No One Ever Believes a Child When They See a Ghost

Eleanor Bellamy stood at the entrance of the large estate, her mind consumed with only two thoughts: how had she gotten here, and what was she going to do about her children's schooling?

The biting cold of the winter air swept around her, its frosty fingers probing through the layers of her coat, adding an extra layer of urgency to her contemplations. The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the snow-covered grounds. The waning daylight signaled the impending darkness of the winter night, and with it, a surge of determination gripped Eleanor. Time was slipping away, and the cold intensified as the day waned, making each passing moment feel more urgent. She trudged through the icy pathway leading to the entrance, her boots leaving imprints in the snow. The air became crisper, and the biting wind seemed to whisper the urgency of the approaching night. The estate, once a distant silhouette against the winter sky, now loomed larger, its grandeur accentuated by the fading light.

As she made her way closer to the estate, her mind began to wander. Had someone finally tended to the weeds in the backyard that were starting to sprout too tall? Why were the walls in the upstairs bathroom still half-painted? And where were her children? She had sent them off to explore the estate's gardens, but it had been hours since she had last seen them. Eleanor sighed, realizing that there were too many things to worry about now that she was in charge of this massive property. 

And just like that her mind began to tilt again. Ever so slightly. What was she doing here? She would have to ask her husband. Just then she felt something faint touch her arm almost as if a butterfly had landed on her skin. 

She looked down slightly and saw a child. A girl about six years old and when Eleanor looked harder she realized, the child was hers. Yes, the child had her bulbous nose and dark brown freckles on her cheeks. She had wide eyes that almost protruded out of their sockets. 

Eleanor thought then said, “Della, have you had fun in the garden?”

The girl smiled and lifted up her muddy hands. Proud to show off the end result of whatever creation she had made. Eleanor lifted her daughter in her arms, both of them heading inside their estate. No, no, not their estate. They were only here to oversee some renovations before moving on to the next project. 

“Where are your siblings? Still in the garden?” 

The child, Della, didn't answer but instead hummed along to a tune Eleanor faintly recognized. She listened along to the song, but she couldn't exactly place it, and she never would. Della, like a tiny doll, was silent and noiseless, going wherever she was placed, her silence speaking volumes in the stillness of the moment. Eleanor sat her daughter down on the front door steps and looked at her. She wanted to say she missed her daughter and that she loved and cared for her and that it wasn't her fault. It was never her fault, but she couldn’t find the words. Then her daughter looked up at her and that one look told her everything she needed to know. She understood.

“Della, run off now. Get your siblings. Bring them back.”

Eleanor got up from her place on the steps as she watched her daughter go. She scanned the surrounding area. Tall, ancient oak trees lined the cobblestone path leading up to the manor's entrance, their branches casting intricate patterns of sunlight on the well-tended garden beds below. The manor itself was breathtaking with stained glass windows reflecting the colors of the garden during summer, and a sense of history clung to every stone and ivy leaf. But something was off and whatever it was sunk deep into Eleanor’s dark skin. It made her itch and tremble, almost like she was covered in prickly rose thorns that were poking at her nerves. 

In the distance, on the edge of the manicured garden, Eleanor's eyes fell upon an unexpected sight. A massive clock stood proudly amidst the foliage, its intricate brass details gleaming in the disappearing sunlight. It stood there, an old ornate timepiece, seemingly out of place in the garden. She could have sworn it wasn't there before. As she watched, the clock's pendulum swung steadily, counting down the seconds.

She was about to dismiss it as a peculiar occurrence when the clock struck, its chimes resonating through the air. In that moment, Eleanor felt herself shift, and the scene melted away. Suddenly, she found herself standing in the kitchen. The aroma of a long-forgotten meal wafted through the air, and the room seemed frozen in time, as if it were an echo from the past. She was now in the kitchen wielding a knife, hunched over dark red tomatoes from the garden. Their juices were spilling out onto the cutting board and spilling over the counter. It looked oddly familiar. Something had happened here. Something had happened to her.

“Have you seen the children?” Elenora said, turning slightly to the woman in the doorway without taking her eye off the knife.

Mrs. Pricilla, the au pair, was in her late 50s, with a staunch and composed demeanor that demanded respect and you could see this in her appearance. Her former chestnut hair was now a dark gray, pulled into a tight bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She wore a crisp gray suit and had glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. The more Elenora thought the more she realized she didn't know much about her. She was married, had a teenage boy that went to the local school, and had been a maid for the Willowbrook estate for over twenty years, staying even after the occupants had left but that was about it. 

"They're currently in their bedrooms, tucked into their beds. However, Thomas is in his father's study, searching for a book he needs for his report. He mentioned he's specifically looking for 'The Turn of the Screw' and wondered if you might know its whereabouts."

“I did see them in the garden. Della, she….that reminds me. Have you seen Steven? I cannot find him anywhere.” 

“He’s on his trip checking out that property in Wisteria. Ms. Elenora, are you alright?”

“Ms. Priscilla, you can turn in for the night. I think I’ll care for the children.”

“Mr. Steven asked me to make sure you were all right. He’s worried about you-we all are. In fact, he made me promise to keep you in bed but I believe fresh air will do you good. I know you have been-”

  “Ms. Pricilla-” 

Just like before, a small child had appeared. He stood in the kitchen doorway and despite his young age he was tall and slender with a boyish face framed by dark brown hair. And just like before Elenora felt like she knew this child, as if he was her own.

“Thomas, did you find the book you were looking for?”

“I didn’t.”

“What is that in your hand?” Ms. Pricilla asked, holding her hand out to Thomas. 

He lifted it up. It was a photograph. In the photograph, a woman stood beside Thomas’s father, his hand wrapped around her waist and smiles exuding from them both. She possessed a timeless beauty with her dark, coily hair cascading down her shoulders. Her eyes, captured in the image, were deep and soulful and her features were delicate and soft. The woman looked familiar to Elenora. 

“Where did you get this?”

“From father’s study. It was on his desk under all his papers.” He said, fidgeting with the item.  

“You know he wouldn't want you messing with his things.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why don’t you head up your room? I’m sure when your father gets back in a few days, he’ll be able to assist you.”

The boy nodded silently, turning away and quietly headed back into his room.

Ms. Priscilla soon followed out to continue her duties, the conversation between the two women dying out. Elenora stood alone in the kitchen, the subtle hum of household activities providing a backdrop to her thoughts.

The slight ticking of a grandfather clock caught her attention. It stood in the corner of the kitchen, right by the pantry, its rhythmic sounds breaking the stillness of the room. She watched the pendulum swing back and forth again, noting a few small cracks adorned its wooden surface. 

She moved closer to the clock and reached out her hands to touch its smooth surface. As she extended her fingers, again she felt a peculiar shift. She found herself standing at the foot of the boy's bed. He held a book in his hand, the bedside lamp casting a gentle glow around him. Shadows danced across his face from the muted light, creating an almost magical scene.

Approaching the boy, Elenora reached out to touch him softly and kissed his forehead. "The book isn’t in your father’s study. It’s in my room on my night table."

He sprung up from his bed, staring into the dark for a few seconds and screamed loud enough that it dropped Elenora to the floor in deep pain. She could feel his fear, embracing it willingly. With open arms, it became a part of her. She was a mother, his mother, and she was sure of it. It was her job to take away the bad things that could hurt her children.

"What happened?" Ms. Priscilla rushed in, a shocked look on her face.

"I saw a ghost."