The Ghost of Wicker Street

There was an old house at the end of Wicker Street. Its windows were boarded up and the roof shingles had begun to fall off. Ivy was creeping up its brick wall and the wooden porch steps were now rotten and soft. The house had been abandoned for over a decade, in which not a single soul dared to step foot inside.

Xavier knew he had to explore it. His mother had forbidden him from going anywhere near the house, saying that she’d explain when he was older. But, Xavier didn’t want to wait until he was older so he took matters into his own hands. 

He approached the front door, the house creaking under him

It swung open almost immediately as if the house was welcoming him to find out its mysteries. 

There was nothing too exciting about the entryway. There were no remnants of whoever once lived in the house. He moved on.

A crisp winter breeze blew in and tickled Xavier’s nose as he crept down the hall. It continued ahead of him as if prompting him to follow. So he did.

Again, Xavier found himself underwhelmed. The hallway was ordinary. It seemed the house was just old and decrepit, nothing more. He was ready to head home–but then he heard something.

Somewhere, in a room down the hall, he could hear a violin. So he continued down the hall.

The violin got louder the further he went. On and on it played, the haunting melody reminding him of a song from his past, one he cannot name.

He traced the sound to a shut door. Without even thinking, Xavier opened it.

Before him was a floating figure holding a violin with its back facing him.

Xavier was not used to the sight of floating figures and was unsure of what to do. 

He waited.

When the song ended, the figure set down her violin and turned to reveal the most beautiful woman the boy had seen. Her ashy hair, her faded skin, her somber eyes…all combined in a harmony as beautiful as her song. Her presence felt antique as if she was in an old, long-forgotten photograph. 

She stared at Xavier in confusion. 

“Hello,” he said softly.

The woman seemed shocked. “Who are you?”

“Xavier. What about you?”

“My name is Ayla.” 

“Are you a ghost?”

She looked down at her body. “I suppose,” she replied.

“That’s interesting.”

“Indeed.”

Xavier shuffled his feet. “I’ll go now. Sorry to bother you.”

Ayla nodded.

He hurried out the door, desperate to get home. The strange encounter lingered in his thoughts. Should he be scared? He wasn’t.

That evening, Xavier researched the paranormal and, when he returned to the house the next day, he found confidence in his newfound expertise. “Do you know how you died?” he asked as soon as Ayla appeared. 

“No,” she replied softly. “I do not know how I died.”

“That must be why you’re still here and not in the afterlife,” he explained.

“I always assumed there was no afterlife.”

“I’m not sure. But, I do know that something is bothering you enough to keep you here instead of somewhere more peaceful.”

“And how do you know all this?” she questioned.

Xavier smiled shyly. “I studied.”

“Hm.” She looked about the room, then back to Xavier. “Well, what shall we do about it?”

“I’ll help you find out!”

She laughed. Ayla’s laugh was warm and comforting and eased him instantly. “You’re an interesting child, Xavier.”

“How so?”

“I don’t understand why you would help me.”

“Because I want to.”

Ayla smiled–not with her mouth, but with her crinkling eyes. “Well, I suppose you can try the study.”

And so he tried the study.

There were plenty of bookshelves lining the walls, but no books. A violin sat in the corner–likely the one which Ayla had played the night before. And there was a desk with a single drawer. That was it. The room wasn’t promising to help Xavier’s cause.

He grasped the cold brass handle of the desk drawer and pulled, but it did not budge. He yanked on the handle until the entire thing came loose, sending him tumbling to the floor, drawer still in hand. Its contents spilled across the hardwood and Xavier picked up the thing closest to him first—a leather pocket notebook. 

The notebook was worn, its pages yellowed and crinkled and the spine cracked.

Ayla emerged from the wall. “You’ve found my diary. I’m afraid I don’t know what’s in it. I can’t seem to pick it up.”

“Why not?”

“How should I know? I can't tell what I can or cannot pick up. I just go to grab things and see if I can. It’s all a bit strange. For example, I can pick up spoons but not forks. I can hold snakes but not cats.”

Xavier wanted to ask how Ayla came to realize that she could hold snakes but decided against it.

He opened the diary, but to his dismay, he found most of the pages ripped out. He fingered through the pages that were left, reading the little snippets of Ayla’s life. Most of it was bland and normal. Narrations of her day, recipes she wished to try… There were a few pages dedicated to wedding plans--but no mention of a wedding.

Eventually, Xavier came upon fewer ripped pages and more empty ones. The closer he got to the end cover, the less he found to read.

Finally, on the last three pages, he found an entry:

The Seekers are coming for me.

“That’s funny,” Xavier remarked as he closed the diary.

Ayla turned to him. “What’s funny?”

He looked up at her. replying, “My mom works for a company called ‘Spy Seekers’. They make security devices. Like cameras.”

