Haunter and Haunted

My house is being haunted.

I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember and it’s never happened before, but it started a few weeks ago- just little things, half-glimpsed figures in the hall who disappeared after a few minutes. I go downstairs now and they’re there again- more of them this time. The first time it was two, then just one, then the same one with others, many others, always different, always coming through my house and staring straight at me-

They scare me.

Worse than that, I can’t get away from them.

The first few times, it was just in the hall- they didn’t even move, really, only stood there for a few minutes. Then the rest of the house- I could hear them moving around, crashing through cupboards and opening and closing doors, footsteps creaking on the stairs. I hid in the attic, terrified of their noise.

Now, I’ve gotten used to it…

...to a degree.

It’s like an infestation. They’re everywhere. Sitting on the kitchen counter, lying on beds in rooms that haven’t seen the light of day in years, stirring up dust in places that shouldn’t be stirred.

I am hiding in the attic, now. Perhaps they won’t find me here.

After the crowds of them that came for a while, it has settled down to five. 

One of them is a woman who haunts the library on the second floor- it was converted into an office long ago, but she keeps looking at the walls as if she can see shelves there, and I almost always see her holding a book.

Then there is the man. He paces through the house at all hours, moving objects and opening doors. I try not to get too close, but he feels… unhappy. A restless spirit. I’ve seen him go up the attic stairs once or twice- I think he sits alone on the roof. I hope he does not come up here tonight.  From far away, he is a sad figure, but any closer and he, like all of them, is a truly frightening presence.

None is more frightening than the smallest. The eldest one- I assume this is some semblance of a family, which would make her the firstborn daughter- only haunts one room, rarely leaving it. It makes her blessedly easy to avoid, and good thing too, as her expression spells trouble for anyone to get close. The second one appears only rarely, materializing in the kitchen and staying only a brief time before vanishing again. But the smallest-

Their cries are like the shriek of a banshee, and while they do not move from their place, the noise permeates the whole house. Inescapable. Unbearable. I retreat to the attic on the nights they are loudest, but it does little good. Even then I can hear them through the floor, screaming as if the world was going to end.

Perhaps it is.

There is a creak on the stairs. It could be one of them, or not. It is hard to say in this old house, that whispers and groans at the slightest shift. It has been empty, except for me, for a long time now. It is not used to the presence of others.

I retreat softly, moving through the maze of boxes and steamer trunks and dust sheet-covered furniture.

The latch clicks. It is one of them-

I am afraid, trembling as I try to stay silent and still. I hide in the farthest corner, between an ancient armoire and the dusty, wood-panelled wall. The hinges creak.

My world reduces to details as panic threatens to flood my mind.

The letters RL and MW, scratched into a heart on the wardrobe wall.

The faint buzz of a single late bluebottle, bopping again and again into the window on the other side of the room.

Rain, drumming against the roof.

A spider, wrapping some unidentifiable insect in layers and layers of web.

It is the girl. She does not see me at first, standing in the centre of the room, dimly lit by the grey light that filters through the rain outside the dusty widow. She looks as furious as ever, but tears streak her face, and she stands with her arms crossed tightly across her chest.

I am frozen, waiting for her to see me. It is inevitable.

After a few moments, she begins to drift around the room, back and forth, back and forth, the floorboards creaking at her passage.

Then her gaze drags upwards, scanning. 

I cannot move. There is nowhere to go.

Her eyes fall on me, flicking past - do I dare to be relieved yet? - then back again, then widening as she sees me for the first time. I shrink back-

But so does she.

She steps backwards quickly, stumbling over the boxes and muffling a shriek with her hand.

“Mom- Mom!!”

High. Panicked. What right does she have to fear when it is my house that has been invaded-

She turns and sprints for the door, footfalls heavy on the wood. It slams open with enough force that it bounces off the wall and shuts itself behind her. 

In the silence that follows, I sink down in my corner. The dust motes dance in her wake, and I watch the faint shimmer in the air, trying to disappear.

The bluebottle continues to buzz, battering itself against the window.

The rain continues to drum against the roof, only a few feet above me.

The spider has finished its wrapping and begun to feed.

The silence does not last long.

It only takes a few minutes before I hear steps on the stairs again.

“Mom- I swear I saw it, I’m not lying, why would I lie-”

A little sigh.

“I don’t think you’re lying, I just-”

The door opens again, much more quietly this time.

Two sets of footsteps. The floorboards creak again, then continue to complain as one set of footsteps shifts constantly, bouncing up and down in fear or excitement or frustration. I cannot see her face, but I know it is the girl.

“It was right there, it was-”

The footsteps approach. I had ducked away from the centre of the room, turning towards the wall, but I look up now. 

The woman is staring straight at me.

“...what the-”

I don’t let her finish, throwing myself sideways through the piled furniture - strange, that it rattles slightly as I pass but doesn’t fall - and hiding instead under a huge desk covered by a dust sheet. The woman does not move. I can feel her glaring at me.

“Whoever you are, get the hell out of there,” she snarls.

I am a coward. I have always been.

Slowly, I rise. The dust sheet over the desk is draped over me, around me. I can see through it nonetheless.

The woman and her daughter step back as I rise, trailing dirty white fabric.

“Holy Mary, mother of God…” the girl whispers. “What the hell-”

“I can’t believe this. We just moved in, I knew there was something off about that damn realtor-”

The woman regards me flatly. Her eyes narrow, and she crosses her arms stubbornly, even though I can see fear in her face. I do not understand why, when it’s me that is afraid of her-

But she only shakes her head, a disbelieving look on her face, and tells her daughter,

“My house is being haunted.”