Ghosts Never Sleep: The Diary of Alice Barrows

I spent most of the next week slowly redecorating my bedroom, painting the walls a soft, pale green and the huge beams above me black as night. It was very cool once I had all my posters and toys and other junk in there. I had my own bed there too, a soft double bed with bleached white sheets. They smelled of fresh air, something which seemed so strange and alien to me from living in the smog of the city. Mom had two guys cover the floor with pine laminate and you could barely tell from my room it used to be a silly old attic in a grand old house. It felt like a stylish New York apartment, specially decorated to suit the new trend. It was easy enough to believe this in my head that below my feet was the hassle and hustle of The Big Apple instead of the lackadaisical England stupor. I was starting to like some parts of this countryside. I liked the grounds especially. There was a small forest just at the back of the house and Ben said there was a fantastic little stream running right through the middle of it. We found a mouldy old map in the library and we found that the forest was called Dagwood Forest, and the stream was deemed The Conway.

Ben had gone really weird ever since we came here. He stayed up most of the night, playing his Playstation, strumming the hell out of his guitar. We had to make a long trip into the city of York so he could buy new strings because he had been playing them so much. I guessed that he was just fed up, same as I was. I couldn't really say that I wasn't being strange and secretive myself. I always seemed to protect my bag that held the diary and tie within it. I knew that it was just a stupid old book with some wimpy girl whining about something but I still felt very attached and protective towards it. There seemed to be an aura of mystery surrounding it and it pulled me in, like a comet into the depths of a black hole.

We went into the nearest village one day; to see what the place was like, to be honest, and to maybe gain some people we could talk to. We tried to dress subtly, all in plain, casual stuff but Mom insisted on wearing those ridiculously huge hippie-ish sunglasses that made her eyes seem huge and her face too goddamn small. It looked freakishly awful but she insisted, just in case one of the old dears recognized her. I shook my head in disgust; she was being really annoying, as if she was in denial about her status. I was surprised she hadn't started wearing jodhpurs and talking in a jaded, slow voice and calling herself 'The Lady of the Manor'. That's what she wanted to rename it: The Manor. Ben laughed hard - like his old self- when he heard this.

"The Manor? Oh my God! Just call it Manor Goddamn Farm while you're at it. Jesus Christ. Just don't be surprised when all the animals mutiny and start screwing the place over." he grinned, his teeth jutting out jovially. I loved it when he laughed; he just seemed to brighten the whole place up because he's usually a sullen kinda guy. "All animals are equal..."

"Except some animals are more equal than others!" I interrupted, completing the quote. Animal Farm was my favourite book as a kid and Dad used to read it to me and Ben to get us to sleep. It all started with the film, we saw it in preschool and it stuck with us. The book was sadder, of course, but still pretty good. I was shocked to discover all the hidden propaganda hidden in the pages of it. It just seemed like a story to me with magic talking animals and pig-people.

We eventually decided to sit in a 'quaint old public house' as Mom put it. It seemed a small cottage with a beer garden outside and a red sign with golden writing: The Green Thorpe. We went inside and I could hear it was very noisy with speech and music but as soon as we stepped inside, the whole place went quiet. Even the music on the radio seemed to dim. The landlord looked at us coldly; we must have seemed a strange sight, especially with Mom still wearing those stupid sunglasses.

"Are you the new 'uns up at the 'ouse?" he said gravely. Mom flashed a white smile at him and nodded fervidly. There were a few old dears that muttered over in a corner but the place turned fairly back to normal, I'd say. We sat down at a table and Mom got us all Cokes. I sat sipping my Coke with my bag held firmly between my legs. Even here, the diary and tie was with me. I just couldn't leave it in the house where something could happen to them. I knew it was mad, crazy, foolish, insane, but I couldn't help it.

I eventually needed to go to the toilet and I sloped off to the Ladies. There was only one cubicle and it was occupied. I heard a rather high-pitched squeal as it opened and a tall, sophisticated lady with great tumbling red locks fell out. She looked at me blandly, and then took a double take, opening her eyes widely at me.

"You are from Ashgrove, aren't you?" she said eagerly. "You're the family who bought it up. Terrible what happened there...to an old friend of mine." she leaned on the sink. She then looked thoughtful and extended a hand out to me. "Charlotte Windsor-Smithe. I used to go to the house, when it was still a school."

"Excuse me, but what exactly happened to your friend? I knew that something was up soon as I got here but I didn't know what..." I trailed off. She sighed deeply and gave a small, melancholy grin.

"She was about seventeen when it happened. She fell in love with a teacher. A Professor Tennant, I believe. Of course, it might have been absolute rubbish but this is what I was told. Either way, one day...she was murdered. It was awful. Her blood was everywhere. She was murdered in the attic. The fellow she was supposed to be in love with - Tennant, yes, him - was found hanging with her blood all over his jacket. Strange thing though, they never did find his tie. He was always superbly dressed; I never did see him without a tie." She took a hard stare at my pallid face. "You look faint. Are you alright dear?"

"Oh...fine. I'm fine. Yes. I...I need to use the toilet." I said, dashing for the door. I locked it quickly behind me and threw up all over the toilet seat.