“Hm.”

Xavier collected the other things from the ground–a red ballpoint pen and a rusted key. He had no clue what the key was for. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he told Ayla as he got to his feet. “My mom will be home soon.”

She nodded. “Thank you, Xavier. For helping me.”

“Of course.”

When he got home, Xavier’s mother was already there. She had gotten home earlier than normal and had brought take-out. She greeted him with a smile which soon turned cold after she realized what he was holding.

“Where did you get that?” his mother questioned. She snatched the key from his hand and examined it with intensity. As she turned the small rusted metal back and forth between her fingers, she scolded, “You shouldn’t have this! Tell me where you got it!”

Xavier knew he couldn’t tell her about Ayla–though it was unlikely she’d believe him anyway. “I found it on the ground,” he lied. “I’m sorry.” Though, he wasn’t.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched his mother place the key in her purse.

Why did his mother recognize it at all?

By the time Xavier had gotten into bed, he had convinced his mother that he no longer had an interest in the rusty old key. This was another lie, of course.

He waited for hours in bed until the sounds of his mother’s twisting and turning settled into light snores. During those hours, he thought of the only lock in the house that didn’t have a key he recognized.

As quiet as a mouse, Xavier got up from bed and tiptoed down the stairs.

Guided by the light of the moon, he pulled the key from his mother’s bag, took the key to the basement, and found the safe that his mother tried in vain to hide from him.

But he found the safe was already open.

Ever so quietly, he opened the door to the safe.

There was nothing in it.

Defeated, he shut the door, dropped the key in his coat pocket, and retreated to his bedroom, an air of disappointment hanging in the room that quickly turned to shock.

His mother was hiding something–something she couldn’t let him see.

Ayla greeted Xavier the next morning by informing him of a new change in her afterlife. “I’m usually confined to the first floor of this house, but today I found I was able to get into the landing upstairs! I bet it’s because you’re such a smart boy, helping me uncover the mystery of my death. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Yes,” he replied, preoccupied with the memory of his nighttime expedition. Many things about this mystery puzzled him, but the revelation that his mother was tied into all of this was the worst thought of all.

Noticing his troubled mind, Ayla questioned, “What’s troubling you, dear Xavier?”

“Do you know my mother, Corissa LeJune?”

She pondered the thought for a moment. “The name sounds familiar, but I can’t say I remember much…Why?”

“Because she has something to do with all of this.”

“That must be a dreadful thing to find out.”

“Yes, it is.”

He paced the wooden floor of the hallway and let his thoughts consume him. How much of a role did his own mother play in this mess? What did she do? Did he even want to find out?

Suddenly, the sound of a violin stopped him in his tracks.

Ayla was floating at the entrance to the study, her violin and bow in hand. “I’m lucky I can still hold this,” she remarked, continuing the melody.

Xavier watched in awe as Ayla played the most wonderful song he had ever heard. The way she swayed along with the music was a sight to behold and it made Xavier want to dance himself.

He wasn’t normally a fan of music, but when Ayla played, he found a love for the sound. Her performance was entrancing.

“I just hate to see you so upset,” she said once she finished. “Do you feel any better?”

“I do feel better, Ayla,” he replied. “Thank you.”

She hovered her hand above his head, hesitating slightly. Something told Xavier that she didn’t want to find out if she could touch him or not. Perhaps it was better that way. 

“Go home,” Ayla instructed. “Go and rest. I’ll still be here when you return.”

Xavier wanted to object but, somehow, he knew better. 

He did not return to Ayla the next day. He was far too busy searching every crevice of his house for whatever might’ve been in the safe the day before.

The only place he hadn’t checked was his mother’s bedroom, which he was forbidden to go in. He had a feeling that it was in there, too, because his mother doubted that Xavier would dare break the rules and go snooping in her room. She overestimates him, it seems.

He knew he found it because it was a fancy yellow folder and had the words “Classified” written all over the front. Xavier checked the clock. It read four-forty-five. He had thirty minutes.

He brought the folder to the kitchen table and opened it.

The first document had his mother’s name on the top with the word “Assassin” underneath it. 

How pleasant.

He took all the papers and spread them across the table, skimming each one. From what he could gather, his mother’s employer was not a security company, but rather a secret government-run project. He couldn’t figure out what it was for, though.

He found a document with Ayla’s name written on it. He caught sight of a photo as well and pulled it out.

Scribbled in bright red letters across Ayla’s smiling face was the word “Eliminated”.

Underneath it was Xavier’s mother’s signature. Corissa LeJune

So that was how Ayla died.

He had been so engrossed in solving this mystery that he hadn’t heard the front door open.

“What are you doing?” His mother exclaimed when she saw the files spread across the kitchen table.

Without looking up at her, he replied, “What did you do?”

