Whispers of the Past

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Everyone was sound asleep in the house, except for one person. She had just finished counting sheep number 607 when she opened her eyes, trying to think of another way to trick herself to sleep.

“I need to sleep, I want to sleep, I must sleep, …. but I can’t sleep!” she kept saying to herself in the middle of the night.

Lily was the eldest child of Langston and Martha Harrison—the wealthiest family in town. They lived in an old mansion, known as Hillcrest Manor, which was nestled amid rolling hills. Langston owned all—if not most—the local businesses in town.

He was the sole heir to the Harrison family fortune, which included the local bakery, the grocery store, the gas station, the diner, which served both as a coffee shop, newspaper stand and post office for people to get and send their mail, ship parcels, or browse through the news from or about other local towns. In town, the locals had a lot of respect for the family.

Langston had lost his parents and all his six siblings one winter night. He was nine years old. It was said that a huge fire caused by a furnace caused it. No one ever found out the truth and that loss impacted the rest of his upbringing. After that accident, a distant relative —an aunt from his mother’s side—took him in and raised him. She passed away when he was in his twenties. Since she had lived with him on the family property, she was also buried there with the rest of the family.  

As years passed, and through hard work and determination, he managed to bring the mansion back to its grandeur. He also worked his way up in his family business, bought each living relatives’ shares and eventually took over all the businesses, big and small ones.

When any Harrison came to town, she or he was greeted with a lot of respect—although one could also say that everyone was employed by the Harrisons and everyone knew something about the Harrisons, including old stories about the family.

The house they live in was a big mystery for many. While it stood the signs of time, tales of seeing the ghosts of previous Harrisons at nighttime were often shared. During evening hours, when people in the small town down the hill gathered at the local diner, there would be someone talking about ghosts’ stories, especially of legends of ghosts roaming the hallways of Hillcrest Manor.

He married Martha, whom he had met in college and over a span of fifteen years, they welcomed four children. Lily was their first born, followed by Logan, Lionel, and Leopold. They all had different personalities and interests.

Only few people living in the small town had ever been inside—which made them even more curious about its residents. It was a big property, spanning several acres. It has a Japanese garden, a rose garden, the family cemetery, and a guest house, and an Olympic size pool.

Among all the children, Lily, was the most curious child. She was known for her boundless energy and infectious laughter.

She would often take off, disappear in the wooded areas of the property. She knew it well because she had created a secret pathway that she would walk along with Rufus, the Great Dane, by her side. Together, they were an odd pair. Lily was petite, with a face framed by red hair with lots of freckles. Rufus was simply huge and looked almost like a dalmatian. But he was not. He was simply her companion and protector.   

Since Lily was up early every morning, she was the one child who would see her father off to work, but also the one waiting for him in the library—his favorite room in the house—at night when it was close to supper. That’s where he would enter, with a large smile on his face to see what books Lily was choosing for a nighttime read.

She longed for those evening hours when it could be just she and her dad. They would read books and he would share family stories with her.  She loved that. Among all the children, she was the one who knew the most about what Langston himself knew from his aunt or could still remember. This was their “thing.” A passion that they both shared for reading and an opportunity for Lily to learn about the family secrets that no one else seemed to know.

Yet, there was one thing that troubled Lily night after night – she couldn’t sleep. Lily had complained about her sleeplessness to both her parents on many occasions. Martha had brushed it off—thinking that because she was pubescent—this could have been one the symptoms. She was also convinced that the stories Langston told her at night, before bedtime, were of no help. She thought that was one of the reasons why Lily could not sleep.

Langston, on the other hand, could not help sharing those stories to the curious young girl. But he grew concerned about her roaming alone, late at night, in the big house.

Her routine was simple and predictable. Be up at the crack of dawn. Go to the kitchen. Fix some breakfast—usually oatmeal. By early afternoon, take a cat nap. By the time her tutor arrived, she would still be in her pajamas. Lily’s sleepless nights, and how far she got counting sheep, would be their first topic of conversation. She would be yawning, rubbing her eyes, yet have a sharp conversation.

On winter nights, when the moonlight came through Lili’s bedroom, casting shadows on the walls, she would toss and turn, trying to fall asleep. But her mind would start racing with thoughts and dreams. When that happened, she would try a few tricks that her father had taught her: first sipping warm milk with honey before kissing him goodnight, and if that did not work, count as many sheep that she can picture visually, by color, size, and sound. But far too often, sleep eluded her like a mischievous butterfly.

One night, as the clock struck midnight, Lily could distinctively hear an owl outside. Since the mansion was surrounded by pine trees, it was also the natural habitat for owls.

This was one of her many sleepless nights. Unable to focus on sheep number seven hundred and sixteen, she decided to get out of bed to look for this curious bird from outside her windows. Rufus, who slept in her bedroom, also got up.

Neither one was afraid of owls. They had seen plenty together, walking in the property. Lily kind of found them cute and wished she could have one as pet bird.

