The torch in my 'and is sweaty and keeps wanting to slip from my 'and. I 'old onto it tighter as without it the darkness will come, with its secrets and monsters and cold, calculated fear. It's not like the light brings any difference in this godforsaken place, it just makes the off-white walls glow and the splintered floor just visible.

Everything feels off, from the floor beneath my feet smothered in fog to the shivers that rock my spine. I've come to recognise the signs that I'm not in anywhere I'm familiar with, I realise with a slight surprise. I kneel on the floor, wincing as my knees are stabbed by thousands of tiny pieces of wood. I move my hands to create a slight breeze in an attempt to reveal the floor.

All I can see is wood and grubby wall as far as my eyes are able to see. I'm about to try and move on when I notice something , a dark red raindrop sliding down the wall. I blink twice, it's still there.

I get to my feet.

The mist is beginning to clear, without my 'elp. I clench my hands as words begin to be visible.

Help me

The words, in what I'm sure is my brother's blood, are thickly painted on the badly-plastered wall in front of me. They swim in front of my eyes as I take a step backwards, mind racing through all the things in the world that could 'ave 'appened to 'im.

"No." I tremble. "No."

I spin round and round, not sure where I am or where I'm going, time moving jerkily.

"What 'ave you done to 'im?!"

I'm not sure when I feel the 'and on my shoulder but when I do I'm on the floor sobbing, memories screaming inside my 'ead from long ago and worry crowding my brain. I whip around and whack the person in the legs with the torch, scrambling to my feet as I point it at 'im like it's a dangerous weapon. The figure looks at me like I'm mad.

"I don't mean you any harm, I promise."

The figure's voice is female, posh, young and sounds like those London soaps Mum and Mary used to be invested in when I were young.

"What's your name?" I ask, taking a step forward. You can never trust anyone 'ere. She takes a step backwards.

"What's your name." I ask more calmly, tears still pouring from my eyes as I look at her. My 'and shakes violently.

"Alex. Alex Drake." She says softly and silently reaches over to move the torch up a bit so I can see 'er face.

She's about the same age as Mary, maybe a touch older, with softly curling brown hair that brushes her shoulders. Hazel eyes look me over with curiosity and concern, rimmed with dark circles that give an idea of many sleepless nights.

"You?" She asks. I falter.

"Emma Skelton." I say quietly.

She looks at me and her brow furrows. "I've heard that name before." She mutters before she looks towards the wall.

With the air of someone who knows how to deal with things like this, she strides over to the letters to take a closer look. I can tell that 'er eyes are scanning the red letters, examining them, but I can't bring myself to look up again.

"Shine the torch this way, Emma." She calls. "This looks like…"

She turns to face me, 'olding 'er 'and in front of 'er.

"Do you know anything about this?"

I shake my 'ead.

"I think it's my brother's." I say, my voice shaking.

'er eyes narrow. "Your brother's?"

"Chris Skelton. 'e died, in '66, but I've been seeing 'im since the summer." I explain, mind only catching up with what I'm saying to 'er afterwards.

"Seeing?" She asks.

"Like a ghost. Ma'am." I add as an afterthought – mumma always taught us to address older women respectfully.

She looks back at the letters on the wall, and back to me.

"How old are you, Emma?" She asks.

"16, but I were about to be 8 when 'e died."

I can see 'er doing the maths in 'er 'ead.

"1974… but that can't be right, it's 1998." She mutters.

"It's 1974, Ma'am." I say, tipping my 'ead to the side. "1998 is decades away."

"Sharon was being haunted by 1980, now I'm being haunted by 1974." She whispers and runs a 'and through 'er 'air.

"Sharon?"

"WPC Sharon Granger." 'er face falls for a moment. "She talked a lot about a man called Chris, a couple of years ago now."

"I know a Miss Granger, if that 'elps." I say meekly. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me.

"Tell me, Emma, did your brother have dark hair and different coloured eyes? Blue and Green? Dopey smile?"

I nod. "Yes, 'e did."

She looks pleased with 'erself, but 'er face goes serious again after a moment. "Exactly as Sharon described – exact name too." She mutters. "But the younger sister- "

She looks back at me and a flash of sadness passes 'er eyes.

"You can't be here." She says.

"What?"

A flash of bright lightning and thunder crackles outside, accompanied by the faint sound of a child's scream. Alex tenses up, clenching her fists before she runs to the window yelling "Molly!" over and over again.

"Do you know how to get out of here?" She turns over to me.

I shrug. "There's no way out, that's what I've always found."

She sighs before she begins to pace the long hallway, eyes searching for any other way that she might not 'ave thought of.

"There's no point, Ma'am." I say just as she tries a doorknob to no avail.

"At least there's a door this time." She mutters and starts to bang on the wood. "Let us out!"

I fold my arms as she tries every single panel, every single way of trying to get 'erself out of this place. The sheer desperation inside her can be felt in the room, inside of me, like she's projecting it.

She stops, leaning against the corner of the two walls panting for a couple of moments before 'er eyes meet mine again. 'er brow furrows and she walks over to me again.

"What?" I ask.

She squeezes my arm, then takes it away again.

"There's something about you… it's like you're here but you're not, too."

I look at 'er closely, looking for the slight glow that Chris 'ad around 'im when 'e was 'ere. There's no sign. She's real.