“You don’t understand,” she said softly.

Xavier bolted the door, grabbing his coat and putting it on mid-run. He was headed for Ayla’s house and he was going to tell her the truth.

“You were murdered!” he cried as he burst into her entryway. “By my mother!”

But Ayla was not in the entryway. He searched the entire first floor but to no avail.

He ran up the stairs, each one groaning with age under his weight. He approached the bedroom down the hall, fetching the key from his pocket and swiftly unlocking the door. Xavier threw the door open and found Ayla, her hazy appearance shakily hovering over a dusty bassinet.

“I had a baby,” she whispered, then fell to the ground, sobbing. Her cries echoed in the old house, shaking the decrepit walls and floor. He went to her and attempted to embrace her, but he fell right through her form. 

The sound of steps running up the stairwell interrupted the sobs. The two went silent.

The steps got louder and closer.

The door burst open to reveal Xavier’s mother standing there, her glasses fogged up and her hair dusted with snowflakes. “I will tell you the truth,” she explained in between gasps of air. “I will tell you everything.”

Ayla turned to Xavier, who began, “Ayla, this is my mother. Mother, this is–”

She cut him off. “Yes, darling. I know who she is. She’s my sister.”

“Corissa,” Ayla said, her eyes lighting with newfound recognition. “Of course.”

“Do you remember?”

“No.”

Xavier’s mother sighed. She turned to her son, who said nothing. He only stared in shock at the woman who he thought he knew. “We used to work together, as Seekers. We were ghost hunters.

“Ghost hunters?” Xavier asked.

“We did exactly what you did, Xavi. Helped ghosts resolve their problems. It was dangerous work–we dealt with a lot of illegal things and bad people.” She paused, glancing over at Ayla for any sign of remembrance. There was none. “Ayla was trying to leave. But, we were bound by law–once you start, you cannot get out. Still, she tried.”

“And that’s why you killed her?”

“Yes. But please understand, I didn't want to.” Ayla was staring at the baby bassinet, seemingly ignoring the story. Xavier’s mother continued, “The company gave her a contract. As long as she married, she could leave to be a housewife. It was supposed to work–she was already engaged.”

Xavier and his mother both turned to Ayla, who still sat on the ground, shimmering in the light.

“But she was left at the altar. Her contract was void. I did what I had to. Right here, in this bedroom.”

Finally, the ghost spoke. “But, why?”

“You asked me to."

Ayla looked up in shock. “What?”

“They were going to kill you and your child. You begged me to be the one to do it so I could save him.”

“And did you?”

She sighed and turned to Xavier. “Yes. I hid him, loved him, and raised him as my own."

Xavier turned and ran out the door. His “mother” chased after him. He went down the stairs and into the study, where he quickly shut and locked the door. There came a few timid knocks at the door, and then the sound of footsteps retreating to the entryway. He heard the creak of a door opening, a shut, and then silence.

Ayla dropped through the floor moments later. “Now I know,” she said.

He fell to the ground, exclaiming, “How can you be so calm?”

“Because there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

“Aren’t you sad?”

“Of course, I am. But being sad won’t bring me back to life nor give back all those years.”

Xavier said nothing more. He watched as Ayla picked up her violin and began a song. He listened as she played the song he had heard when they first met. The song that got him roped into this mystery in the first place.

“I remember where this song is from,” she said as she played. “It came from me. I had written it for someone I loved very dearly. I believe it was for you.”

So they sat there: living son and murdered mother. She played the song for him with her entire soul, and he listened–trying to understand it all.

Once the song ended, Xavier stood. He hovered his hand over Ayla’s, close but untouching. It hurt him to think it would always be this way. No matter how much he wanted to, he would never be able to touch her. He’d never feel the loving embrace of his mother.

“Can I stay here tonight?” he asked. “Please?”

She nodded.

They slept in the master bedroom–Xavier tucked within the dusty sheets while Ayla sat on the side. She watched over him as he tossed and turned. She stared in awe at this child–at her child. He was a complete stranger yet he was also her precious darling. Oh, how it pained her to know that he had grown up without her. But as long as he was safe, fed, and loved…then it was okay. Or, at least, as okay as it could be.

Ayla pressed her lips to the top of his forehead and kissed him gently as if a single kiss would make up for the missing time.

When Xavier awoke the next morning, Ayla was gone.

Time heals all wounds, even heartbreak and stabs in the back. Xavier understood why things played out the way he did–but acceptance and forgiveness are two different things. He accepted Corissa, but never forgave her. 

Xavier returned to the old house many times, but in his heart, he knew he’d never see Ayla again. Sometimes, when he walks down Wicker Street, he can hear a faint violin tune playing like a whisper in the wind. It’s the same, beautiful, soul-filled song every time.