Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. At all. They belong to Stephenie Meyer the amazing. :D

AN: First of all, I'm sorry that this is a little late. Well, later than I'd planned. I was away this weekend, but luckily I was able to bring my laptop with me(I didn't think I would be), so I typed this(and the majority of the next chapter) during the 12-hour car ride. I thought I was going to be able to upload this this morning, but my laptop didn't want to connect to my uncle's wireless internet, for some reason. However, my ipod did get internet, so I was bale to see all the lovely reviews, alerts and faves you guys sent me. And I must say, I'm thrilled and kind of shocked with the response that this story, as well as I'll Make a Believer out of You have gotten!! So I thank you so, so much for this. Now, I need to re-read all your reviews, and I will try to reply to all of them, but if I miss yours, it's not because I didn't appreciate it, but just thought I already had replied. Also, some PMs don't seem to like to show up in my FanFiction inbox, so if I miss answering those, that is why. Now, here's chapter two!


The next morning, I made sure to station myself in the hallway far before Bella was likely to awake. I wanted to see her reaction this morning, at least, as I was unable to hear it.

When she emerged, I was not disappointed. She exited her room looking relatively normal, but I saw her steal a glance at the doorway to my room, almost involuntarily, and then resolutely turn her face away from it, and keep her face turned away. She was clearly trying to pretend last night had not happened, and her expression was so amusing, that I involuntarily let a low chuckle escape my lips. She faltered for a second, almost as if she had heard it, but then continued resolutely forward.

As I shadowed her, drifting down through the ceiling to eavesdrop on her conversation with her father, I realized I was overly interested in this girl. It was her silent mind. Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself.

She was talking to her father about the house, and I was concentrating so much on her words, her expressions and body language - trying to crack the code that was Bella's secret mind - that I didn't pick up the nervous edge in her father's thoughts until it registered in his voice. Bella had asked "Can we really afford it?", referring to the house - it seemed that it was nicer and larger than what the family was accustomed to.

At her words, he immediately changed from the comfortable, happy-to-be-talking-to-his-daughter mood he had been in, to agitated and nervous. I could see she sensed it as well, by the way her eyebrows pulled together slightly in the middle. When he spoke, his anxiety was even more pronounced. "Yeah. . . Well, apparently, this house hasn't been able to keep tenants for very long. I think it's actually been empty for a while now. That's why the price was so low." I could see he was being truthful - also, I knew it to be the truth, but I could also see(even if I had been unable to hear it, don't ask me why, Bells, please.) that he was hoping that she would leave it at that.

I could also see, though, even if I couldn't hear, that this girl was not one to just leave it at that. She was determined, curious, not happy with simple, glossing-over-the-truth answers. I liked that. "Why?" she demanded of her father, eyes intense. "Why has it been empty? Why can't it keep tenants?"

He was silent for a moment, trying to decide whether or not to tell her the truth. He finally decided on yes, reasoning that; she's never been squeamish or superstitious, really, and she wouldn't thank me later for lying to her. Even so, he seemed eager to discredit what he was about to say, laughing derisively - or, at least, that was what he was going for - as he answered her. "Well, well, I guess the folks around here are a bit superstitious. They say the house is supposed to be haunted."

As he said that last word, Bella nearly jumped out of her skin, and it took all my self control not to laugh aloud. This was what I loved. Playing with their minds, seeing their reactions. But, for the first time, the amusement was tainted with. . . remorse? For some reason, I felt bad playing with a mind so. . . innocent? Pure? I had no way to know, but, somehow, I guessed those things were true.

While I was mulling this over, Bella recovered, if only slightly, enough to speak, at least. "Haunted?" she choked. Her gaze, though, when looking at her father, I noticed, was not purely shocked, there was an edge of accusation, of anger. She was upset with him for ruining her denial of last night, I realized.

Her father's face, and mind, on the other hand, were purely panicky. He was. . . not narrow-minded exactly, but a stubborn non-believer in anything out of the ordinary. He wouldn't let the fact that this house was supposedly haunted get to him, he was just happy that there were able to get such a nice one. And he had been hoping that his daughter would react in the same way. His words spilt out in a rush, trying to reason with her. "Bella, don't get all superstitious on me! You don't believe in ghosts! This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you this, Bella. I'm sure it's really nothing. Somebody was probably home alone, heard a noise, and thought it was a ghost. They spread the story around, and now all those people are seeing ghosts because they think they're going to! Bella, it's nothing but self-fulfilling prophecy, okay? I want you to forget about it."

As he said all this, her face was conflicted, between wanting to believe what he said, I guessed, and what she had seen. When he finished though, her face hardened, into a mask of determination. "Alright," she told him, but I could see, that, with that simple word, she was promising herself as much as him that she would try to forget. About me. Most people had this reaction, but, for some reason, hers made me sad rather than amused.


For the next ten days or so, Bella was kept busy by her parents, whipping the house into shape. For the most part, she seemed to be succeeding in her efforts to forget about me, but, every once in a while, as she was coming up the stairs or down with boxes, I would catch her glancing at that door again. So I wasn't totally pushed out of her mind, and, for some reason that I could not fathom, this made me happy.

I found myself much more interested in her than I'd ever been in one of the house's tenants. Part of me wanted her to be able to forget about me, so that her mind would not be troubled, but part of me wanted her to look, and find out more. I had no idea why. The interest, maybe, could be explained by the silence of her mind. But this, I did not know.


I still had not decided which I wanted for her, but I got my second wish about a week and a half after they had moved in.

They were mostly unpacked now, and Bella was finishing her room. My room. I liked how she was decorating it. While her parents had decorated most of the house in a more modern style, minimalistic with clean lines, odd patterns, and little grace of design, the furnishings in Bella's room were softer, more classic. They matched the house, and I wondered if she had thought of that. My bedstead, too, had been wrought-iron.

She was done her arranging now, and she went to put the last suitcase on the shelf in her closet. I had completely forgotten about the box in the back of the closet, until her bag hit it, and then I remembered.

What would she do? I found myself hoping that she would investigate further, and I wasn't disappointed, as she reached up, felt around, and finally drew out the flat steel box that I had placed there almost ninety years earlier, that had managed to remain unnoticed until now.

With shaking hands, she brought it to her desk. She stood there for a moment, her hands resting on the metal top, before she carefully drew back the sticking catch and raised the lid.

Her eyes were wide as she lifted out the three thin, leather-bound journals within. She set them on the desk, then returned to the box the finger my collection of worn, yellowing newspaper clippings.

She then returned to the books, turning them over, examining them, but never lifting the covers. After a moment, she spied the thin line of gold embossing on the backs of them, and her fingers ran slowly over my name, like a caress.

E. Masen.


There! I hope you enjoyed that, and I would love love love it if you continued to review!! Also, if you haven't yet, I STRONGLY suggest you check out I'll Make a Believer out of You before/while reading this one. :D And, one final time, THANK YOU for all the alerts, reviews and faves. And sorry for the long, rambling ANs! :P

SkySong