I’ve never been in most of these rooms, let alone know what they were being used for. However, I do know that the last time I was led by a ghost, it brought me to answers. Walking forward slowly, I choose to follow the specter, hoping this time, it will be the same.
When I reach the doorway, I listen intently. The clicking sound has ceased, but the menacing undercurrent remains. I can’t explain it, but something about all of this feels so familiar…
The lights in the hallway flicker, diverting my attention to them. Suddenly, the chill creeps in again, evaporating the warmth in an instant. It removes any feelings of security and happiness, replacing them with an empty dread. I shiver it away, refusing to let it deter me even if my heart rate is at an all-time high.
This is my house, dammit.
With my phone still clutched in my left hand, I reach out and fling the door open. The room is dark, so I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath. Stepping inside, I flip on the light switch and soft, white light bursts from the ceiling, casting deep shadows across the furniture in the room. Each piece is covered with large, off-white sheets, making it look as though stereotypical ghosts crowd the space. But I know better.
Narrowing my gaze, I take another small step into the room, eyeing each piece of furniture with suspicion. I pause, half anticipating one of the sheets to move or race toward me. I’ve watched enough horror movies to expect that much. However, once inside the room, the cold dissipates and the despairing sensation vanishes with it, leaving me confused.
Why would it lead me here? Was there a reason? Or was it just to scare the hell out of me?
One way to find out.
I reach out, tugging off the sheet closest to me. As it drops to the floor, it reveals a large, burgundy wing-backed chair. Flashes of a distant memory play at the back of my mind, but I can’t quite place whether they’re real or not.
Yanking off the next one, it reveals a floor lamp with stained glass covering the lightbulb. The next one is a bookshelf piled high with books that overflow its capacity. As I pull the next sheet back, I drop it and stare, mouth agape, at a large table covered with paints, paintbrushes, and a canvas. I stare into the depths of the eyes of a woman in a still-unfinished portrait. Even without being completed, I’d know that face anywhere.
Swallowing hard and backing away, my mother’s familiar features stare back at me.
Chapter 5
Messed Up
I stare at the painting, unable to close my mouth.
Who painted this? Was it my dad? Why was it covered up? More importantly, why was I led here in such a weird, spooky way?
Fumbling for my phone, I tug it out of my front pocket and hit Mom’s number. My heart drums a beat of anxiety in my ear as I press the phone close.
“Hi, sweetie. Is everything okay?” Mom asks, her voice edging on wary.
I exhale audibly, dropping my shoulders in relief. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
She laughs softly, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s eight-thirty on a Tuesday night. It’s not like Mistwood is the epicenter for craziness, you know?”
Smiling, I say, “Yeah, I know. I don’t know, I guess I just…” I stop, unsure how much I want to tell her. I know how she hates anything supernatural. The last thing she’d want to know is I was guided by a ghost to a painting of her. It would freak her out for days.
“You just…?” Mom presses, alarm beginning to paint her words.
“I guess I just miss your voice,” I mutter, staring into her acrylic eyes in the painting.
“Awww, I miss you, too, sweetheart. We haven’t had a whole lot of time to chat since you started…school last year,” she says, skirting around the obvious.
“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been really busy,” I say, dropping my gaze to the floor. I swallow hard and back out of the room, flicking off the light and shutting the door. “How have you been? What’s new there?”
“Not a whole lot. The neighbors are still crazy and work is keeping me busy. On the upside, I love seeing Mr. Larsen’s eye twitch every time I mow the lawn with a push mower instead of a rider. That’s pretty much the highlight of existence out here. What about you? Is…are you adjusting?”
I stare at the closed door in front of me for a moment, letting all the weird adjustments I’ve been through these past few months wash over me. I wish I could talk to her—tell her more than just the surface-level stuff.
“Yeah, things are going good,” I say, trying to convince myself.
“Good, good. And how’s the boyfriend? Wade, right? He sure is a cutie.”
A quick jab to the chest stops my words in my throat. Before I know it, tears are welling in my eyes and I croak out, “We broke up.”
“Oh, Autumn, honey. I’m so sorry. He seems like such a nice guy. What happened?” she asks.
Turning down the hallway, I clutch the phone with both hands as I swap ears. “I don’t know. Things just got…complicated.”
“Oh, I know how that goes.”
Her words are pregnant with hidden meaning and I bite my lip. “Mom, I know you don’t like to talk about it, but…what happened between you and Dad? Why would you leave all of this? I mean, he seems like a nice guy.”
A long pause stretches between us and I open my mouth to ask if she’s still there.
“He is a nice guy and I’m sure there’s a lot you’ve been uncovering. I wish… I
