𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮
— 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 —

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓼𝓾𝓷 shined down onto the damp grass just outside of the manor, venturing past the drawn curtains of Briar Hasson's new bedroom. The girl wakes with a gasp, placing a securing hand on her chest as she breathes heavily. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, there were tears in her eyes and her hands were shaking relentlessly; then again, it wasn't an unusual occurrence for the young girl to have a nightmare, then wake to realize that she couldn't remember. And although the terrors that haunted her dreams were gruesome, she assumed that nothing could ever be as bad as the nightmare she was currently living in— a nightmare in which she'd never wake from, the one that make her head ache uncontrollably and always managed to pull her to her knees . . . the nightmare that her parents were gone, and her life was slowly falling apart at the seams.

And yet, somehow, she found the courage to pull herself away from the sheets that made her feel as though she was drowning in them. Steadying herself on her feet, Briar brushes the hair from her face and flattens her nightgown as she calmly collects herself. One day, she thought, she would wake up without sweaty palms and glossy eyes that reflected her fear. One day she wouldn't fear anything— and that was the day she was looking forward to.

Briar turns off the lamp next to her bed, and quietly makes her way down the grand staircase. The air inside the manor was quite cool, considering the fact that the central heating system wasn't working yet; Mitchell would have to take care of that. But the coolness was comforting, and it embraced the teenager as she wondered mindlessly into the empty, dust-ridden kitchen. Cobwebs condemned every corner of the room, and the floorboards creaked with age as Briar entered and ran her fingers along the polished dining room table. Although it would seem uninviting to many, Briar had to admit that there was a sensation in the air that made her feel the opposite— something that urged her to pull out one of the old chairs and sit in it, just so she could feel at home.

And so she did just that.

Casper had been awake for a while; despite the fact that he could hardly sleep because of his worry for the return of his uncles, he also worried for Briar. She was restless as she slept, and found anything but peace— and she murmured things about her parents that he couldn't quite understand. And she cried. Though the girl didn't wake up in the midst of her tears, the ghost had to watch silently as she wallowed throughout the night, wondering why anything terrible would ever happen to a girl as pure as Briar Hasson. And although he didn't quite know her, it didn't matter. He knew her heart before she showed it to him.

As Briar rested her head against the cool surface of the table, she released a deep sigh and attempted to control her ragged breathing. Casper almost took the seat next to her . . . almost. But as her older brother marched into the kitchen with expecting eyes, he sunk into the corner, and decided against making an appearance.

"Briar, are you okay?" Marshall questions his sister, placing a soothing hand on her back. "Do you need something?"

"I'm alright," Briar dismisses him, nodding as she lifts her head to examine his work uniform. "Just a bad dream. Do you have to go?"

"Unfortunately, I've been called in early," Marshall runs his fingers through his sandy hair. "Will you be okay while I'm away?"

The girl wanted to tell him that she wouldn't— that his presence was the very thing holding her together at the moment, and his departure would mean she was left alone with her own thoughts. Thinking of her parents was dangerous, and would push her farther from her goal of managing normality. But she debated with herself and chose the most logical option; how did she expect to live in such a place if her brother didn't work?

"Of course I will," Briar takes his hand, giving him a weak smile. "Maybe I can tidy up around here while you're away, or explore a bit. The manor is a bit bigger than what I expected, so I'm sure there are plenty of rooms we haven't discovered."

"But if you find any trap doors," he chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on the girl's forehead, "don't bother seeing where they lead to. Wait until I get home, please."

"Trap doors sound extremely tempting. And having being tested, I'm not sure if I'd be able to resist—" Briar falters under her brother's narrowed eyes, laughing in the slightest. "Alright, I won't. Now go work, and bring pumpkins and sugar cookies as you come back."

And then he was gone.

Leaning back into her chair, Briar closes her eyes. The dark circles under Marshall's eyes were obvious, and she couldn't help but feel guilty. Seeing as how she constantly needed assurance and attention for the things that had happened, while still refusing to see a therapist, it had drained every ounce of energy from her brother's body— and yet every day he worked a ten hour shift and still found the time to give Briar the attentiveness that kept her from falling apart. Her heart was heavy in her chest, and she couldn't remove the feeling or prevent it from coming back. It would always linger, and that was the truth she was trying to avoid.

