Little Ghost Girl
Little Ghost Girl
My bags were piled haphazardly in the trunk, and I gave the exterior of the house a critical once-over. Not very impressive, and I doubted the inside of the run-down little place would be much better. I was right too, the paint was peeling and a strange fuggy smell made the air thick and hard to breathe. Intruding vines had forced their way through the small windows and coiled themselves around the frames.
There was no television, and the radio crackled, more static than music. An old telephone hung out of its cradle, the lack of dial tone indicating it had been disconnected, and probably for a long time. I didn’t even bother looking for a computer. This place was more trouble than it was worth, and I doubted it would sell for very much. As soon as I returned to the city, it would be going straight on the market. I flicked on the kitchen’s light switch, sending cockroaches and rodents scurrying away in fear. How disgusting.
It was 7:30pm and already getting dark, without the luminous lights of my bustling hometown. I hadn’t eaten, nor was I particularly tired, but all I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep so that the morning would arrive faster, so that I could leave this place and return to my clean, functional residence.
I lay in the upstairs bedroom, pulling the thin blankets around me. They scratched against my sore legs, my old creaky joints no match for steep stairs. Two days worth of driving into the countryside had not been particularly enjoyable. Why Karin had left me with this run-down house I had no idea. She had known how much I would have hated it. Was this one last act to spite her elderly mother?
My daughter had been born without sight, and stormed out of the family home aged only eleven. From then on I had become a stranger to her, not even a letter from had reached me over the decades. Then suddenly, out of the blue, a man showed up to discuss the contents of her will. Karin would have been barely forty-two when she died, trampled by a horse she never knew had been there. By the time she heard the hoof beats, if she even had, it would have been too late. A running tractor had masked the sound.
Sighing, I rolled over. The country life was not for me, whereas Karin had loathed the city. Too dirty, she said. Too dirty, too noisy, and too smelly. Always the stubborn child. Every day she would come home from school covered in mud and twigs, adding to an endless pile of torn clothes on my sewing box.
Wind rushed over the house, howling through the cracks and banging the shutters open and shut. Silence descended but for the chirping crickets.
“Mama…Mama…Mama…”
What was that? A plaintive cry whispered through the stillness, familiar and yet so distant. The voice of a child, reaching out to me. The sadness of the voice tugged at my heart, the maternal side of me longing to embrace and comfort it. “Hello?” I asked, sitting up. “Is anyone out there?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, it had been a slow process for me once the arthritis had started to set in. But I, Elaine Madeline Fursha was a strong woman, and I was not, and I repeat, not, going to surrender to my aching limbs. Wrapping a fluffy dressing gown firmly over my pajamas, I readied myself to brave the tiresome stairs once more.
Once safely on the landing below, I pulled the rusty keys from the hook and stepped outside. The muddy ground squelched disgustingly underfoot, moisture seeping between my bare toes. What on earth was I doing? And why couldn’t I answer that?
A small path was to the right, heavily overgrown with bushes, sap glistening from the trunks of overhanging trees. Twigs scratched my wrinkled skin, the gloom concealing rocks and neglected stumps. Small insects buzzed in my ears, and for how long I walked I did not know. The tuneful, faraway little voice grew stronger with every step I took.
“Mama…Mama…why can’t you see me?”
I lifted my head, the voice was close. Soft moonlight shone, illuminating the trees with shimmering light. Fireflies flitted and danced to the cicada’s song like little fairies around toadstools, and the throaty croaks of frogs drummed out a beat. Moonflowers opened from their buds, revealing their beautiful petals. I inhaled deeply the crisp, refreshing night air. How could I have not noticed all this before?
I now understood why Karin had been so enchanted by this place, I felt it had ensnared me as well. All that time I had been the blind one, not her. Every time I had dragged her to another clinic, another doctor to look at her damaged eyes, I had never realized her sight was already perfect. She was already my perfect little daughter. It was me who was flawed.
The girl flickered slightly, then came into hazy focus. Her long dark hair trailing behind her, and her ashy, sightless eyes stared at me. She was young, the familiar image of the young preteen who had pushed herself away from me all those years ago. Why had I let it get to that point? If I had listened to her, if I had stopped trying to make my daughter live as me, it may never have.
By leaving me this house, it had been her final explanation, her final farewell. She had left with me the one thing she valued above all else, I had been left with the one thing she had valued above all else during her life. Her home. Now my home.
“K-Karin?”
