Emily

Everyone knew the Connors' house was haunted. It was common knowledge in the neighbourhood. When they moved in, it was a spectacle - finally fitting electric lights, painting the outside, fitting double-glazed glass, and installing a telephone wire. Most houses on their street didn't even have a wire yet, the Connors were almost modern. Frankly, it seemed unnatural to have a family in that old building; it had been empty for decades, a cornerstone of the neighbourhood. 

There were only two in the family. A tight-knit pair, Emily was home-schooled and her father wrote for national newspapers, submitting stories via the mail and rarely leaving the house. Everyone knew a rumour about the Connors, and as the rumours spread they grew, until the house was largely avoided and the front gate grew rusty. Lots of the mothers in town felt bad for little Emily, secluded in that old place, without any friends - but as they didn't want their children there, nothing was to be done about it.

They weren't wrong about the hauntings.

Years ago, before the house was anywhere of note, a child had been abducted. The Stevens family never recovered. The couple, already old when he was taken, shrunk away from society. They stopped going out, preferring to stay in and read books, or look through old diaries written by their son. They grew old, almost unknown by their neighbours, and died without an heir - the house was technically owned by the government, but it was never developed. Instead, it stayed empty, feared by the townspeople and unsellable. Soon, rumours started to spread that the couple still lived there, ghosts trapped in the real world until their son returned to put them out of their misery. Local schoolchildren dared each other to visit the house, but no one got past the gate. They all claimed the same thing - that they saw someone in the window, watching them.

The first time Emily saw a ghost, she was terrified. 

It was an old man, wrinkled and hunched over, half see-through and shrouded in fog. Emily had almost run through him before she saw him, and felt a dreadful cold as he looked her up and down, smiling slightly. He was almost completely grey, clothes and all, and Emily was suddenly reminded of the colouring books she used to own, before anyone had coloured anything in.

"You must be Emily. How lovely to meet you, sweetheart."

Emily screamed, and sprinted away. Her short legs didn't carry her very fast, and her father arrived downstairs before she got very far. 

"Emily! What was that dreadful yell?" His words hissed out, and Emily clutched the hem of her skirt as she realised she had disturbed her father's writing time. I'm sorry, daddy. I thought... 

"Well?" Her father paused, then stepped softly towards his daughter. He crouched down so their eyes were level. "Emily, you know the rules. You are not allowed to disturb me while I am writing. Now, run back to your room before I have to knock some sense into you."

Emily sat on her cold bed, in her cold, drafty, room, and cried. She missed Minnesota. She missed her mum. She missed her grandma. Most of all, she missed Mr Snuffles - he had been lost in the move, and her dad didn't seem to care. Mr Snuffles was her best friend. He was a present from her grandma for her fifth birthday, a few years ago, and he still looked almost perfect. Emily took very good care of him, making sure to polish his glass eyes and arrange his stiff legs into a comfortable sitting position when she woke up. At night, Emily and Mr Snuffles slept together, and she hugged him tightly under the thin duvet. On the nights when her parents used to fight, she told him stories to make sure he wasn't scared. Mr Snuffles was possibly the best teddy bear ever - and now, he was lost forever. Emily couldn't sleep very well without Mr Snuffles, and now there was no-one to hug at night when she was scared. Who would she talk to about the ghost?

The next morning, Emily woke up earlier than usual. As she opened her eyes, she was aware of a woman sitting at her window, watching her. Another ghost. Her heart started racing, and she screwed her eyes shut tight. 

"Emily, are you up? I'm sorry if I woke you, dear."

Slowly, timidly, Emily opened her eyes. She was right - it was another ghost. She did look friendly, though, and she had a nice smile. In fact, she looked a bit like Emily's grandma, and was wearing a nice flowery dress, hemmed with lace at the bottom. How do you know my name? Emily whispered, hugging her duvet tight around her torso. Who are you?

"My name is Mrs Stevens, Emily. I think you met my husband yesterday. We're awfully sorry to scare you, dear, we just thought you might like someone to talk to."

But how do you know my name?

"Well, we've heard your father calling you by it. We've heard a lot of things your father said, dear, not all of them lovely - we thought you might like some company. It's a lonely life without friends."

Emily pulled back the covers, and swung her legs round the side of the metal bedframe. She nodded her head shyly, and looked down at the floor. I did have a friend, but he got lost. I miss him.

"Why don't you tell me all about him, dear?"

Two weeks passed with Mrs Stevens. Emily slept in her bed, alone, every night; when she woke up, though, she always saw Mrs Stevens watching over her. She didn't really understand why Mrs Stevens and her husband were so nice to her - adults weren't generally very nice, in her experience. In some ways it made her miss her grandma even more. 

One evening, as she was tucking herself into bed, her father stumbled into the room. His breath smelled funny. "Emily," he whispered, "do you know how lucky you are? You live in this big, big house, you... you get everything you want, you get to live here with me, and... you're just so ungrateful, you know that?" Emily pulled the covers up to her shoulders and tried to pretend she couldn't hear him. She had learnt that if she played pretend, and lay still, her father would leave after a while.

"So you're asleep, are you? Or are... are you just too good for me, huh? Too good for your own father? Come here, Emily, give your dad a hug." He slurred, words tripping out of his mouth. Emily wriggled further down the bed and screwed her eyes shut. "I said, give your dad a hug, Emily. Don't just lie there!"

As he walked further into the room, Emily could tell something was wrong with her father. He was crying, and swaying side-to-side as he walked.

"Emily, I said, give me a hug. What, are you... scared of me, or something? Say hello to me, Emily, I'm your father, aren't I?" On this, he sat down heavily on the bed and pulled the duvet off Emily's small body. Sitting up quickly, Emily glanced up at her father fearfully. I don't want to, daddy, you smell funny, she mumbled. 

Emily heard a crack, and was intensely aware of a stinging pain in her left cheek. Her father was staring at her, hand raised to slap her again. "What did you say to me, you horrible little girl?" 

Suddenly, his eyeline shot up to something behind Emily's head. Horrified, he leapt off the bed and tripped, falling backwards onto the cold wooden floor. Almost crawling now, he slid towards the door as two grey figures advanced towards him.

"How dare you hurt her? Leave this house, and never return, or face dire consequences. This child is under our protection," they hissed, "and you will never hurt her again."

Scrambling to his feet, Emily's father turned on his heel and ran out of the room. She heard his footsteps pounding down the corridor, down the wooden stairs, and soon the front door slammed. Emily let out her breath, and her lip began to wobble. Is he gone forever, Mrs Stevens? Will he come back?

"Do you want him to come back, Emily?"

Emily shook her head firmly and started to cry. She didn't want him to come back, ever. What she wanted more than anything was Mr Snuffles.

"Don't cry, my dear. We're here for you. Do you want a hug?"

As Mrs Stevens wrapped her arms around Emily, the weightless cold she was expecting seemed to grow heavy and warm. Emily relaxed into the embrace, feeling comfort for the first time in months. The grey flowers on Mrs Stevens' dress blossomed into their colour as Mr Stevens seemed to solidify somehow, growing weighty and real. The pair, understanding innately their new role, sat together on the bed with Emily between them. 

"It's ok, dear, you can sleep now. We'll watch over you."