The next day, I awoke with the idea to do more exploring in my old home. I wondered what else Leota had done to it. The next room on my list was the attic. I was a little apprehensive to go where Emily had died so long ago, but one thing strengthened my resolve: the possibility that she might still be there.

She wasn't like a parent to me. She was more like an incredibly loving older sister. Ever since I had come into my ghostly existence, this thought had haunted me. Leota wanted me to be without my parents, but does a stepmother really count as such? Especially at Emily's tender age of sixteen.

I stretched and got out of bed. Dressing quickly, I ran out of my room, and through the many twisted halls of my mansion. Along the way, I ran into a trio of servants whom I hadn't seen for a long time. Asa Gilbert, Eddy Foster, and Daniel Patterson were the Mansion's handyman, gardener, and liveryman. They had been roustabouts at the same circus as my mother, and they felt great affection for her and for me.

They greeted me warmly, and Asa said quietly, "if it's not overstepping a servant's boundaries, Miss Christine, you're as beautiful as your mother. We were extremely saddened by her loss." Eddy and Daniel nodded in agreement.

I could feel my Mama's light southern drawl creeping into my voice, like it always did when I talked to her three friends. I've often thought that maybe it happened to assure them that as long as I was around, my mother would never truly be gone.

"Thank you so much, boys. That means the world to me. Now, would y'all do me a favor, and tell me what that witch Leota's done to the attic so I can prepare myself for any possible unpleasantness?"

Daniel grinned. "No unpleasantness in the attic, Miss Christine, but you might find someone who will cheer you up a bit."

I let out a little squeal of joy, thanked them, and turned on my heel, racing towards the attic steps. When I reached them, I leaped up two steps at a time. As I neared the top, I could hear a young woman singing. Emily sang sometimes, but the voice was singing opera, and Emily was never trained in opera.

I stood at the doorway with one hand on the frame, and listened. I could finally make out all the words of the young woman's song.

I knocked on the doorframe, and finally managed to get her attention. She turned around and let out a little happy squeal.

"Christine!" she ran towards me and embraced me tight. Then, all of a sudden, she pulled back, looking saddened.

"Christine, what has happened to you? I thought for sure that you would be an old woman the next time we met!"

I looked at her, strangely disoriented. I could tell it wasn't Emily, but who else did I know who died shrouded in their trousseau?

Finally, it came to me to look in her eyes for clues to her identity. She was of average height with long, chestnut brown hair pulled back into her bridal veil. Her brown eyes were concerned as they searched mine.

Looking at her wasn't helping. I pulled away from her hug, and went to sit on Emily's trunk to give myself thinking time. I shut my eyes and let my short life play like a movie in front of my eyes.

The first memory that came occurred during my happy years with my father. When I was six and seven, we had spent summers in the old ghost town of Thunder Mesa. The hotel we had stayed at on both occasions had once been the home of Henry and Martha Ravenswood, and their daughter Melanie.

Melanie had died around 1860, awhile after a huge earthquake struck the town. The local people said it was heartache that did her in. I asked her about the real cause of her death when she would come to haunt my room at night.

She had just looked at me sadly, and said that that was true. After a vengeful spirit killed her fiancé on their wedding day, she lost the will to live. About a week after the earthquake, pneumonia swept through the town, and although there was treatment available, she rejected it. With the last of her strength, she had pulled herself to his grave, and laid there, whispering reassurances to her dear, departed beloved.

But after she died, she didn't get to see him. I could relate to that now. I remembered Melanie's face, and opened my eyes to look at the figure at the window. She looked back, waiting for a response. I stood up, and tentatively walked over to her, touching her arm.

"Melanie?" I whispered, shocked, and happy that I had at least one friend around here.

"Yes!" she squealed again. "It's about time, young lady. I was sure you'd remember me!"

I laughed. "Be nice to me. It's been years since I stayed at your house, and you know it."

Rolling her eyes, she hugged me again, and this time, I hugged her back.

"So," she said, releasing me, "how did you end up here?"

"Leota," I said sulkily. "She cursed me so I would stay here forever after I died, and no one would love me."

Melanie shook her head. "She's failed already, hasn't she? I mean, I love you like a sister, and who knows how many relatives you've got downstairs? Not to mention the three servants who knew your mother."

I nodded. "But what about a boy? I mean, there's no one here that I see myself falling in love with. And Melanie, once Leota figures out what you already know, she'll make sure I never fall in love, I'm sure of it!"

Melanie just laughed. "Are you allowed to leave the house?" she asked me.

I nodded. "I can, I just never saw a reason to."

She grinned, barely able to contain her excitement. "Come with me to Thunder Mesa! There are lots of handsome young men there and one in particular who's been asking about you forever."

I pulled her closer to me. "Who is it?"

She shook her head, smiling gleefully with her knowledge. "You have to come with me to find out, now don't you?"

I feigned exasperation, and took her hand. We were just about to head out the door when a dark, shadowy figure materialized in front of it, blocking our way.