Shadows of the Past

When Jillian moved to the small town of Smithville, she was hoping for a new start. The house she moved into could only be described as having charm. She had rented it cheap. The home had two bedrooms, one bath, a small living room, a kitchen, and an attic. Since it was just her, it was more than enough house. The paint was chipped in places, the wooden floors creaked and were hazardously uneven in some places, and who knew the last time the foundation, electric, or plumbing had been looked at. Jillian knew the first time it rained, the roof was sure to leak in several places. Still, she fell in love with it immediately. Jillian felt the home was a good representation of her: a tad run down, but still standing resolute. The home was hers and she more than welcome the opportunity to disappear for a while. City life ended up not being all she hoped it would be, this was her second chance to do things right.

Her first night, Jillian looked at the bedrooms, one painted a soft violet, the other a striking scarlet red. She chose the violet for herself and would make the other a guest room. After unpacking and doing a bit of cleaning-the house was dusty but no signs of any damage-she ordered food and settled in for her first sleep in her new home. Flipping the light switch, she realized her fears about the electricity were well founded. She lit a candle and settled into bed to read for a bit, she was glad she had chosen the violet room, it had a calming effect, especially with the candle lit. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow pass right in front of the candle. She was only jumpy because she was so tired, she thought to herself. Then, why was the flame flickering like a wind had just passed by? Tentatively, she rose to the bedroom door, the creaking floorboards impossibly loud in the silence. She opened the bedroom door and at the end of the hall she saw the silhouette of a person, tall and as solid as the door she was holding onto. She turned to grab her candle and at the other end of the hallway at the foot of the stairs leading to the attic was another silhouette, but much smaller, the size of a child perhaps eight to ten years of age. She ran back into her room, shut the door, and kept the candle lit for the rest of the night, which passed sleeplessly but without another incident. 

The next morning when she finally awoke, and in the light of the bright morning sun, she felt foolish. She had been exhausted from the move, had only had a candle for light, and was in a completely new environment. Of course she was seeing things! These thoughts made her realize two things: she needed to have the electrician come sooner than later and she needed to learn more about the town she was living in. If she was truly starting over, she wanted to fully understand what she got herself into.

The electrician came that day and worked surprisingly fast. When all was said and done, the lights were working and she plugged in her beside lamp and threw the candle out. That night as she was getting ready for bed, she was in the restroom washing her face when, in the mirror, she saw a shadow pass by the doorway behind her. This one was much closer than the others and she felt like her heart skipped a beat. She spun around and saw nothing but her empty bedroom, where her bedside lamp was turned on. The bathroom lights started flickering and suddenly she was seeing shadows from every direction, moving in on her. She cried out and ran into her bedroom and turned the main light on. Fully illuminated, there was clearly nothing there. Feeling like a child, she checked the closet, bent down to check under the bed, and even left the hall light on. Climbing into bed, she lay there hardly daring to breath. She couldn’t explain this one off as being tired. Maybe she needed to see an eye doctor? She heard the floorboards creaking outside the hallway as if someone was walking towards her room. She pulled the blankets up under her chin and held her breath. The footsteps got closer and closer until they were right in front of her door. They passed by and headed towards the attic. That was when the crying started.

A woman was crying, if you could call it that. Wails that were desperate, loud, and full of nothing but pain and sorrow were coming from the hallway. Jillian jumped out of bed and ran to the hallway, scared as she was, those cries couldn’t be ignored. This time she saw yet another silhouette, this time it was kneeling at the foot of the stairs leading to the attic. The smaller silhouette was seen laying in front of her. The wails got louder, more hysterical. At the other end of the hall, the taller silhouette, the first one she had seen, came walking towards the others. The movement felt purposeful, dark. When he reached the other, the woman’s wails stopped and all three disappeared. 

All three silhouettes; the taller one, the woman, and the smaller one were nothing but dark, solid shadows to her, but Jillian felt she knew them somehow. Jillian went to a children’s home at a young age and grew up there. She couldn’t remember anything from before that. Despite having no family, she had a happy childhood and still spoke to several of the women that worked there. Perhaps that is why she imagined them to be a family unit of some kind. Though there was an oddly menacing feeling surrounding them that she wouldn’t imagine coming from a family. Two things were certain though: Jillian knew what she was seeing was real and they were trying to tell her something.

The next day, she went into town to the local library and asked for assistance researching the history of her home. Nothing more exciting than someone being arrested for tax fraud had ever happened there, at least that was documented. No murders, no cemeteries on the property at any time, nothing that would explain what she had been seeing. She went online and tried doing her own search but to no avail. She then threw caution to the wind and put an ad in the local newspaper as well as the larger surrounding city ones, asking for help finding any information for a one-hundred dollar reward. She knew it wasn’t much, but she was hoping someone would be interested enough to help her find the missing piece. She lived in the area all her life, however and had never even heard of the small town, so her hopes were not high. 

Over the next week, the cries continued and every night, the staircase scene was played again. She noticed it was exactly the same time every evening when the crying would start. The taller silhouette would then cross to the others and the crying would stop. One night she kept watching and she saw the taller one carry the smaller one away, come back and drag the silhouette of the woman, who was also motionless, down the hall and out of sight. Returning once more, the taller silhouette stopped in front of each door and stood there, as if listening for something, before disappearing for good. Jillian was much more afraid of this silhouette than the others. She knew it was evil.

The next morning she heard a knock at the door. Answering it, there was a woman in a nice, dark suit. “Are you Jillian Mitchell?” She asked. “Yes, is everything okay?” Jillian replied, worried now. “May I come in?” Jillian moved aside to let her in and they sat at the kitchen table. “Jillian, I am not going to waste your time with pleasantries, my name is Susan Scott and I am a retired detective. I am here about a murder case that happened thirty years ago in the next town over” Surprised, Jillian replied,“ I was only five, I’m not sure how I can help you”. Susan cleared her throat, “ Do you remember anything before you went to the children’s home?” “No, not a thing” Jillian said, her palms growing sweaty.

“Well”, Susan began, “I am the one who took you there. Oh, I am so sorry to have to be the one to tell you this Jillian,” Clearing her throat again, Susan kept going, “Thirty years ago, your father murdered your sister and your mother. Your mother came home to find the body of your sister at the end of the stairs leading to the attic and then he killed her as well. You survived because your sister told you to run and hide. She tried to hold him off and, when she couldn’t, tried to run to the attic and hide, but didn't make it, Your father never found you and assumed you ran outside. I worked that case and am the one that found you under your bed and got you out of the house. You had no other family. Your father confessed three hours later. He was arrested and died in prison. I am so sorry Jillian, but I saw your ad, and I felt I owed you the truth”.

Jillian felt the world spinning around her and gripped the table for support. What she had been seeing played out was the murder of her sister and mother. She hadn’t been able to find answers because it wasn’t the house that was haunted, it was her. Those silhouettes were the shadows of a dark past tying to make itself known to her. A past so dark, her mind hadn't allowed her to remember in order to protect her. Processing all of this became too much and she collapsed, sobbing, into the arms of the woman that had carried her to safety all those years ago.