Her

I need to tell you something. Something secret. Something important. There is a girl. There is a ghost-girl. There is a ghost-girl who plays with fire. And someone always gets burnt. I nearly did.   

I am mad. 

At least, that’s what they tell me. At first, I knew I wasn’t, I was sure of it. My brain had never seemed so real, so mine. They tell me I’m crazy, that I dreamt it all up. That it doesn’t make sense. That I should just accept it was a lie. But I can’t. I have to hold on to who I am. I am not the girl who’s crazy. I’m not the girl who’s mad. I’m not the girl who’s insane. Oh no. I wish I were those things. You see, I’m the girl who saw a ghost. 

We were always told not to go there. That’s probably why we did it. I still can’t sleep at night. I doubt any of us can. I just keep seeing her. She appears in my dreams, and hunts me down, like she hunted Emmie down. I can’t get her out of my head. Everyone tells me I’m crazy, that I just need help, but I know I’m not. I’m perfectly sane, sure I’m right. I remember it perfectly. She is real. And the worst is, she could be here. She could be after me now. I know that one day, she’ll find me, and she’ll come for me. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nowhere I can go. I’m afraid. 

I’ll start at the beginning, the day it all started. The day I made the biggest mistake of my life. We met up at Emmie’s house, like normal, me, Emmie, Sandy, May and Courtney. We were young, and reckless, thinking we knew everything. If I had known what would have happened, I wouldn’t have gone. I would have begged, pleaded not to go. But I didn’t know. At this point, I was just a young girl, carried away by my own cleverness. 

We set off down the road, along to the park, chatting and gossiping. The day was bright and sunny, and the sky was blue as the sea. As the fields raced by, May came to a halt, a mischievous grin alight on her face. 

“You see this path here,” she said, her eyes aglow with excitement, “That’s the path that leads to the asylum.” 

I gaped in awe at the dusty, dry road. The asylum, to me, was only a myth, a story, that my mother had told me to keep me away from this place. My body tingled with excitement. 

“The asylum?” asked Sandy reproachfully, “That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Oh no,” cackled May nastily, relishing in the reaction she was getting from the group, “A long time ago, there used to be hundreds of children there, most of them were mad, but there were others. Some of them were as sane as you or me, snatched away from their families for money. They weren’t mad to start with, but after a year of staring into the same cold wall, and hearing the screams of the others, they soon lost themselves. But then, one day, a young girl arrived there. She was clearly mad, but there was something different about her. Sometimes she would just wonder around, without a care in the world, her eyes misted over like the rest of them. But when night came, she changed. She became more concentrated, more real. She would speak to herself, plotting mysteries and sing creepy nursery rhymes aloud. She would write things. Horrible things. Mother only saw one of the messages, but it was enough.” She paused for effect. 

“What would she write?” Sandy whispered; her eyes wide with fear. 

“I don’t know exactly, but what I do know is, she wrote about one thing. Fire. On the walls, there are still scribbles of flames and wood, but also some strange writing, in a different language. And so, the village grew wary of her. But that was before the deaths. After about a month, she started to wander. Nobody knows how she got out. Only that every night, she would creep out of the asylum, and into someone’s house. Then, she would find the youngest member of the household, and she would burn them, leaving no trace of any fire. Her first victim was a young woman. She was woken by a rhythmic humming, and opened her eyes to see the little girl, standing over her like a fallen angel. She was singing, a strange song, in a different language. She screamed, but the girl was gone. Unable to sleep, the woman went to her husband’s room, but he was on the floor, his face twisted with fear and agony, covered from head to toe in hot, angry burns.  

Immediately, she ran to the asylum, but the girl has disappeared. But she was not gone. The next night, she crept into a middle-aged man’s house. He awoke to the soft singing of a nursery rhyme. The last thing he saw of her was a swish of a white nightdress, before she was gone. He hurried to his child’s room, but her crib was reduced to cinders and she was dead. 

She continued to burn and terrify the people of the village, until she had killed a person from every house. In the last house she visited, she wrote a bloody message on the wall “they have paid”. Nobody knows quite what happened then, but the next day, the orphanage’s windows were smashed, and insane children were unleashed into the world. 

And so, it was shut down, but if you listen very hard at night, when the skies are dark, you can still hear her lonely song. There are no children there anymore, no doctors, no nurses, but she remains. She waits for someone to enter the orphanage, so she can burn them alive, and laugh as the flames eat their flesh and crawl inside them.” She finished dramatically. 

