The shadow that changed my life

I have always believed in ghosts and things that go bump in the night, so nobody was surprised when I applied to take a job as live-in caretaker to the town’s locally rumored witch. Miss Elizabeth Johnson is a thin, short woman who oozes elegance and diplomacy. She has never married and will forever wear black dresses that are always outdated, think Edwardian style, if you will. Her long hair never leaves a perfectly wrapped bun, and her bright green eyes always seem to know more than anyone else. But I have always thought that is because she is well read and educated and always seems to be aware of her surroundings more so than the rest of the population.

As a child I would follow her around in the grocery store and library any time I spotted her. She was a very fascinating woman and I aspired to be her. I wore my makeup and hair like she did and even went so far as to include making my own Edwardian style dresses in dark colors. On Halloween the other kids would avoid her house or dare each other to egg her windows. I wouldn’t. I would walk right up to her large dark wooden door and press the red backlit doorbell button then wait with an ear-to-ear grin on my face until my idol opened her door. She would open the door wide with the largest smile on her face every year.

“Trick or treat,” I’d exclaim and hold my bag out. Miss Johnson would gush over my costume, and I’d preen up like a peacock as she filled my bag with homemade and store-bought treats. I’d give the store-bought treats to my sister but would always gobble the homemade cookies and cakes up before I got home. I’d start a small conversation with her about her day until my mom would call me back.

Now at twenty-five I feel like that little girl did again as I raise my hand to press the same red button I used to every year and wait for the smiling face of my childhood idol to open her door. No body could have guessed what is about to happen almost as soon as I enter the old house, so I smile wide when she finally opens the door and hold out my hand. Miss Elizabeth Johnson returns my smile and shakes my hand, her hand is freezing cold.

“Miss, Johnson. I was told you knew I’d be coming today?”

“Yes, Miss, Asher. I’m glad you are here. My nephew is trying to move in and take my money, so your being here really puts his agreement that I can’t care for myself to shame.”

I want to tell her how excited I am but don’t want to scare the old woman. “Glad to be of service! And you can call me Heather,”

“And You may call me Elizabeth, please come in and welcome to my home. I’ll show you to your room. After you are settled, I will meet you in the kitchen and we will discuss your assignments,” she points a bony finger down the hallway, before starting up the wide old staircase. Her large cane clanking on the polished risers. She leads me to a large room decorated in light grays and red roses. “I hope you find it to your liking. You will find your bathroom just across the hall. Unpack and I will meet you in the kitchen.”

“Okay, thank you.”

I unpacked and familiarized myself with my new bedroom and bathroom and take a moment to look around the upstairs hallway before I head to the kitchen. The hall is wallpapered in a deep burgundy and an elegant gold pattern with three doors on the right and four on the left. I resist the urge to explore even though I would love nothing more. I turn to start down the stairs when I see what looks like a person’s shadow in my peripheral vision.

“Hello?” I ask quietly as I turn back around. All the doors are still closed and doesn’t seem to be disturbed in the least. “Heather, you are losing your mind.”

I shake my head and decide to ignore my imagination—for the most part. I run down the stairs two at a time and make it to the bottom in record time. I stop, taking a deep breath to collect myself and straighten my blouse and skirt before continuing down the short hall to the kitchen. I smile brightly as I walk into a tiny, yellow, antique filled kitchen. It was not what I expected Elizabeth’s kitchen to look like.

“Settled, dear?”

I nod, “yes thank you.”

Elizabeth smiles and waves her hand to the chair across from her. “Please sit. The tea kettle is almost done.”

We chat about the town’s folk and small-town life until the kettle screamed with urgency. I jump half out of my seat and try to cover it by standing. I laugh it off, nervously, when I realize Elizabeth noticed my jump.

“New places make me jumpy, too, dear. Sit I’ll get it.”

I do as she says and sit back down, embarrassed, and watch the older woman work. “Elizabeth, you said hiring me makes your nephew’s argument void. But why does he want to move in so bad when he could just wait until you pass, hopefully not any time soon that is, and get your home and money then?”

“Oh, my nephew is just a little jerk. His mother, my sister Agnes, died a few years ago and he has used up all the money she left him.” She brings two small teacups, the kettle, and other assortments on a silver tray to the table. “He’s decided he needs to move in with me to take care of me,” she gives a sharp unhumorous laugh. “Kill me more like when he finds out I will never put his name on my will. So, I’ve hired a cleaner and a caretaker, you, to keep him out of my hair until I can figure out how to get rid of him.”

“Oh no. That’s awful. You seem like you are more than capable…” a large bang came from above us, “My stars! What was that?”

Elizabeth looks annoyed, “Ignore that any time you hear it.”

I wonder if the sound has anything to do with that shadow I seen. Elizabeth looks at me and shakes her head. Her mood going from somewhat cheerful to very somber. I want to ask why her mood has suddenly changed, but at the same time I do not want to step over my boundaries. I smile at her assuredly then sip my tea, the sweet and spicy taste of apple and cinnamon run down my throat. Elizabeth looks to be in deep thought, so I stay quiet letting her think. It’s not long before she sighs and stands.

“It seems as if I’ve made a mistake in hiring you, Heather.” Her voice now cold.

I stand as well, “what? Why? This is my first day I haven’t even been here an…”

Elizabeth puts her hand up stopping my spew of words. “That has nothing to do with it, dear. It seems the spirits have decided to keep you.”

Her tone is foreboding and makes me think she’s using the work keep instead of kill

“What?”

“George says you seen him. Is this true?”

“I don’t know, I thought I saw a shadow in the hall upstairs, but I was just passing it as my imagination.”

“I am sorry, dear, you must leave at once. Go pack and be hasty.”

I do as I am told but I can’t hide my disappointment as I make my way to what should be my bedroom. I pack in silence and take one more look around. I am trying not to cry as I walk to the stairs. I feel a hand on my shoulder just before it pushes me, and I watch as my bags fall down the steps. It takes me far too long to realize I am also falling. I can’t catch myself and my forehead connects with the railing. I hear a snap and the world goes dark.

“Oh dear, George, you didn’t.” I hear Elizabeth say sadly. “She wasn’t going to tell.”

I stair in horror down at my twisted and bloody body. Suddenly there are people standing all around me. They all look hallow and slightly sad. Ghosts. I think as a little blonde girl takes my hand. And it dawns on me the exact moment I died. The sound of my neck snaping in half as my face hit the stair railing.

“Why?”

Elizabeth looked at me and explained, “George was worried you’d tell people what you had seen and heard here and told the others. That is why they wanted to keep you. He murdered you to protect us all. I am sorry, Heather.” She shook her head. “The ambulance is on its way to get your body. I told the dispatcher you tripped on your skirt and hit your head coming down the stairs.”

I felt as though I was going to pass out. Can ghosts pass out? I don’t know so I sit on the stairs and stare at my misshapen head and body. The door opens in a rush and men in blue shirts with the letters EMS on the back start to check me, no not me anymore just my shell or vitals. I watch them work, until they were sure I am dead. It doesn’t take long before they load my pile of mangled bones and flesh into a body bag.

What will my family and friends think? That’s an odd thought to have I think as I follow the gurney with my body on it out of the door. After watching the ambulance drive away, I feel an odd ethereal pull from the house and move slowly back into it. The fact that I now am stuck in a home I once would have died to walk through isn’t lost on me as I close the heavy wooden door.