Millie

  The wind howls. The branches bang against the window. Every so often a flash of light briefly illuminates the room, followed shortly by a crash of thunder. Guess I’m not going to get any sleep tonight. Again.

Actually, it’s worse when there is no storm.

The nights when the weather’s calm make this large, foreboding room much, much eerier for me, for there is no noise whatsoever to speak of after dark. You never realize just how silent the night can be until you’re left all alone, with nothing but your thoughts to accompany you. To torment you. To play tricks on you. The other thing that makes the quiet so much more terrifying is that it makes any other sound you hear, no matter how small or insignificant, and it makes it sound like a gun just went off, immediately making you think of serial killers breaking into your house and stuff like that.

So, at the moment, I’m rather thankful for the sounds of roaring winds and thunder: it’s the only time that any semblance of life can be felt in this place.

As I’m laying here, in this old, lumpy bed in this old, spacious master bedroom, I force myself to remember why I’m even here to being with. Some great uncle I hardly even knew existed apparently left me quite the inheritance and this two hundred year old mansion to call home after he died. At first it seemed like the deal of a lifetime: my own house and enough money to live off for years and years? Yes please! But, as is always the case, there was a catch: in order to legally receive the inheritance, I have to spend a whole month inside the mansion without setting foot outside. Classic eccentric old rich people stuff; no wonder the family never talked about him much. But hey, what’s spending one month in isolation in a creepy old house when there’s a lifetime’s payoff for it, right?

There’s another crash interrupting my thoughts, but it isn’t the thunder this time: it came from somewhere outside my room. I nearly jump out of my skin, getting entangled in the sheets as I try not to fall out of the bed. It’s not just some weird thing that goes bump in the night like with other houses – even if it was, I have been here for well over two weeks and nothing of the sort ever occurred; no, this was the sound of something large, like a bookcase or something, being pushed over and hitting the hard wooden floor with a loud bang. Someone is definitely in the manor with me…

Could it be? Could it actually… No, that can’t be it… That would be stupid…

At this point I have two options: sit here in bed, scared out of my wits, and hope whoever is in the house doesn’t come into my room, or go find out who’s there, and possibly get killed by some armed burglar, or something far worse…

I can’t take the suspense any more. My curiosity’s gotten the better of me, and I must find out for myself and make sure. Maybe if I’m quiet enough, they won’t notice me. Better than waiting here to die. I slide myself out of bed, being extra careful that my bare feet doesn’t step on any creaky floorboards as I reach for a poker leaning against the cold, empty fireplace in my room. Slowly but surely, I make my way to the door and, quietly as I can, turn the knob and push the door open, wincing at every creak and groan.

I enter into a large hallway, completely dark except for the sparse moonlight shining through the massive windows. The old, discolored carpet helps muffle the sound of my footsteps, but still every little noise I make adds to the rapidly growing anxiety within me as I go to meet my intruder, and maybe my ultimate fate… no, don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.

The noise came from somewhere down this hall, not too far off. My eyes and ears are wide open, taking in every little thing as I keep inching my way down. There’s another flash of lighting and crash of thunder that takes me by surprise, but what was even more shocking was the noise that came afterward: a scream.

It came from one of the doors at the end of the hallway, the last one on my left. Without thinking, I rush down the large passageway and throw myself at the door, surprised to find that it wasn’t locked. I quickly catch my balance, my heart racing and my breathing hard, as I lift my poker up and prepare to face off against whatever was inside this new room.

Only… there’s nobody here.

I frantically look around, trying to find whoever it was that had screamed. It sounded like a scared little kid, but I can’t find them anywhere. It’s not a super large room – bigger than most rooms I’ve seen, but certainly not big enough where anyone could hide all that easily. It was an old bedroom that appeared to have belonged to a child long ago. There are old toys and dolls scattered about on the floor, a perfectly made bed that looks like no one has slept in it for over a century, and in the middle of the room is what appears to be an old, overturned armoire. That’s what caused the crashing sound I heard earlier, I’ll bet. But who pushed it over?

Before I’ve had time to properly process everything I’m seeing, I begin to hear what faintly sounds like someone crying. Instantly my eyes dart to a corner at the other end of the room and… I think I begin to see the shape of something… or someone…

I don’t believe it. It’s the shadowy form of a little girl, sitting in the corner with her face buried in her knees, softly crying. At first all I can do is just stand there and stare. I can’t believe what I think I’m seeing. I can see her, but I can also see through her. No way… Am I actually seeing a ghost?

She looks up at me as I’m standing there. She knows I can see her. Neither of us say anything at first.

