A trembling sob was resonating down the hall, the morning sun shining through the tiffany fixtures. Hayden made her way through the doorway and found an unfamiliar woman hunched over on the couch. "Hello?" The young woman placed a hand on Marcy's shoulder.
"Oh, hello dear." She dabbed a handkerchief under her nose.
"I'm Hayden."
"Marcy." She looked up through tear soaked lashes. "So, are-are you a ghost?"
"I suppose I am, just like you." The woman whimpered again. "It's going to be alright, Marcy. I've lived like this for a while now, and though it doesn't get better, it does get easier." Her statement didn't seem to help, Marcy shaking her head to the news. "Hey there," Hayden rubbed her hand along the woman's shoulder. "Don't cry. Look, you won't be able to leave the house, but that doesn't mean that life can't be fun."
"Life?" She raised her voice, the word echoing down the hall. "How is it life if we aren't living?" Hayden's lips parted as if she were about to speak. "We are all dead, dead! I'm buried in the yard yet I am sitting here. That makes no sense, I wish I were dead, properly dead."
"Don't say that." Hayden sat next to her. "We can still scare anyone who comes inside, we can read the magazines and newspapers that get mistakingly sent here."
"What else?"
"We can talk to the other people here."
Marcy shook her head and folded her handkerchief in a huff. "I'm not going to get friendly with two gays."
"There are plenty of other people here, nice people too." Hayden gave her a smile.
"It just didn't hit me right away, that we will be here forever and that we can't leave or die."
"Don't think about that right now, just relax."
Violet sat in her bedroom, scribbling on the back of an old receipt. She took a moment to read it again, then used a pin to attach it to the inside of her black hat. Quickly, she walked down the stairs and to the letterbox, placing it on top firmly. She then glanced around the street, returning inside. Violet figured that if Leah were to come back, she would recognise the hat and pick it up. The only issue was making her believe that it's not just a joke.
A knock sounded at Constance's front door. "Just a moment." She shouted as she fixed her hair in the living room mirror. The woman strutted to the door and opened it, revealing a tall man in a policeman's uniform. "Good day." She gave a plastic smile.
"Constance Langdon?"
She nodded her head. "Why yes, that is my name."
"I need to ask you a few questions." The man peeked over her shoulder at the small blonde boy sipping from a cup.
"Oh yes, do come in." He followed her into the warmly furnished room and sat in the armchair. "May I get you anything, tea or coffee?" He shook his head.
"No, I just ate." She sat opposite him.
"Is everything alright?"
"Actually, no it's not. L.A. Homes Realty's Marcy has been reported missing as of this morning." He gave her a moment to react, watching Constance cover her mouth in shock. "Are you aware of her whereabouts?"
"No, unfortunately I'm not." He noted something in a black leather-bound book.
"When was the last time that you saw her?"
"I'm not too sure, it would have to of been a few months ago. A brief conversation over the fence, I liked to keep updated on the neighbouring house." He nodded as the little boy trod into the room. "Michael, darling, would you be a good boy and go play in your room?" He nodded and ran out of sight.
"Is that Vivienne and Ben's child?" Constance nodded. "It was very good of you, taking him in."
"Thank you." She slid a finger under her eye, catching a tear that never fell. "I hope that they can see he's in good care."
"I'm sure they can." He gave a sympathetic smile, not understanding that indeed they could. "Where were you yesterday morning?"
"Taking care of Michael, teaching him some history before his swimming lesson." He noted it in the book.
"What time did you leave the house?"
"12:30, I remember." She placed her hands in her lap. "We were back at two."
"Thank you," He stood up and walked towards the door. "We will be sure to tell you if there is any news."
"Please do, Marcy is a lovely woman." He nodded and left, Constance closing the door behind him. Michael rushed into the living room, clutching a doll without a head. "Ah, my boy, we will have to start looking for a new realtor.
Tate run his hand along the bannister as he ascended the stairs, staring at his favourite doorway in the house. He slowly moved towards Violets room, turning the door handle and pushing on it until it swung open. The afternoon sun rushed through the curtains, turning the floor into gold. He smiled and moved over to a shelf, stacks of books with dog eared pages and notes stuck between chapters. He picked up The Masque of the Red Death, opening and skimming the first few pages. He couldn't help but chuckle at the all too familiar dark mansion, the ghostly presence and the dimly lit rooms. Tate closed the book and held it under his arm, leaving an 'x' on the chalk board before leaving the empty room.