I look down at my 'and, see that it's becoming translucent.

"You'll get back. You'll wake up. I've done it before." I say, reassuring 'er. "What's 1998 like?"

She smiles. "It depends."

I grin at her, turn and let myself fade into dust.


Annie's there when I come down the stairs the next morning, and for some reason I'm comforted by the thought. It could be because she comes from the same place I do, that when I'm around 'er I'm not the odd one out in this posh southern seaside. There's something about 'er and I don't know why but I know that she understands me in a way I never will.

She smiles at me from where she's talking to someone as I sit down on one of the sofas in the recreation lounge and rest my sketchbook on my knees. In the corner of the sun-lit room a wooden upright piano stands and the thought 'its me that I'm going to be 'ere for Christmas, that I'm going to be all alone with everyone I love far away. A part of me aches to press a key, to let the note ring for infinity and listen, but there are too many people around.

I begin to draw furiously in an attempt to lose all the 'omesickness inside, not caring who or what. I dig my pencil into the paper harder, losing all the smoothness that go into proper portraits as the lines get darker and angular. The paper blurs and the chatter from other guests fades away to leave a solemn emptiness that leaches into everything inside and outside, eating me from the inside out until I know I'll only be an empty shell, a ghost left out in the rain and forgotten.

"Emma?"

I don't 'ear anyone calling to me until they've tried many times, too engrossed in my thoughts and 'and movements.

"Emma, are you alright?"

"Huh?" I look up to find Annie sitting next to me, concern written all over her kind face.

My eyes flick down to find that my lap is full of involuntary tears.

"I'm fine." I say in a failed attempt to convince 'er.

"Who's that you're drawing?" she asks.

My sketchbook is full of straight lines and angles all coming together to make a familiar face looking down and to the side a little. Chris doesn't look like 'imself, though, 'e's got floppy blonde 'ighlights and a checked shirt with tie which I've never seen 'im in before in my life. I'm just beginning to start on the shading.

"My brother." I tell 'er.

She doesn't say anything, just smiles at me like she wishes she could say more to me and gets up to talk to someone else. I follow 'er with my eyes, the way she moves and the way she smoothly moves a conversation. There's something in 'er that's seen far beyond this world and it's spread all over 'er.

Chilled, I turn my 'ead to the window where the sun 'as gone in and 'eavy rain is beginning to 'it the panes. The light of the room is a cool blue, the brown furniture inside sinister instead of the warmth it gave only 'alf an 'our ago. The smell of freshly baked cake and croissants fills my nose as I get up and pass the table where it sits to observe the scene outside. The water runs down the glass and makes the outside look fractured into tiny pieces.

I place one 'and on the glass and feel the cold spread across it. The cool light from the rain outside illuminates my face as I shut my eyes and subconsciously call out for my brother, for 'im to find me in this new place and new time.


When I wake, the ceiling is strewn with stars and I'm tangled up in the curtains.

The cold leaches into everything, my bones are like blocks of ice and barely 'old me up as I unpick myself from the 'eavy fabric wrapped around me. I 'aven't sleepwalked in years, not since before Chris died when I used to do it all the time. Somewhere on my forehead I've still got a scar from walking into a door at the age of 4.

The room is icy cold and frost spreads across the doorknob as I touch it. I shiver, even the thick material of my pyjamas isn't enough to stop the entirety of the cold from reaching every part of my body. I take a step forward and avoid the ceiling, the darkness on light striking fear into every single part of my body. The light throughout the rest of the place is a deep blue and smells of dust and grief.

I feel every step I take down the stairs drag me deeper into the 'ouse's 'istory until at the bottom of the stairs there's just a field where the 'ouse will one day be. I clasp my 'ands to my chest as I look around at the stark emptiness, the grass beneath my feet drenched in dew and the entire world completely still. The sea roars in my ears and in the distance smoke from old cottages rises above the horizon.

In the corner of my eye I notice a structure 'as appeared and I force myself to step towards it to examine. My feet trudge across mud and wet until I reach it, a tall mirror raised just off the surface of the grass. A sinister shiver creeps down my spine as I meet my eyes in the reflection, and I know that the person on the other side is not myself. She smirks at me. I stare blankly at 'er and step closer, raise my 'and to the surface of the mirror and watch as she does exactly the same.

I press my 'and to the surface of the cool glass and look at myself, then back to my 'ands. Beautiful threads of frost are tracing the surface from the palm, spreading out like wisps. My cold breath fogs up the mirror, I look at myself again to find that she's smiling creepily at me.

Watch this, she mouths.

I feel every hair on me rise as she takes a step backwards and slams 'er fist against the glass. I watch as a crack spreads across the front and shatter into a thousand pieces. I throw my 'ands in front of my face but nothing 'its them and I allow my eyes to open to glittering air.

My 'and touches one of the shards, a drop of red blood falls to stand in the green grass. My eyes are enlarged in the twinkling shards, luminous. I can't take my eyes off the scene, the white light shrouding me from behind contrasting with the colours.

I don't feel it until it's too late. The mud wraps its tendrils around me as I sink deeper, unfamiliar voices surrounding me as I descend into darkness. The only thing even remotely comforting is the sound of someone far away singing sweetly into the stars, half familiar but not at the same time.