We all stared at her, each one of us trying not to look as scared as we were. 

“So,” smiled May, lightly as if this was a conversation about the weather, “D’you want to go take a look.” 

We all stared at her again, and then at each other. I don’t remember why I agreed to go, I must have been mad to even think about it, but nevertheless, I went. We walked silently along the road, towards a hill. 

We reached the top, and I let out a gasp. There, standing before me, was the asylum. It was a huge, towering building full of debris and ruin. The more I stared at it, the more I could see the real building, peel back the layers of rust and decay with my mind, and look upon it as it used to be, magnificent and terrifying. Now though, it looked more like a junkyard for useless garbage, though I could still feel the creepy tension in the air as we opened the squeaky door. 

The inside was just as dull as the outside, nothing but stone. The floor was stone, the walls were stone, the roof was stone, I even saw a creepy stone doll that I soon dragged my gaze away from. 

I could go into more detail, but that is not what I need to do. I need to recall what happened, before it parts from my memory forever, before I become another faceless, nameless mad-girl, inside a creepy asylum. Before she finds me. The first we heard of her was a slow, quiet hum. Emmie herd it just after I did, and stiffened straight as a board, paling in the fading light of evening. I cannot describe the fear I felt in that moment in words, only that I feared for my life. Soon, the hum slurred into words, soft at first, but hardening until I could just make out what she was saying: 

Ring a ring a roses, a pocket full of posies. Ring a ring a roses a pocket full of posies. 

Shivers ran down my spine like a chilling Mexican wave, as I turned this way and that, trying to locate the source of the noise. I forced my frozen legs to walk, craning my neck to check the rafters- 

Looking for me? 

A cry escaped my dry mouth as I heard the voice behind me. The lullaby grew louder, but it did not come from her. It came from the walls themselves. I felt trapped, like a net was closing in on me, choking me slowly, giving me a small taste of death.  

Looking for me? 

She repeated herself, turning her head creepily to the side like a broken doll. We were paralyzed in shock, none of us could move. 

I have a game in mind.  

I glanced around nervously, ready for any sudden movement. 

A fun, little game. 

Suddenly my eyes snapped back to her, and I could not move them. They were latched on her as if she were enchanting me, forcing me to look into her blank white eyes. 

Don’t look so scared. I won’t kill you. You will. 

My mind raced. What did that mean? Did she expect us to fight? What would I do? 

I’ll give you five seconds to run. 

Could we outpace her? Was this a trap? What was she going to say next? 

You simply must choose who is slowest to escape. 

Did she really mean that? Could I outpace my friends? Did I want to? She was closing her eyes. 

Five. 

We all stared at each other desperately. 

Four. 

We started to run. 

Three. 

It was total chaos. 

Two. 

I looked at May’s scared, innocent face. 

One. 

As I made my choice, two things happened: I heard a shriek and a thud, as Emmie tripped and fell, and her eyes snapped open. 

I stared at my feet. They were inches from hers. I had not run. I had stayed. Somewhere inside me, I had found the courage to sacrifice myself for my friends. She stared at me. I saw a brief moment of confusion pass over her face, but it was gone as soon as it had come. 

I like you. 

My feet were stuck, like magnets to metal. What could I do? I had made my choice but was it the right one. Then, with a last piercing look from her blank eyes, she turned away from me, and fixed her gaze on the others. They were still, stuck like I was, and she spoke to them. 

You could have lived. You could have stayed. You could have been kind. But you weren’t. Nobody ever is. And now you will pay. 

Suddenly, Emmie let out a scream of pain, beads of sweat falling from her face. Her skin was slowly growing redder, scorched and burnt by invisible flames. She let out a final whimper before she slumped over, dead. She turned to May, Sandy and Courtney. 

You next. 

I couldn’t let this happen. With a jolt of pain, I broke free of my invisible bonds, and kicked her in the stomach. She appeared unwounded, but she froze, as if she were sleeping. We stared at each other. Then we ran. 

I don’t know what happened to her. I don’t know what happened to May, Sandy and Courtney. Maybe she killed them. Maybe she died. Maybe they had the sense to keep their mouths shut. Maybe they too had blabbed to everyone and was stuck here like me. The only thing I did know, is that if she was here, she would hate me. She would want to kill me. I am not safe. I will never be safe. I am mad.