“Uhh… W-why are you crying?” I finally manage to ask hardly above a whisper. At first, the ghost doesn’t say anything. Presently, though, she sniffles and says, “I’m scared of the thunder. It’s so loud and the lightning’s so bright and scary…” She’s starting to quietly choke on her sobs again. “And… and… I got scared and knocked over my closet,” she points to the armoire, “And now my dresses are all squashed and ruined and… and… I’m sorry…”

I don’t know what to say or do. She may be a ghost, but she’s also like any other scared little girl. I carefully step around the fallen furniture and dusty toys and kneel down in front of her and I ask her, “What’s your name?”

She looks up at me with puffy, wet eyes and quietly says, “Millie.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Millie,” I say, scrambling to find the appropriate things to say to her, but what can you say when you’re talking to what is most likely a dead girl? “Are you here all by yourself?”

“Y-yes,” she replies timidly.

“Where are your parents?”

“I dunno.”

“How long have you been here?”

“I dunno.”

I resist the urge to ask how she died; she probably doesn’t know, or doesn’t remember. Never crossed my mind if a ghost can have amnesia. Or maybe they’re all repressed memories? Better not press her any further and try to make her feel better.

“Hey, so um… I just moved here a couple of weeks ago…”

“I know,” she says softly. “I saw you.”

“Really?” I ask. She nods. “So… how come I haven’t… you know… seen you around before?”

“Because mother always told me to not talk to strangers,” she replied simply. “And I thought that, if I stayed in my room and was real quiet, maybe you would go away like everyone else does.”

Go away? The idea was tempting: all the money in the world isn’t worth living in a haunted mansion for the rest of my life. And yet…

“Do you want me to go away?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything but stares at the floor, looking as if she was trying really hard to make up her mind.

“N-no,” she finally says, softer than ever. “I’m so scared, and I’m very, very lonely. I don’t know where my mother and father are, and I haven’t seen my friends in such a long time. And everyone who comes here never stays. Please don’t go anywhere. Please don’t leave me alone…” Tears begin to stream down her face.

I am at a loss for words, but my heart is breaking. I can’t begin to imagine what this girl’s been through or how long she’s been here, not knowing what happened to her or what’s going on. Has it always been this way for her? How long has she been a ghost? Her clothes definitely look like they came from the Civil War era. Was she as old as this very house then? I have so many questions for her, but now really doesn’t seem like the right time. Will there ever be a right time? I don’t know.

“It’s okay,” I finally say to her. “I’m not going anywhere. I inherited this house a while ago from my uncle, and I’m going to be living here now, so you don’t have to be lonely anymore if you don’t want.” I can’t believe what I’m saying. I’m trying to console a scared ghost by offering to live with her in a spooky old house, but what else can I do? I’m not that great with kids, but she needs someone to be with her, to keep her company, and maybe even help her move on somehow. And right now, I’m all she’s got. It’s almost as if I’m not in control as I’m saying this to her. What am I getting myself into?

She looks up at me and says, “Do you promise?”

I nod at her, my mind made up. “I promise. I’ll stay with you as long as you want me to.”

Immediately her pale, transparent face seems to light up and she leaps up at me, wrapping her tiny arms around my neck in a tight hug. Her touch is like being blasted by a cold wind and I have to resist the urge to recoil with every fiber of by being. It isn’t that unpleasant, though, just surprising. I hug her back as best I could, given that she’s barely solid to the touch.

Finally she lets go and yawns. “I’m awful sleepy. Can you tuck me in bed tonight since mother isn’t here?” How could I say no to her at this point. I stand up and she puts her ghostly little hand in mine as I lead her to the bed. She nimbly climbs up and crawls under the blankets. Well, to be more accurate, it’s more like she’s crawling into the “ghost” of her blankets while the actual blankets remain undisturbed.

As she snuggles in, making herself cozy, she asks me to tell her a story to help her sleep. I pull up an old chair and stumble around a bit as I come up with different stories that I grew up loving as a little kid, taking care to not confuse her with modern things and terms that she most likely wouldn’t understand. After a while, she finally nods off and begins to snore softly, a little smile on her pallid face. As I carefully make my way out of her room I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of a ghost needing sleep; things like that have never crossed my mind before until tonight.

The storm has stopped a while back and everything is now quiet again. As I make my way back to my room, I can just barely see the first few rays of dawn creeping over the moor. I’ll definitely be sleeping in for a bit today; there’s so much that I need to process, so many things whirling around my head as I’m adjusting to this new life of mine, but I’m way too tired to give it any proper thought. All I can think of as I’m climbing back into bed is whether my great uncle knew if the little ghost girl existed or not. Doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll take care of her in any way I can, and, hopefully, we can figure out what happened here and how best to help her. But for now, I need to sleep.

As I close my eyes and drift into unconsciousness, I can feel a smile growing on my lips; funny enough, living in this house isn’t going to seem so creepy and lonely anymore knowing there’s a ghost here to keep me company.