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Ghost
Once the pantry shelves, which had been so thick with dust that Donja and her mother used an entire bottle of Mr. Clean, were spick-and-span, Donja put the groceries away. She then explored the huge kitchen with double aisles of white cupboards adorned by etched glass doors. The countertops were thick and crafted from solid wood which was heavily stained. The entire room reeked of age.
Donja ran her hands over the countertop. “These are awful.”
Lisa frowned. “I’ll bleach them out, but they’ll have to do for the time being. The upstairs, for you girls, is our main priority.”
“Thanks Mom.” She raised her hands and sniffed. “Phew! I think I’ll go upstairs and get cleaned up before we cook. The smell of Mr. Clean is not very appetizing.”
Lisa laughed. “Go ahead and take the bed pillows I bought for you and Makayla, they’re on the sofa.”
In the living room, where shadows from the oil lamps danced with demonic fingers, Donja found the plastic covered pillows. She scooped them up and headed for the door, the ancient floors creaking. She glanced back, all but certain someone was watching from the dining room. She stared. Nothing. She took a breath.
I’ll be glad when they install regular lighting, these oil lamps are too creepy.
Balancing the pillows, Donja sashayed down the hallway. She found the wide spiraling staircase with dark, well-worn runes which supported an ornate bannister. She slowly climbed, peering over the four pillows in her arms as the mournful creak of the wooden stairs echoed. Finding the landing, she set a brisk clip in the dimly lighted hallway adorned by antique lamps with diaphanous shades. She looked over her shoulder at Frankie’s bedroom door at the end of shadowed hall, then turned and picked up her pace. She passed the master bedroom, the door ajar, and spied unpacked boxes stacked against one wall. Something creaked and she looked over her shoulder. Seeing nothing, she moved on.
Outside the bathroom she laid the pillows on the hall rug. She pushed her hair behind her ears and gazed nervously left then right. That same eerie feeling washed over her. She shivered, then grasped the brass knob. The door creaked miserably as she stepped inside and locked it. She pivoted, then pressed her back to the door. The room was untidy and reeked of mold, dirty laundry and something else, something medicinal.
“Whew!”
She glanced about, evening sunlight stealing past the solitary window where dust particles danced to some unheard melody. She scanned the perimeter and noticed a spider web in the bear claw bathtub. She edged to the lavatory which was an ancient monstrosity of white porcelain with two black chips. Directly to the side where the floor looked warped and uneven, she saw a huge commode which rose from the floor with a coiled base that put her in mind of sea shell. She turned on the water and soaped her hands. A glance to the mirror with black splotchy stains on the edges revealed her shadowed eyes, which for the time of day looked pretty good. She dried her hands, then curious, opened the medicine cabinet which was filled with cork-topped apothecary flasks, Ben Gay and empty aspirin bottles. The dreadful odor wafting from the cabinet smelled so toxic that she closed the door with a snap. She turned away from the mirror as an eerie disquiet found her and try as she may, she couldn’t assuage the feeling that she was not alone.
She took her leave, grabbed the pillows from the floor and walked the hallway with her black ankle boots tapping in unison. Nearing her bedroom, she noticed a faint shimmer of light from beneath the door. She grasped the knob and with her foot, pushed the door which begrudgingly squeaked open. She stepped inside, and peering from behind the pillows saw Makayla and Heather sitting on Makayla’s bed. They were deep in conversation. Makayla stood up and the room fell deadly still. Donja headed for her bed and dropped the pillows. With a stealthy glance, which found Makayla and Heather staring, she offered up a smile as best she could, grabbed two of the pillows and cut the distance between herself and Makayla. “Mom said these are for you.”
“Thanks,” Makayla whispered as she took them, avoiding eye contact.
Heather stood up and put her phone in her purse. “My mom should be here any minute to pick me up.” She gave Donja a quick once over, then flipped her waist length, chestnut hair.
Donja turned away. Heather was not only glitzy, but the damn girl reeked of money with diamond stud earrings and a diamond necklace so bright it would blind you. Her spiked heels were so high that Donja wondered how she could walk in that tight, blue miniskirt and that sequined halter top beneath her waist length jacket was so low cut it was sinful.
“I’ll walk you down,” Makayla said.
Donja bit at her lip.
Yeah get going, you little rich girls. Cinderella’s ashes might rub off on you!
Donja watched as they took their leave and just before the door closed, she heard Heather say, “this house is totally creepy.”
Donja ripped the plastic covers off her pillows. She tossed them on her bed which looked like something from the Middle Ages. It was huge with an eight-foot headboard carved with lion heads and ornate swirls. She scanned the room’s sixteen-foot ceilings and papered walls, the smell of moth balls all but forcing a sneeze. She sighed heavily, then tucked her hair behind one ear and for the second time in as much as an hour, felt as if she were being watched. The nape of her neck prickled.
“Are you here, Lady of the Manor?” she whispered with her eyes darting about the room.
Silence.
“Are you really a ghost?”
Wind from the open window tossed the lace curtains. Donja jumped, then catching herself, hugged her arms to her chest.
This place is horrible!
She turned, arranged the pillows on her bed then reached out and touched the ornate headboard.
Lion heads on the steps, brass knocker, the mantel, the entry gate, the bannisters and the furniture. What’s up with that?
Something creaked, God knows what, possibly the house settling, who knows but it frayed her last nerve. She rushed for the door. In the hallway she hurried past twisted shadows which she now feared weren’t shadows at all. She bolted down the stairs and felt a bit of relief as she reached her destination, for the kitchen was bright with light, the smell of garlic and Parmesan enticing. She was surprised to see Makayla leaning on the countertop talking with her mom, who was busy at the stove. She approached with jaundiced caution.
“Makayla’s a little unnerved by the house,” Lisa said.