And while she ran her hands over her face, stress practically radiating from her body, the ghost in front of her decided that he didn't want to hide his existence any longer. He could help her, he knew he could assist her, just as her brother does. So as he lowers himself into the chair across from her, careful to keep his distance, Casper clears his throat.

Briar jumps from the sudden disruption, her eyes wide as she scans the room for any sign of her brother. Perhaps Marshall has stayed behind to scare her— or maybe her lack of focus was causing her to hear things. Shaking her head as she finds no one else in the room, the girl relaxes into her seat.

"You seem sad," Casper spoke softly, hoping to ease his existence into her conscience; he found this more complicated that he originally imagined, seeing Briar's startled expression as her eyes found his nearly translucent figure.

Shoving away from the table with her heart nearly beating out of her chest, Briar stumbles out of her chair and leans into the wall behind her. She covers her chest with her arms, almost as a means to protect herself from whatever hallucination her mind was convincing her was there. The voice, the ghost, across from her could be nothing but a mirage . . . she was sure of it. Her latest nightmare had shaken her to the point where her brain was creating visual scenarios, and she was interacting with them.

"I'm sorry," Casper speaks again, rising from the chair to hold up his hands to show his harmlessness. "I didn't mean to frighten you, really."

Nothing in all her years of living had prepared Briar Hasson for the moment in which she'd come face-to-face with a ghost; and yet here she stood, stiff, but not retreating. And although her skin was crawling with fear, Briar stared into the depths of Casper's eyes, and swallowed the lump that had caught in her throat. "Why are you here?" Her voice trembled, and she was beginning to crumble under his gaze. With tears in her eyes, she averted her gaze and pinned herself to the wall with the hope that it would hold her upright.

"I live here," Casper replies, keeping his distance with the slightest of reluctance. "Well, I lived here. But now . . . now things are different, and I'm not living anymore."

With her hands covering her eyes, Briar shakes her head in confusion, "I must be going insane, this is impossible."

"This is my assurance to you that I'm real," the ghost rubs his hand along his arm. "Why else would I be talking to you?"

With a conclusion clear in her mind, the girl begins to pace, all the while staying far away from Casper. "This is a mirage, brought on by my nightmares. I'm officially losing my mind, and this is the logical proof."

"No, I promise, I'm real—"

Perhaps he hadn't tried hard enough to convince her, or maybe Briar had fully convinced herself that he was simply a figment of her creative imagination; but no matter the case, as the manor doorbell rang out, echoing against each wall, Briar hastily made her way to the entrance doors. Although she was only doused in her nightgown and a pair of socks to separate the soles of her feet from the cold floor, the Hasson girl pulled the door open swiftly, only to come forthright with the boy she had met the day before— Clayton.

Glancing over her state, Clayton raises an eyebrow at Briar. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Unfortunately, I was woken before your appearance," Briar speaks breathlessly. "How did you know where to find me?"

"The only house for sale in this crazy town happens to be the manor," Clayton shrugs, his eyes alight at the sight of Briar. "So I was going out on a limb by showing up. Luckily, my assumptions weren't wrong."

"Then what are you here for?" She questions. "Shouldn't you be at school?"

Clayton shrugs his shoulders, "I should. But I found the thought of visiting you far more important than missing a single day of education. I was hoping you'd take a walk with me, and we can find something to do for the rest of the day."

And, for a short moment, Briar found herself hesitating.

"I have some cash saved up," Briar speaks up, her impulses controlling her better judgement. "We could get the ingredients for my mother's chocolate chip cookies and you could help me bake them when we get back. My brother won't be back for some time, but I'd prefer to be here when he gets back."

"That's perfect," the boy smiles in return, flashing his pearly teeth. "But only if I pay."

Narrowing her eyes, amused, Briar gives in. "Okay. Come in, I need to get dressed, so make yourself at home until I manage to compose myself."

And just like that, she had almost completely forgotten her previous run-in with the ghost that lived in her home; but as she closed the door behind Clayton and showed him to the dining room, she couldn't help but allow her eyes to wander.

Casper was here— she knew that now.

And nothing scared her more than knowing that perhaps the stories her parents told her weren't fake after all.

_______