Here, some of the ink was smudged. I guessed, from tears.

​Let me start at the beginning. Five years ago, on this very day, Eliza and I decided to go to the lake and ice skate. It was cold and the lake had frozen. We went. It was fun for a while, until,

The ink was smudged again. My hands trembled slightly as I read on.

​I had skated out into the middle of the lake despite Eliza's warning that the ice wouldn't support me. I stuck my tongue out at her and then I heard a snap! I looked down and saw a large crack appear in the ice. Eliza screamed at me to run. I did. I ran towards the bank and kicked off my skates. Then I heard Eliza scream. Her skates were caught on some reeds. She was trying to unlace them, but the reeds were too woven in. She called for me to help her. Then the ice broke and she fell in. Eliza couldn't swim. She surfaced only twice before being swept under, calling for me. I did nothing but watch. I never even tried to help her. The only thing we ever found was Eliza's dress. And so you see, diary, I, Alice Cole, killed Eliza Thompson.

I threw the diary as a torrent of emotions overcame me. As strange as it seemed, I knew the name Alice Cole, and I definitely knew the name Eliza Thompson. I remembered everything. I don't know how I forgot, but I suddenly understood why that shadow was following me. I was a ghost, and my best friend had killed me. I turned around.

"Hello, Eliza."