The first thing I notice when I come to is the stabbing pain in the back of my head. Like a bad migraine, but much sharper, directly where my head touches the...pillow. I'm laying on a bed and the edges of a blanket have been folded under my body, as if someone came in and tucked me in. Sweet dreams. Except I remember what happened and I most certainly did not have sweet dreams.
I hear voices arguing, rising loudly over me. Not exactly next to me, though...more like...near the closet. I've always been good at pinpointing sounds.
"Mr. Langdon, you should not have scared her like that." It's a wrinkly old woman voice, if you can imagine it, and it's scolding, like a grandmother would scold her grandchild. "Frankly, the poor girl has been through enough and she doesn't need anymore trauma added to that."
How does this woman know that I've been through trauma in the past? And who is she talking to? Surely not the boy. The dead one. Or the one who should've been dead.
"I know, but she would've told her father if she didn't realize what I was..." It is the dead boy. His voice calms me down a little bit, although the thought of that is entirely unreasonable.
I hear a sigh, presumably from the woman, and then she continues, "There could've been a better way to do that then scaring her so badly. Poor sweet girl. She'll want to move, she'll be so terrified when she wakes."
"You don't think that she's right to be terrified?" There's a slight mocking tone in the boy's voice. "You know the things that live in this house."
"Yes, but everyone in the house has agreed not to harm her, this girl, or her father. We've agreed that we'll allow them to live here."
"They'll die anyway," the boys says darkly. "They always do. And you know that, too."
There's a heavy silence for a moment and my breathing quickens, afraid that I've been found out. I don't know what these people are doing here, but their words are frightening.
"Oh, hush, Mr. Langdon. You'll wake the girl, and scare her more."
I breath out a sigh of relief and start to visibly stir, so they'll get the idea that I'm waking up. I open my eyes to see two people peering down at me. One is "Mr. Langdon", the blonde boy I met earlier- and watched die. The second person is an old, wrinkled woman in a maid's outfit, with a shock of bright red hair. She smiles gently at me.
"Oh, hello, dear," she says, reaching over and squeezing my hand. "I'm Moira, your maid. Your father has gone out in town. You took quite a fall when Mr. Langdon made his...er, scene... earlier."
My eyes widen. So they admit to it? They're not even going to try and cover it up?
"That was..." I fumble, looking for the right words. "That actually happened?"
She sits down next to me on my bed. "Yes, dear. We weren't going to tell you right away, but it seems it's too late for that. You'll find that many of the inhabitants of this house have met their demise prematurely. Their souls live on, but physically, they aren't much different from you, other than that they cannot die- because they are already dead."
"So...he's...a...ghost?" My words are stunted, great pauses between them as I try to connect the dots. It seemed like a joke earlier, when the boy said it. I thought he had been playing a trick on me, else I had been seeing things. But it's true.
"Mr. Landgon died in this very room in the year 1994. "His story isn't mine to tell, however. If you have questions about the house, I'll gladly answer those." She smiles at me warmly and kindly and I can't help but have a surge of positive feelings toward her, no matter how strange the words coming out of her mouth are.
"Is it...only if you die in this house? If you die...else where, do you stay there?" I ask, thinking of my mother, but staring at the blonde boy over the old woman's head. He's staring right back and there's a faint trace of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. Something about him makes me want to smile back.
"No, only this house. When you go into town, you'll find that a lot of people have taken to calling it the Murder House, for all the killings that have happened on the property. I assure you, though, that all the spirits in this house have promised to be on their best behavior with regards to you and your father."
I nod, as if it makes sense. As if everything she's saying isn't beyond absurd. Why am I not disbelieving? I know that all of this defies logic, and shouldn't be true- but I believe her, and I believe that my eyes don't deceive me. I saw what happened to the boy, and he stands in front of me with no scar.
"Dear, you must be very tired. Your father will be home in the morning," she says, as she gets up, smoothing her dress down and straightening up the spot where she sat on my bed. "I'm going to continue cleaning the house. My quarters are in the basement, so if you need me, don't hesitate to call down."
She turns to leave, but I stop her. "Moira," I call softly.
She looks back at me, her face warm as she gives me a smile as soft as my tone.
"Are you a spirit, as well?"
She nods, looks ashamed. "Yes. My death happened a long time ago, you see. I've been in this house for longer than most of the spirits. It can get lonely."
I look at her for a second, her old uniform, her pinned back hair, her cloudy eye and her bright one and then say, "You don't have to be lonely anymore. Goodnight, Moira."
She smiles at me, walks over to me to smooth my hair back and then says, "Goodnight."