Fantôme Manner

At some point every little kid has an imaginary friend, this is the story of how I found out my imaginary friends weren't so imaginary.

Every corner I turned someone new appeared. Their shimmering form barely visible. Often when I spoke to them, they would disappear. It took a long time to gain their trust. The shimmering figures were never quite the same. Some were dressed just like I was, others were dressed similarly to the old paintings that hung all throughout the manner. The one thing that never changed was the lost look in their eyes. I tried to help them the best I could, but it was never enough.

At school everyone thought I was a freak, no one in town could ever look me in the eyes. The other kids would call me names and never sat with me during lunch. The only time I didn’t feel like there was something wrong with me, that I really was a freak, was when my mom held me in her arms. She would softly stroke my long chestnut hair and say to me,” Remember Tori, everyone is a bit strange in their own way, even if they don’t always show it.”

After all these years I can still remember the first time she said that to me.

And the last.

It has been nine years since we left, nine years since the accident. My dad couldn’t stand to stay after that. I saw less and less of my imaginary friends until they were no longer there. Or were they?

When I turned 18 and left for college, I moved back to the manner. My dad never sold it, he tried, and no one would even go near the twisted, rust ridden gate that bordered the property.

It took months of begging for my dad to even consider letting me move back. Even though it was hard for him, my dad retuned to the manner to help me move in. He had to be sure it wouldn’t happen to me too.

We slowly drove up the road toward the house. The gravel crunched beneath our old Ford Explorer. A glare from the deep blue mirror burned my eyes. A million thoughts went through my head, has it changed in all these years, will I recognize anything, will my imaginary friends return.

The dark exterior of the manner was just visible over the hill. Grey flakes of paint could be seen littered about the ground. The familiar, musty smell filled my nose as I stepped out of the car.

I was home.

We spent hours cleaning the house. You would be surprised how much dust collects after nine years. It was already late, so we decided to eat dinner and head to bed. My dad sleeps like a log, I however am not so lucky. From the moment my eyes shut I was taunted by horrific memories of that night all those years ago.

A bright flash broke the cycle of nightmares. I sat up with a start. A faint glow emanated from under my bedroom door. The ice-cold floor disturbed the lingering sleep that threatened to take over. I slipped on an oversized pair of fuzzy socks and slowly opened the door. The floor boards creaked as I followed the glow down the hall. When I rounded the corner that is when I saw it.

A Shimmer.

Could it be. Could it be one of my imaginary friends from childhood. The shimmer disappeared through the wall. The stairs were on the other side of that wall! I was halfway down the old oak staircase when suddenly I was falling forwards. My sock must have gotten caught on a nail hidden under the worn emerald rug.

As if in slow motion, I fell further and further down the creaky stairs. I was almost to the bottom when I finally stopped.

Darkness.

A sharp pain flared in my head. I felt blood trickle down my face. When I opened my eyes, I saw bricks and colored strips of canvas were strewn all around me. Dust clouded the air and filled my lungs. I used the wall as support as I heaved myself off the floor. When I fell down the stairs, I crashed through the thick stone bricks hidden behind the old painting of my mother with the Queen when she was my age.

I never knew there was anything back here. It looked like some sort of hallway, hidden for who knows how long? The shimmer! Could it be leading me somewhere? My curiosity took over, I had to know where the shimmer was going. Slowly I crept along the wall. Through twists and turns I followed the faint glow that was never far behind the shimmer.

It wasn’t long before I came up to a large oak door, covered in cobwebs. I was about to move on when through the hole where a brick used to be, I saw a shimmering hand?

It must be inside that room. I tried to open the old door, but it wouldn’t budge. The hinges were too rusted to move. With one foot planted on the crumbling wall, I pulled with all my might. The hinges snapped and the door fell to the floor with an alarming thud. When the dust cleared, I saw her. The shimmer I had been following was a girl. An odd glow seemed to emit from her skin. Her strawberry hair was pulled back in a single braid. She wore a thin satin dress. The blue fabric fanned out from her waist. Her feet hovered just above the ground. What was she?

“Could it be? Is it really you, Tori?” she asked.

“How do you know my name?”

“I could never forget you, although you might have forgotten me.”

“What are you talking about? Who are you? What are you?” The girl held out her hand and smiled, her eyes danced with excitement.

“Let me show you.”

I walked into the room; the old door groaned under my feet. My hand shook as I reached for her hand.

Blinding light filled my vision. I blinked away the pain and through my watering eyes I saw...

“Mom?”