𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓮
— 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 —

     𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓻 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 and very memory-induced when she was younger; even just a few months ago. She secretly had a journal hidden underneath her mattress that her parents didn't know she had bought— one that she used often, and drew familiar faces in. In fact, her memory was photogenic, and there was rarely a time when she couldn't remember the exact lines on her mother's face as she stayed up late to pencil them in. You could say that the journal brought her the peace and tranquility she desired, and kept her quiet for a while in her upstairs bay window. And, of course, it did— but that wasn't really noticeable in the first place, considering Briar Hasson was a teen of few words to begin with.

Drawing, it seemed, was one hobby she couldn't get rid of, no matter how long she tried to stay away from it. Some nights it would be a curse; one that nearly caused her sleep deprivation on long school nights that seemed to haunt her. And other nights, it stood as a distraction for the restlessness that burned within her chest. Perhaps it was because her brother had just moved out, and his absence was the only thing she could think clearly about. They had a close bond, after all, and the thought of him leaving had sent her into a downward spiral for a solid two weeks, until she had come to the terms that she, too, would eventually have to leave. It was just a matter of time.

But then something happened that she didn't expect. And maybe it was someone's fault in the long run, but that didn't seem to matter at the time— and doesn't really now. One night her parents had gone out to a dinner party, and hadn't come back. Alone and worried about her parents' well-being, Briar had called up her older brother, Marshall, and requested that he drive down to South Portland to try and contact their parents. She didn't know what to do, but what thirteen-year-old would when their parents didn't come home? It wasn't long, after a worried Marshall arrived, that a uniformed police officer showed up at their doorstep with sullen facial features and the news that not only left Briar an orphan, but made her homeless.

At the house party, an entrance-table candle had fallen over, and had lit a nearby curtain on fire. The fire had spread, and consumed the entirety of the house— but not before trapping all the guests inside. Their parents had died that night, along with all of their close family friends that they'd normally rely on in a special situation like this. And since there were no more living relatives in the country, Briar was left in her brother's custody. Due to the fact that Marshall was the eldest and their childhood home was passed down to him, he made the tough decision to sell the house; Briar had told him she couldn't stand to live there anymore, and he had taken her advice to heart.

So now the two stood outside of Whipstaff manor, facing the large, castle-like form of their newfound home. Briar hesitated at the main gate, nodding for Marshall to go first. The brunette was never scared, but the mere sight of this place made her skin crawl with dread. It was as if a spider was squirming around in her veins, which made goosebumps appear on her arms and the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Why? She was unsure . . . but something in the air was add, and the Hasson girl could already tell that it meant nothing good.

It was a crisp fall afternoon, and the flaky leaves from the dying oak trees outside were crunching underneath her feet as she followed her brother. The air around them was stiff, but had a slight breeze to it that sent chills up Briar's spine. Upon making his way up the stairs to the entrance, Marshall stops, taking a look back at his sister.

"Pretty cool, right?" He raises an eyebrow, before glancing around at the antique appearance of the property. "This is ours now. With a little work, I'm sure we can make it look great."

"How long has it been since someone actually lived here?" Briar asks, her golden eyes scanning the double doors just ahead of them. "It doesn't look like anyone else tried to put any effort into it."

"It doesn't matter who lived here before," Marshall replies with a shrug, shoving a key into one of the locks. "All that matters is that we have a place to stay, and you can start going back to school on Monday."

Briar hums after he finishes speaking, adjusting her grip on her purple suitcase— the one she had received for Christmas just before the family's week vacation to California. Oh, how she missed the days when she could genuinely pretend that things were okay. Now, here she was, no longer caring who saw past the façade she had built up. The opinions of the people around her no longer concerned her; all that was left of her sanity was what little she kept because her brother was still around to see the light of day.

On a normal day, it could've been almost easy to keep a calm, cool, and collected attitude— the kind of attitude that made her parents' coworkers ask 'how did you get blessed with such a child?', but didn't necessarily mean anything. People, in general, Briar had found, were in simple terms, fake. And maybe she was too; but in her position, who wouldn't be? Sometimes it could be unacceptable to walk into a building, holding your head down as children snickered, even if the circumstances meant something. That was just how the weight of the world worked these days, so it was better to put on a smile and pretend. Who would tell the difference anyway?

As the large doors opened, the hinges rattling and cracking with the movement, the sunlight from the sky seeped into the house. It brightness shined onto the cobwebs resting in hard-to-reach places and the dirt and buildup that had been tracked onto the floor. The layout was ancient, to say the least, but had a special warmth to it that made the goosebumps on Briar's arms go away. The marble statues atop the upstairs balcony caught her eye first, and then the railway for the stairs. It was a palace from a book, the Hasson girl thought. She strolled ahead of her brother, her boots making a small clicking noise as they touched the floor. The sound echoed around the ballroom.

"I actually like this," Briar tells Marshall, the corners of her lips twitching upwards as she moves forward to touch the staircase railing. "It has an old feel to it. Don't change anything, I just think we need to clean up quite a bit."

Marshall rolls his eyes at his sister. She proceeds up the stairs, her fingers tracing the wall as she continues. "It feels victorian, you know? Oh— and is it okay if I go ahead and choose my room? It'll take me the rest of the day to unpack all of my things, so I need to get started as soon as possible."

"Go ahead, but the biggest bedroom is mine," he chuckles, lugging his suitcase into the ballroom. "If there's anything on the beds, make sure you strip it all off. I don't trust this stuff yet, we can get new mattresses this weekend when you're off school. Maybe even some decorations if you're up for it."

But Briar was no longer there. Instead, she was exploring the carpeted upstairs that smelled slightly of rotting wood and smoke. The floor creaked beneath her feet, groaning with each step she took forward; accompanied by the soft sound of her rolling suitcase that traveled behind her. The brunette narrowed her eyes, flipping on stray light switches as she continued down the dim hallway. Slowly but surely, the path to her future room was lit by the old-fashioned glare of the almost-setting sun, with a bit of help from the inside lighting. It didn't take Briar but a few seconds to take a liking to the door at the end of the hall on her left, and to take off in that direction.

Upon opening the door, she was faced with an empty— but very dirty— room. Dust covered almost every inch of the small space, but that wouldn't take much to clean up; Briar decided that this was a comfortable space for her to stay. This would be her new room, and she would fix it up; not with paint, but with a good clean and maybe some paintings and a lamp. Or Christmas lights— she always enjoyed having those on the walls of her old house. The season didn't mean anything, as she would always have the bright, twinkling lights hanging anyway.

She sighs, dropping her bags onto the floor. Immediately after, a cold breeze bit at the exposed skin on her arm, making her grow stiff; just as she had earlier on in the morning. Shaking off the feeling that she wasn't alone, Briar smiled to herself in satisfaction, and pictured how the room would look when she was finished. Maybe she could create some paintings to match the wallpaper, so Marshall didn't have to spend the money they needed. Besides, she had some canvases and paint in her luggage somewhere— now all she needed was an easel, although she could make due without one.

As the Hasson girl takes a seat at the vanity near a window, glancing into the glass mirror, the teen was unaware that she, in fact, wasn't alone.

There was something there with her . . . Someone there with her. And the ghost of the young boy intended on making sure she eventually knew. But how would he go about showing her?

He wasn't sure yet. But now, all that mattered was that he wasn't alone anymore.

_______

❝ okay, but i'm so excited for the things
i have planned for this short story. the plot
has been changed to fit our
modernization because i want this to be
the same but slightly different :)
thank you guys for reading and happy
early halloween! let me know what you're thinking about the book so far! ❞