“Mama…you can see me!” Her worried expression vanished as she reached out, ghostly fingertips gliding over the features of my face, seeing me with her hands. The girl’s empty eyes lit up with happiness.
“I can now.”
There was no television, and the radio crackled, more static than music. An old telephone hung out of its cradle, the lack of dial tone indicating it had been disconnected, and probably for a long time. I didn’t even bother looking for a computer. This place was more trouble than it was worth, and I doubted it would sell for very much. As soon as I returned to the city, it would be going straight on the market. I flicked on the kitchen’s light switch, sending cockroaches and rodents scurrying away in fear. How disgusting.
It was 7:30pm and already getting dark, without the luminous lights of my bustling hometown. I hadn’t eaten, nor was I particularly tired, but all I wanted to do was sleep. Sleep so that the morning would arrive faster, so that I could leave this place and return to my clean, functional residence.
I lay in the upstairs bedroom, pulling the thin blankets around me. They scratched against my sore legs, my old creaky joints no match for steep stairs. Two days worth of driving into the countryside had not been particularly enjoyable. Why Karin had left me with this run-down house I had no idea. She had known how much I would have hated it. Was this one last act to spite her elderly mother?
My daughter had been born without sight, and stormed out of the family home aged only eleven. From then on I had become a stranger to her, not even a letter from had reached me over the decades. Then suddenly, out of the blue, a man showed up to discuss the contents of her will. Karin would have been barely forty-two when she died, trampled by a horse she never knew had been there. By the time she heard the hoof beats, if she even had, it would have been too late. A running tractor had masked the sound.
Sighing, I rolled over. The country life was not for me, whereas Karin had loathed the city. Too dirty, she said. Too dirty, too noisy, and too smelly. Always the stubborn child. Every day she would come home from school covered in mud and twigs, adding to an endless pile of torn clothes on my sewing box.
Wind rushed over the house, howling through the cracks and banging the shutters open and shut. Silence descended but for the chirping crickets.
“Mama…Mama…Mama…”
What was that? A plaintive cry whispered through the stillness, familiar and yet so distant. The voice of a child, reaching out to me. The sadness of the voice tugged at my heart, the maternal side of me longing to embrace and comfort it. “Hello?” I asked, sitting up. “Is anyone out there?” I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, it had been a slow process for me once the arthritis had started to set in. But I, Elaine Madeline Fursha was a strong woman, and I was not, and I repeat, not, going to surrender to my aching limbs. Wrapping a fluffy dressing gown firmly over my pajamas, I readied myself to brave the tiresome stairs once more.
Once safely on the landing below, I pulled the rusty keys from the hook and stepped outside. The muddy ground squelched disgustingly underfoot, moisture seeping between my bare toes. What on earth was I doing? And why couldn’t I answer that?
A small path was to the right, heavily overgrown with bushes, sap glistening from the trunks of overhanging trees. Twigs scratched my wrinkled skin, the gloom concealing rocks and neglected stumps. Small insects buzzed in my ears, and for how long I walked I did not know. The tuneful, faraway little voice grew stronger with every step I took.
“Mama…Mama…why can’t you see me?”
I lifted my head, the voice was close. Soft moonlight shone, illuminating the trees with shimmering light. Fireflies flitted and danced to the cicada’s song like little fairies around toadstools, and the throaty croaks of frogs drummed out a beat. Moonflowers opened from their buds, revealing their beautiful petals. I inhaled deeply the crisp, refreshing night air. How could I have not noticed all this before?
I now understood why Karin had been so enchanted by this place, I felt it had ensnared me as well. All that time I had been the blind one, not her. Every time I had dragged her to another clinic, another doctor to look at her damaged eyes, I had never realized her sight was already perfect. She was already my perfect little daughter. It was me who was flawed.
The girl flickered slightly, then came into hazy focus. Her long dark hair trailing behind her, and her ashy, sightless eyes stared at me. She was young, the familiar image of the young preteen who had pushed herself away from me all those years ago. Why had I let it get to that point? If I had listened to her, if I had stopped trying to make my daughter live as me, it may never have.
By leaving me this house, it had been her final explanation, her final farewell. She had left with me the one thing she valued above all else, I had been left with the one thing she had valued above all else during her life. Her home. Now my home.
“K-Karin?”
“Mama…you can see me!” Her worried expression vanished as she reached out, ghostly fingertips gliding over the features of my face, seeing me with her hands. The girl’s empty eyes lit up with happiness.
“I can now.”