As I ambled back and forth, my naked foot kept bumping into a crumple of bedsheets nearby. I sighed, set the clothes aside and scooped up the discarded sheets. It was about time to do the laundry. Outside the room, it was already growing stuffy in the mezzanine hallway. The summer heat suffocated the upper level, where the hot air gathered and the sun’s warmth seeped through the uncovered wooden frames. I added the sheets on top of the other clothes and carried the basket downstairs, leaving it by the back door. The curtains were already open, letting in ambient light. I left the sheer curtains shut even as I opened the back door to let in the breeze. Moving to the kitchen, I prepared the stove and set the kettle on top. As I waited, I searched the cupboard for the teapot, but could not find it. Amongst all the racket I was making, shifting plates onto plates, I heard a mew from the top shelf. I was met with a pair of amber eyes as I looked up. Abbey was watching me with a lazy gaze. The furball hung her front paws off the shelf’s edge, her head flattened against the board spreading out her cheeks. I giggled. “Sorry. Did I disturb your nap?” I reached up and brushed her head with the back of my hand. “I missed your breakfast time, didn’t I?” The cat replied with a purr.
I stopped. My hand slowly retracting, hovering in the air. I turned around, towards the dining room table. The teapot was there. So were two plates. And two teacups. Two sets of cutlery. Used. The two chairs, pulled out from the table. And in the back corner of the room. The flowers. In full bloom.
The fog returned. How much of it was not a dream? I normally close the curtains at night, didn’t I? The door to my room, it shouldn’t be open. It was open when I woke up, right? … The bedsheets. Why were those out on the floor? Pacing to the kitchen threshold, I looked up to the mezzanine and saw the other door open as well. The door to Father’s old room. I rushed up the steps and stopped by the doorway. There was the mattress, surrounded by plants, in the middle of the room. The blanket was still pulled up, flat and neat, as if no one had slept in the bed.
Where had she gone? Or was I imagining things?
Did I make-believe… last night? That… I was living with a spirit? A spirit girl? I turned around, my head reeling, and set my elbows on the hallway rails, looking over the room below. I surveyed the space at length, my eyes wandering. Sunlight grew and waned. The grandfather clock still beat true. The white sheers floated with the breeze, rippling like a ghost. And again, I stopped at the flowers. Vased in the back corner of the room. No. It was all real. Those flowers, they’re real. There is no way I could fake those. Right? Unless… a spirit did wade through. Casted a spell on those flowers… And the smell of them—I remember that fragrant smell now—entranced me to imagine the rest? Was that possible? Of all the rumours I heard about the spirits, I never heard such a story.
Movement entered my peripheral. I saw Abbey stride across the room, stopping at the hallway and glancing up. Then, there was a knock. A knock at the door.
I didn’t move. I didn’t dare to. It was all repeating again.
Abbey dipped her head back down and strolled into the hallway, out of my sight. Some moments later, I heard a scratching noise. She was scratching the door.
I felt my head. It was warm. Or was it hot? My hand lowered to my cheek, lightly pinching it between my thumb and index. I was awake, for sure.
There was another knock. Abbey continued to scratch at the door. She was not the kind of cat to greet visitors. Only family, or those closest to one. It drew me to believe, perhaps it was fine. Perhaps it really was Jane at the door. Rubbing my cheeks with both my hands, I bustled down the stairway. The cat stopped clawing at the door by the time I reached it. Pulling my hair behind my shoulders, I unlocked the door and opened it, squinting against the sunlight.
There was no one there.
I blinked. Standing still. Sweeping the stone steps, and around the clearing, I did not see any semblance of a person, nor any traces betraying someone did stop by. Unwittingly, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. What was going on? I was never this spooked before. Glancing back at Abbey, the cat seemed unfazed. It only stared blankly out the door, its ears still. I drew up my shoulders. Building up the courage, I faced the door and tepidly stepped onto the threshold. A hand on the frame, I leaned out the doorway, looking around. The bed of flowers was glowing today, bathed in the warmth of the sun. My hair swayed steadily with the breeze, following the rhythmic bobbing of the tree branches. I heard a faint hum of the watermill, hidden in the whisper of the wind. Shadows were short, sparing the eyes no solace from the piercingly bright luminance.
Still, no one was to be seen. The wind picked up, I realised my heart was pounding, my face sweating. It was a pleasant gust, wicking the heat off my face and sapping the tension out of my arms and shoulders. I closed my eyes and forced myself to take deep breaths. Drop my shoulders. And take in the fresh oak aroma that always permeated my recluse.
“Yoo hoo! Elisa!”