Original Ladiesbingo Prompt: ""The Eyes are the Window of the Soul"

This takes place in the Netflix-verse.

Warnings for heavy discussions of death

"Ms. Esme, is it true that our neighborhood is haunted?"

Esme's throat tightened. When she'd invited Karen over, it had been with the expectation that she'd ask a few colorful questions. Though, truth be told, she'd been expecting something more along the lines of if she knew how to fly a broomstick.

(The answer was, regrettably, no - though certainly not for a lack of trying back when she'd been Karen's own age.)

"Why do you ask?" She continued digging through the cupboard as she spoke. She pulled back a bottle of rosemary and a box of pita chips before her eyes finally landed on the package of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies she'd tucked into the back after her last trip to the grocery store. It wasn't the easiest spot to reach, but that was probably for the best. Would the package still be two-thirds full if she'd kept it sitting out at eye level?

"My house is haunted."

Esme turned, the right side of her lip shooting upwards. "As you've mentioned to me many times before."

Though the former Mr. Brewer had passed some time before she'd moved next door, if he was anything like his son or grandson, then she would have been proud to call him her neighbor.

"Was he the one who ate dandelions?"

Karen nodded. "Yes! Can you believe it?"

"Of course," Esme replied. "I've had more than my fair share of them myself. There's no better way to accentuate a salad."

She crossed the kitchen and opened a hanging cabinet, pulling out a blue, hand-glazed plate.

"Really?"

"Really! You're welcome to come back over here and try some next spring." She grabbed a handful of cookies and began arranging them on the plate below. "I should warn you when they're at full flower they can be quite bitter. That said, I've found that frying then with a little olive oil can work wonders."

"My great-grandpa never fried them."

"Then the poor man was missing out."

Karen giggled. "My dad says that he used to pull them straight out of the ground and eat the top in one bite!"

"Oh, that's not so strange. I did that myself once back on a Girl Scouts camping trip." It had certainly looked better than the handful of grass her friend had tried!

Esme turned and headed for the round wooden table nestled firmly in the center of her kitchen. She placed the plate of cookies directly in front of Karen before pulling her own chair out.

"Our tea should be ready soon," Esme said, grabbing a cookie. "Would you like anything in it?"

"Milk, lots of milk!"

Esme smiled. "That can be arranged. Which would you prefer, oat or almond?"

"Oat," Karen replied. She bit into a cookie. "You never," she said, crumbs flying from her mouth as she spoke, "answered my question. Is it true that our neighborhood is haunted, or is it just my house?"

Esme pressed her lips together. Death was a part of life that sooner or later touched everyone. She'd certainly been on the receiving end of it more than she cared for. Her parents, her college roommate, her husband, even her dear old Midnight, had all passed onto the other world. As many times as death crossed her path, there was still no way to prepare herself for fate's cold embrace. Even now, almost half a decade after Hector had drawn his last breath, her house still felt empty. Some days it seemed like she lived in a museum of memories.

It didn't help that every new lump she found and pain that raced through her, which pullulated with every passing year, sent her heart racing. Her near seventy years of life was a gift that, much as the thought made her stomach tighten, could be taken at any moment.

"Have you," Karen continued, "ever seen a ghost?" She smacked her forehead with her palm. A light crack echoed through the room. "You're a witch! Of course you've seen ghosts."

Esme chuckled. "I wouldn't jump to conclusions if I were you." She looked down to the table. "I'm a mystic, not a medium. My specialty is helping to guide the living towards becoming their best selves."

"You mean you've never seen a ghost?"

Esme shook her head. Oh, she'd felt uneasy in graveyards (but who, she wondered, hasn't?) and gone to a seance or two, but that wasn't the same as actually seeing a spectre. Maybe her hands wouldn't be shaking like the way they were now if she had.

If the eyes really were the window to the soul, then hers had yet to show her any.

"My friend Hannie says that the house next door to mine - the other house next door - is haunted. Amanda Delaney says that her house is, too."

Esme bit her lip. Apparently, the neighborhood children were intrepid paranormal investigators. That or they'd just heard one too many rumors. With those houses, it wasn't hard to cook up tall tales.

The tea kettle's sudden shriek caused both their backs to stiffen. Karen, wide-eyed, looked straight at her.

"Lots of milk," she repeated. "Please."

A great gust of steam rose from the kettle's spout as Esme switched the stove off. It continued rising for a few moments, hitting the ceiling in great grey clouds before evaporating into the surrounding air as if it had never been there at all.

With homes as old as theirs were, there wasn't a single house on this block that hadn't seen someone pass inside of it. Time always took what it was due. Yet that fact had done little to blunt the shock that had rippled across the neighborhood when death's cold hands had gripped it.

Esme took in a long breath and only released it once her heart had begun to slow. Before she went to bed tonight, she'd open all her windows and light some extra sage. Maybe then the dark energies hanging over her home would dissolve.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Karen." Esme said as she made her way to the fridge. Her eyes landed directly on a drawing pinned to it of a black cat that the girl had given her a few months back. "The reason that I'm saying this is because I don't want you believing every wild tale your friends tell you."

"What do you mean?"

Esme stared into the fridge for just a few moments too long before grabbing the milk carton. "Sometimes stories are true. I won't deny that. But as time passes and people move, the way those stories are told can change. Maybe someone adds in extra parts to make it more exciting, or someone forgets an important fact. Other time everything is made up. With these kinds of stories, you never know."

"So, the houses aren't haunted?"

"I never said that. But if they are... Well, the stories behind them aren't as exciting as you might believe them to be."

"Huh?"

The house next door - Esme knew exactly which one Karen was referring to. The red three-story had never seemed so small as it had the day that Rachel had returned to it from the hospital with only one daughter in tow. It had all happened so suddenly - the broken leg that wasn't a soccer injury, not really, the long weeks their home sat empty as the small family hopped from one medical center to the next - that no one seemed to have caught their breaths when it all came crashing to an end. She'd seen Rachel's daughter just once during that time. Her collarbones had jutted out from her paper thin skin, her head suddenly seeming far too big for her frame without the thick, chocolate-colored curls that had once bounced with every step she took.

As for the Delaneys', that one was a bit fuzzier. The Kilbournes had moved out just as she and Hector had been moving in. Though really, could anyone blame them for wanting to get out? To Esme, their daughter had only ever existed in newspaper clippings and hushed whispers.

Esme grabbed the tea kettle and clutched its handle so tightly that her knuckles paled. "Whatever you do, promise me one thing, Karen."

"What?"

"Don't go telling everything that I'm about to say to you to all your friends just so that you can scare them."

Death was a fact of life, that was most certainly true. But it was just as true that those girls had been, if her memory served her correctly, no older than Karen's step-sister. Wherever they were, whatever was left of them, they deserved to be remembered as more than mere boogeymen.

I was heartbroken when I learned that Netflix cancelled the BSC. There was still the potential for so many more cool scenes, like Karen and Morbidda Destiny becoming friends and Abby and (the real) Shannon appearing. Let's just say that when I started wondering why the two weren't in the show my mind went to dark places. (Yes, I know the real reason is probably because of the show's budget and an already sizeable cast.)