Jane couldn't sleep. Her mind kept returning to those ethereal balls of light, dancing in the air like little skirts donned by invisible dancers. In her dreams, they spoke to her. They had faces and names, with eerie but beautiful music playing in the background.
Her bedroom came into focus slowly. Jane lifted her head, feeling a bit like she was in the wrong world. Mother was still asleep. The window showed gentle dawn-light trickling in, twilight blue with golden edges. Squinting her eyes, she found the outline of the doorframe, then the closet, then the floorboards.
Jane had a system for this. If the mattress creaked when she rolled off of it, she'd stay. If it stayed quiet, she was clear to go. She'd only snuck out a few times, and never beyond the front yard. Today was different. Today was fireworks day.
The mattress teetered at the edge of complaining. Jane expertly leaned her shoulder in the opposite direction, giving the mattress enough balance to keep silent. Then, in nothing but her underclothes and pajamas, she ran away.
The neighboring house looked the same as ever. Wide, shuttered windows with cracks running through them. A door with missing hinges. This place had been rented long ago, but now was nothing but a vandal's work of art. A large, incoherent scribble covered the left half of the roof in metallic purple spray paint. The flower patch smelled like rotten eggs, and shattered glass decorated the front porch.
Jane Fulford gulped. Sharp, terrible wind whistled through her hair and ears, stinging her cheeks. Wouldn't it be better to find a way over the fence? Looking at the front of it made her hands clammy and her toes curl up. Witches or demons or some exorcism ritual could have caused those fireworks. Or murderers, or drug dealers. Every muscle in her body went tense. Wait until morning, she begged herself. Wait. Until. Morning.
No. Why should I? I've read loads of stories about demons and witches and the like. They live in spooky houses in the woods. Does this look like the woods?
...Well, there's a tree in the front yard...
Oh, come off it! You're going to have to go in there, or you'll stop dreaming about the orbs and start having nightmares about this stupid house instead!
The thing that finally pushed her over the edge was thinking about what would happen if she kept standing here until mum woke up, and then how cross mum would be, and then how terrible their day off together would be. But she'd come this far, which was too far to run away from now.
Plus, her friends would be so impressed. They had dared eachother to go inside so many time she'd lost count, and she would be the first one to actually go.
She steeled herself and approached the house, too afraid to open her eyes all the way, too afraid to close them. Underbrush had taken over the front yard, so she had to step carefully, and it cast dark, intricate shadows on her face. Nothing but a two-and-a-half foot wooden gate stood between her and the backyard. She could smell something burning.
Jane stopped. Why hadn't she thought this through? What would she do once she got into the backyard? What was she even looking for?
But now that she'd done it, she had to press on. All the way through the house. All the way through the yard. All she'd done is make sure she didn't get killed by walking into a front-door booby trap. Haunted houses always had those. She just had to see if there was anyone living here. People that could have set off the fireworks. Although just looking at the state of the house should've answered that question for her. Jane continued through the plants, shivering tremendously.
January, she cursed. Bad things always happened in January. Last year had been the worst month of her entire life. The year before that, well... she wouldn't think about that. Vines tickled and beetles squirmed beneath her feet, making her recoil, at first. It was much darker in the backyard, once she'd passed through a rust-encrusted little gate that was stuck open and leaning sideways. It smelled... cleaner. Earthier. Colder. Pine trees stood around the borders, rustling like they were whispering. She could see the sky above her, the pebbles below, but everything else was indiscernable. Luckily, Jane wasn't particularly afraid of the dark.
"Hello," she whispered to the trees, feeling an urge to introduce herself. "I'm looking for someone. It will only take a few minutes."
Jane shivered. If only there was some magic spell you could whisper, some torch that worked in your mind instead of on batteries. She would pull it out, and chase all the horrible things away. The things in her imagination that drooled and dripped and growled.
As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a set of stairs. An enormous spiderweb had been built over the frame, but she simply snapped it apart with a long stick. She kept the image of the fireworks firmly in her mind, and had to wait several seconds before the memory was strong enough to let her enter through the back door.
Things were impossible to see inside, so Jane went by touch. Terror riveted her feet to the earth in these moments, and if gravity had vanished she would've stayed exactly where she was. All her hairs stood on end. But she had to find out about the fireworks. Dust swirled around her as she entered, appraising her and then settling in on her pajamas. Suddenly, her knee bumped a table so hard she fell over. Dust avalanched into her face. Dishes rattled around on the lopsided table, but the sound got absorbed into the dusty air within moments.
Jane's heartrate did not get absorbed. She couldn't move, until she imagined something creeping up behind her, at which point she twirled around, getting onto her feet and trembling erratically. Something skin-like brushed her hand.
Jane froze. Every bone in her body turned to ice. At the same time, she inhaled enough dust and cobweb to fill a salt shaker and screamed.
"Shh, shh!" hissed a young voice. Jane kept her mouth open in case more screaming was needed, or in any case to keep sucking in rapid breaths of dusty air. She couldn't move. People were in this house. People. Or spirits, or ghouls, or-
Neither of them spoke for a moment, but both of them sensed the other's presence acutely. Finally, the hand reached out and touched Jane's arm again. She stiffened, pupils dilating, but didn't say anything. Maybe the other person, whoever they were, was just as scared as she was. Yes, I'm human, she thought to herself, but are they?
Suddenly, she remembered why she'd come here, and withdrew her arm from their uncertain touch. "I saw fireworks," she whispered into the dark. It felt like she was speaking to the dark, or to the house, at least. It made her feel powerful, like a magician who could talk to stones and make them dance.
"Fireworks?" the voice echoed. It sounded like a boy's voice, now.
"Yes. I want to know about them."
She tried to keep all tremor out of her voice. It didn't do to sound afraid when dealing with ghosts. If he was a ghost. She didn't think so-but she didn't think he wasn't, either. Maybe he could be both. Or- her heart clenched- a boy possessed by a ghost. Not that she believed in things like th-that.
"What fireworks?" He sounded afraid. Could ghosts be afraid?
He knew what she was talking about. She could just hear it in his voice, the little devil. Jane stiffened her upper lip and described them. "Silvery and gold, round things that floated around in the air." Now her voice sounded defiant, even though she was still trembling like a leaf. "I saw them in your backyard."
For a long time, there was no answer. Then: "I can't tell you."
"Show me."
"I can't. I- Well..."
She waited, heartbeat slowing down as she listened.
"Have you heard of Armando Dippet?"
A test. Easy. "Yes."
But the voice didn't say another word. Maybe he sensed that she was lying. Maybe he simply disappeared. Maybe he left for some other reason, in some other way; but he was gone. Her heart sank. All this way, and she'd only met a scared ghost boy.
The way back to her bed was tinged with disappointment. She made her way quickly, ignoring any residue of fear that jumped up at the sight of the undergrowth or the house. As she slipped back into bed, the light outside glowed dim orange. The sun was rising.
That morning, whether she slept or not, one thing was clear: she would have to go back to that house.
