The Haunting of Sarah MIller

   The Haunting of Sarah Miller

Suzanne Marsh

The pen seemed to have a life of its own, it rolled off the desk, and onto the floor. Sarah Miller found herself in a quandary, it was Halloween Night, she had a party to attend and her she sat at her desk, attempting to make up her mind whether to pick up the stupid pen or leave until tomorrow. Sarah hated a mess, so she bent over to pick it up. Once again it moved just out of her reach. Sarah was becoming frustrated, she had to go home to change into her witch’s costume. She had worn the costume for the last four years to the office Halloween party. This would be the fifth year; originality was simply not her forte. Once again, she reached for the pen, it rolled a short distance away.

Sarah stood up and bent down to pick up the pen, it rolled toward the door. Sarah muttered to herself: ‘I don’t believe this, this is ridiculous, I am not chasing a pen all over my office, I am late as it is. Mary Johnson no doubt will be there, with her Mata Hari costume, making herself look youthful and…” Sarah, strode toward the office door, letting herself out into the corridor. The elevator was at the end of the hall. Sarah was a compulsive young woman, she thought about returning to pick up the pen on the floor. She decided it would be in her best interest to go to the party and forget about the pen. It was for heaven's sake only a cheap “BIC” pen.

Sarah, already late for the party quickly changed her clothes, put on the witch costume, bolting out the door to catch a taxi. The party was in full swing when Sarah arrived. It was the usual group of office people. Sure, enough there was Mary Johnson, oh but she was not Mata Hari this year, she gawked as Mary made her way toward her:

“Well, Sarah, I see you are still wearing the witch costume, I decided I want to be

Gypsy Rose Lee, this year what do you think?”

Sarah saw no escape, what exactly did she think of an overweight Gypsy Rose Lee?

“Mary, it is different, what ah made you decide to come as a stripper?”

“I just wanted something different.”

“Well, you certainly did achieve that.”

Mary moved on as Sarah strode toward Tish Montgomery who was standing on top of the punch bowl. Tish, smiled as Sarah tried the punch. They talked for a few minutes, then Sarah moved onto to speak to other co workers.

Sarah felt a niggling almost as if she should return to the office and pick up that damn pen. She shook off the feeling and began to enjoy herself. It was one of the few things she did each year for her own enjoyment. Being a paralegal was a pressure cooker job, so she was simply unwinding. She could seem to get that pen out of her mind. She grabbed her purse, said her goodbyes and grabbed a cab for the office. Sarah, thought to herself:

‘What is with that pen? It is replaceable, it is not even that good of pen, it leaks ink.’

The cab screeched to hall in front of Brown Building, Sarah paid the fare then disembarked. She went back to her office. There was the pen on the floor, it seemed to be beckoning her toward something. Sarah had no interest in the history of the building where she worked, she had heard rumors about The Triangle Fire in 1911, in the Asch Building which was renamed the Brown Building. The pen rolled toward a window overlooking the street. Sarah, was becoming exasperated with trying to pick up the ink pen and put it back on her desk.

Sarah, went back over to her desk, turned on her computer, perhaps she thought it was good idea to discover what exactly happened in the Brown Building. She had been working here since she graduated from high school, she had studied nights to become a paralegal. She googled Brown Building New York City. She noted that in 1911 it was the Asch Building, the street address was still 23 Washington Place. She began to read about the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, the fire that killed one hundred and forty-six teenage girls.

Sarah finished reading all the google offered, she turned off her computer. She once again bent down to pick up the ink pen, which again rolled toward the window. Sarah watched as it stopped at a small area, near an old-style window. She caught it but somehow once again it fell from her fingers and rolled toward the window. The whole thing was giving her the creeps. ‘Bad enough’ she thought as she attempts to capture it once again. Her office was on the eighth floor, where the blaze had started. Her curiosity was beginning to get the better of her. She walked over to where the ink pen located itself. Sarah, for just a moment felt a cool breeze, she could feel something there in her office. She flipped another overhead light on. She could not see anything other than the ink pen, then she felt a cold hand on her wrist.

Fear began to rise in her, was this some sort of trick by the office workers to scare her. No one knew she was returning to the office, she stood there in her witch’s costume, a chill running down her spine. She had read a few articles about paranormal events, but this was what? These things happened to other people not to her.

The ink pen, rolled slowly toward the window once again, Sarah noted a strange opening near the window, it had not been there when she left work. She was drawn to the window, she began feeling around it, in hopes of discovering a logical explanation for what was happening to her. Her fingers touched a small hole, a piece of paper was jammed in it. An old newspaper clipping maybe, she began to realize it was not a newspaper clipping but a name slip, Sofia Mostriani was the name on the slip of paper. The ink pen stilled as Sarah realized it was possible that Sofia was one of the girls who died in the fire. She went back to her computer, turned it. She googled The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory; she then began to read intently about the fire. The eighth-floor fire began in a garbage bin where someone carelessly tossed a cigarette. In less than five minutes the entire floor was consumed in fire. Girls were jumping down the elevator shaft as other struggled to get out through locked doors. A fire escape buckled with the weight of frightened young girls.

Sarah knew then the ink pen wanted her to know that it had been a live person back 1911. Sofia Mostriani, had perished on March 25, 1911 but had not been able to rest in peace until someone in the world of the living could tell her story and find her family.

November 1^st, 2022, was an ordinary Saturday for the Mostriani family, those who still dwelt in the Brooklyn area. Sarah, had found several, phoned each one. Then she came to the family of Anthony Mostriani, she asked the same question she had asked the others did he have a relative named Sofia? Tony informed her that he did, she had perished in the Triangle fire. Sarah told him she found a tag with her name on it and would like to bring it over. Tony was not sure about this but told her to come over, he would be home.

Sarah arrived outside the restored brownstone home, she felt as if she were taking a step back in time. She rang the door bell and there stood a small man of Italian descent, smiling:

“You are Sarah Miller?”

“Yes, I am. I found this tag with Sofia’s name and am giving it to you. I found it on the

eighth floor. I sat down at my computer and read the details. How old was she when

she perished?”

“The family bible says seventeen.”

“I think she must have been trapped in my office, she jumped to her death I think.”

“Whatever happened to her” Tony stated:

“It was kind of you to bring this to me.”

Sarah felt a cool breeze on her face as she left the home on fifty first street. She returned to her office; the ink pen was on her desk. She sat quietly staring at it, hoping that she had done what was asked of her by a young ghost who wanted her family to know what happened to her.