PROLOGUE: Friendly Ghosts in the Attic.

Isadora starred up at the house with a slightly raised brow, taking in the most disgusting white color of the building. It was small, sure, and placed in a small little village that she was sure was fit to raise children.

And this new foster family had a lot. Well, a lot to her. The most she was used to was two, tops. This family had three little ones and another who just turned eighteen and moved out. However, the dad was some big deal surgeon for this town and made loads, so they could afford another mouth to feed.

This was not her first family, she'd been passed around homes like some discarded book since she was seven. Now she was fifteen, and was pretty certain she was the most mature person to walk to earth. Sure, there were adults, but she had seen it all.

"How's it look, sweetie?" The father of the household, Arnold Davenport, asked. He was kind, sure, but sooner or later the family would get bored of her offbeat personality and she'd be shipped off to the next family looking to fix her.

Giving a shrug of her shoulder, Isadora responded was a small, "Good." His response was giving her a huge grin, and she couldn't help but manage to give one back. Wrapping his arm securely around her shoulder, the two began to make their way into the home.

There was five members of the household she needed to remember: Arnold; Jeanette, the mother; Clara, who was two years younger than her; Arnold Jr., or called Arnie, who was nine; and Eloise, who was six.

A typical white American family, which made her dark skin and wild curls of hair stand out. It didn't help that the two girls were gingers like their mother, or that Arnie and his dad shared the same light blonde hair. They all had light blue eyes, unlike her own dark ones. She felt like the odd one out, even down to her clothes.

Isadora was dressed in her typical outfit of a jean jacket over a graphic t-shirt, blue jeans with paint splatters she put there on purpose, and beat up converse. The girls all had at least something flora on them, and the two boys looked ready to serve dinner with the President and Queen.

It was typical for families to not understand how she felt singled out. They were the ones looking alike, not her. They were the ones who had spent most of their time together, she was just some stranger they took in, trying to make themselves feel better.

It seemed to happen so quickly. She met the children, they had dinner (Jeanette had asked her to say the prayer, and she had to softly mutter that she was Jewish), and was shown her room in the attic.

She liked the attic.

It stopped the sounds of screaming kids who had plagued her afternoon. She was sure that after a few days she'd get used to it, but for now, all it did was cause a migraine.

The room was plain, which she was sure was so she could express her creativity with. That pleased her since she already had ten thousand ideas running through her head. She typically spent several months with a family, but if she tried, she could stretch this one out if it meant they'd let her decorate her room.

Changed into her sleeping clothes - some big shirt that was her dad's and boxer shorts she probably stole from some old foster sibling - and climbed into her bed. It was comfortable, different from the last house, which had a lumpy and hard mattress.

Isadora was half asleep when something was knocked off of the bookshelf. Sitting up and lettering out a terrified squeak, she stared wide-eyed at what seemed to be a couple in the room. She first assumed it was Arnold and Jeanette, but neither were brunette.

"What? Who are you―" She was stopped again by the woman making cautious steps towards her, causing Isadora to pull herself out of bed and stand in her best attempt of a defensive pose.

The man walked up behind him, a shocked look on his face, "Wait, you can see us?" He had glasses perched on his nose and rather handsome, seemed smart too. The girl beside him was very pretty: Sharp jawline, pouted lips, and curly brown hair. The two dressed like they were from some cheesy romance movie of the '80s.

"Yes… why wouldn't I?" She deadpanned, looking between the two stunned faces. An awkward silence filled the room, causing Isadora's stance to loosen. The two people looked harmless enough, and maybe they were just a nice couple who stayed in the attic. Though, she was sure at least someone would mention them. Especially Arnie, that boy loved to talk.

The couple, who she had now learned was named Adam and Barbara Maitland, had attempted to sum up their situation. They had passed away in 1988 after drowning in a car accident and were now cursed to forever haunt their old home forever. They hadn't spoken to anyone since the family that lived there before the Davenports, the Deetz, moved out. It had been a lonely life for the last thirteen years, only having each other to talk to. They explained that people tended to ignore the ghosts and couldn't see them.

"Other than a girl, no older than yourself." Ended Barbara, "Her name was Lydia, and she spoke to us just fine."

Isadora had surprisingly taken the news lightly, telling them that she hoped they could be good friends and she was very tired. Ghosts in her bedroom seemed like nothing more than a benefit of this foster family, so she was now even more determined to stay longer than she normally did. A year, at least. Give me a year.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Hi! Hope you enjoyed this, and fair warning: The Winchesters won't get involved until later ;)

Next chapter should hopefully be longer - Summer is starting soon!