As soon as she approached the large frame, she realized that she would need a ladder or a highchair to allow her to turn the knob to open the window—something her parents would be horrified to find out she had attempted to do several times already. The house was a century old, many fixtures and appliances had not transitioned to modern days, so they needed to be handled with care. 

Determined to find the source of her sleeplessness, Lily embarked on a venture to find the ladder that her father used in the library. Armed with a handy flashlight, Rufus by her side, and a heart full of curiosity, both tiptoed out of her room and into the darkened hallway.

At that time of the night, the house was eerily quiet, except for the occasional creaking of the floorboards beneath Rufus paws or Lily’s feet. The only sound one could hear was the owl accompanied by the wind blowing on the pine trees.  

As they walked towards the library, Lily and her dog noticed all kinds of scary shadows on the walls. They kept close.

Lily kept her flashlight close to her chest, pointing in front of her. Hillcrest was huge. It gothic architecture easily lent itself to mysterious thoughts.

The library was way back, past the piano room, after the family living room. It was an expansive library, with rare collections and invaluable manuscripts. It was the gathering place on Sunday mornings, after breakfast, when everyone was encouraged to select a book and share something about it out loud, while reading it.

When she finally arrived in the library, she moved the big curtains, looked at every corner of the room, behind the large double doors, no ladder.

“Darn!” she said looking at Rufus. She was so convinced it was in the library. Determined to find it, she entered the next room. Still no ladder. Could it have been in the kitchen? It did not make sense to her, but she went looking for it anyway.

As she crossed the various rooms leading to the kitchen, the moonlight kept casting all kinds of shadows coming through the windows. Some even seemed to have human forms.

Suddenly, one of those shadows came running towards her. She gasped, looked straight wondering if it was real and then in doubt starts running in the hallway, screaming “run Rufus! Run!”

With her heart racing, she suddenly stops to say, “Oh no, oh no!” she had dropped her flashlight. The “thing” was nowhere at sight. Led by the light flashing on the ceiling, she picks it up and checks on Rufus. They were both okay.

The quick escape led them to a different corner of the house—one she seldom visited. Even if it was past midnight, that area was darker than any other part of the house. It had fewer lamps on the ceiling, except for the large candelabra in the main room. It was that part of the house with all the precious antique furniture. Lily and her brother were forbidden from playing in this area for fear that they might inadvertently break a precious piece that had been in the family for decades.   

Lily was also in the area near her parents’ bedroom and close to the door leading to the attic—another place in the house where she rarely ventured in. But this time, her curiosity got the best out of her. With Rufus by her side, she decided to go check the attic. She got up the stairs slowly, to avoid waking anyone.

With each step, the wood floor under her feet made a protesting sound for the weight it had not felt for years. She tried to lift herself up, to put less pressure on the floor. But the creaking sound under her feet evoked the history and character of the house, with notes of mystery and nostalgia.

When she finally got in the attic, Lily discovered a treasure trove of forgotten memories. With her flashlight, and Rufus sniffing every object, she slowly illuminated every dusty corner of the room. Old toys, dusty books, and trinkets from her childhood and her parents laid scattered on the floor. But among all these items collected and stored over decades, she found a worn-out journal, its pages filled with faded ink.

Once again, her curiosity got the better out of her. She opened the journal and began reading the words penned by a long-forgotten relative—her great, great, great aunt. She wrote about sleepless nights and restless souls, of dreams unfulfilled and desires left unexplored.

It seemed that Lily's struggle with sleep was not unique to her alone. She dusted the floor, pulled an old rug and some headless dolls to keep her company and red avidly every single page until she finally fell asleep near Rufus.

Hours went by fast. When he heard a door shutting from underneath her, she opened her years and realized where she was. From the bay window, she witnessed the sunrise and then quickly came rushing down the stairs, calling her dad to tell him what she had discovered while everyone was asleep.

Langston was startled. He did not know what to say to Lily. He knew the attic kept a lot of family secrets; some were too painful for him to revisit.

After her discovery, Lily visited the attic a few more times, but during the day. She retrieved all the journals she could find in there, hidden under piles and piles of dresses and coats.

For weeks, which turned into months, Lily read avidly all the stories penned by her ancestor. She learned a lot about her life, her likes, a person she loved, how strict her parents were, her fears, illnesses, and also her moments of joy.  In the evenings, she couldn’t wait to share some of these with her father—who also did not know much about the stories from this distant family member.

Inspired by the tales of her ancestor, she decided to transform her sleepless nights into something magical. She started writing her own stories, weaving together fantastical worlds and characters that came to life in her imagination. With each word she wrote, the weight of sleeplessness lifted, and it was replaced by a sense of purpose and wonder.

As the years passed, her stories became cherished by readers around the country. Her sleeplessness was a gift, a wellspring of creativity that fueled her imagination. And though she still struggled to sleep at times, she no longer saw it as a burden, but rather as an opportunity to write magical stories and get connected with the depths of her own mind.

Lily's journey taught her many things but mostly this: sometimes, the things that keep us awake at night can become the very things that make us shine. And so, she embraced her sleepless nights, knowing that within the darkness, there was a world of stories waiting to be told. She did just that!