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My head is cradled between my tiny hands, and I rock myself back and forth, back and forth, desperately clinging to whatever sense of normalcy, of sanity I can.

It had been getting worse from the moment the first guest entered the grounds of the Black Estate. Their own ghosts called out to me, adding to the chorus of voices inside my own head. They tell me things, impossible things, frightening things...

But I mustn't listen. I let out a long, shuddering breath. No. I can't listen.

I rise up to my feet, groaning as a wave of dizziness hits me from the sudden shift. I latch on to the wall to keep myself from toppling over, and I peek out the crack between the door and the wall. Coast is clear.

I make my way out from the guest bedroom and tiptoe downstairs, not wanting to alert anyone to my presence, for if I did, they would welcome me or talk to me and I have enough voices chattering in my mind to make up for the lack of company. I slip out the back door and into a wonderland of flowers.

Roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, hydrangeas, tulips, and hundreds of other kinds of flowers fill the garden. They look, at the same time, wonderfully up kept and wild, with vines curling off of old pillars and overgrown masses of plants shifting around as I walk in their midst. This is where I go to unwind, to take a break from the pounding flood of voices in my mind. Here, they do not come. Here, I am free.

I pluck a budding rose from a nearby bush and I inhale the aroma of the delicate flower. I close my eyes, and a dreamy smile floats across my face. Mmmm...

Gray... you didn't really think you could hide from us for long, did you?

I gasp, and the rose drops out of my hands. Tears come to my eyes involuntarily. How is this possible?! They've never found me here before...

Mentally cursing them, I rush through the garden, trying to desperately to find something, what it is, I have no clue. I'm just running to run, to pretend that I can really run from them at all. Because they are in my head, an ever-present curse.

Running won't do you any good, will it? One voice muses.

No, but she's cute to try. Look at her frail little legs! I come to a screeching halt at that remark. I will not let them laugh at me!

I busy myself with a patch of flowers, moving them to a different patch of dirt and replacing them with a few budding daisies, meanwhile humming to myself. I have found that if I act indifferently to the voices, they grow bored of me and leave me alone.

You won't be so lucky today, Gray. I can almost feel breathing down my neck, and I twist violently around. No one is there.

Today? What's special about today? And yes, I know that it is my uncle's birthday. But that happens every year, what's special about this one?

Malevolent thoughts fill the air... someone will die tonight. I shiver. What could that mean? Someone will die? How? Malevolent thoughts... none of the guests would... attack anyone, would they? My uncle would not invite a potential murderer into his home, would he? And if so, who, and why?

Ah, that's the million dollar question, isn't it? Why would anyone want to kill poor, innocent old Delilah Black. But you know better than anyone the lengths he has gone to in order to gain power...

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself not to think ill of my uncle. The ghosts have told me things, shown me things... they tell me that my parents' deaths were not an "accident" as Uncle would have me believe.

But I find that hard to believe! My uncle, a murderer? Of his own kin, no less? Preposterous. Unless, of course, it isn't... Argh! I pull my fingers through my hair in anguish. He couldn't have!

My parents... I can hardly even remember them anymore. My mother, so gentle, so kind. She had beautiful blonde hair... or was it brown? My father had such a tall figure and large, green eyes... or were they blue? Tears trail down my cheeks, seeping into the woolen scarf wrapping securely around my neck.

No. I have no reason to suspect my uncle, who has been there for me all these years.

I straighten up, swiping away the salty trickles before heading back into the manor. I pass by Lily, who looks prepared to run a 5k in her running shorts and tank top, hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Why she would want to run outside in weather like this, I have no clue; the sky seems to be on the verge of downpour.

As I pass in front of the fireplace, I see Ezra and Lena conversing quietly with each other, and what looks to be a stack of cards in Ezra's hand. Business cards? Hard to tell from this distance.

I gasp, slumping against the wall as my vision blackens and then, as quick as it fled, it reappears. But it isn't my sight, it's someone else's. Ezra's, I realize. He is gazing intently into Lena's eyes, the cards still clutched tightly in his palm. I catch Lena's name on the topmost one, along with a phone number. Yep. Business cards.

Ezra blinks, and then I'm back in my body, the cold wood floor pressed up against my cheek. Ugh. I hate ghosts. I struggle to lift myself up, my sudden fainting evidently going unnoticed by the two, and by the few others in the room as well.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, I climb the stairs, the fourth one creaking loudly as it always does. Some things never change.

I glance at a grandfather clock placed in the middle of the hallway. Almost time for dinner. As if on cue, my stomach rumbles. Curiously enough, I don't feel hungry. I feel tired.

"You okay?" A quiet voice questions from behind me.

Thinking it's a ghost, I whirl around, prepared to smack whatever devil-incarnate decided to stalk me today. But it's only Arren, his foot hovering over the top step of the stairs, as if he's about to descend. He stares wide-eyed at my elbow, which is about two centimeters from colliding with his left eye. I let out a weak laugh, before lowering my arm to my side.

"A-Arren! Haha. Heyyy... buddy!" I give a nervous attempt at a greeting, which is made all the worse by the fact that I had come this close to sending him to the hospital.

He chuckles heartily, making light of the situation, for which I'm eternally grateful. Others would have attacked me with an onslaught of questions. But Arren understands the need for privacy.

"What are you doing up here? Isn't it almost time for dinner?" He questions me.

"Oh, I'm trying to resist the urge to run to the kitchen and eat all of the cookies." I joke, looking off into the distance with an awestruck look in my eyes, and Arren laughs at my expression.

He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but there are only raisin cookies left."

My eyes widen at him. "What? I love raisin cookies! See, that's why I need to abstain. I'm gonna eat them all, and I'll get fat from all the sugar, and—"

"Hold up." Arren puts his hand up in a 'stop' kind of gesture. "First of all, who likes raisin cookies? And second of all, they're so healthy they can't possibly have any sugar in them."

I glare at him. "'Who likes raisin cookies?' Excuse me? I like raisin cookies, thank you very much! And they still have sugar in them, they are cookies, after all!"

"Do you even—you know what? Never mind. Dinner's about to start, and we should really get going—"

"Yeah, sure, that's why you changed the topic. Because of dinner. And not because you totally lost that argument."

Arren just rolls his eyes, and I smirk. I win.

Bouncing down the stairs, my mood buoyant after my encounter with Arren, I practically crash into Genesis.

"Woah, girl!" She puts her hands up and backs away like I'm a rearing horse or something.

I try to pass her by, but she grabs hold of my wrist and yanks me back. "Hey, I was just wondering if you wanted to play a bit of Old Maid with me? Pegasus said dinner's gonna be late by a few minutes, so..." I nod my head. I've nothing better to do, and the ghosts haven't started up again yet, so I'll be fine. I hope.

She leads me towards the lounge area, and we begin playing. We're both a little rusty, and the game quickly becomes competitive, but Genesis pulls forward in the end.

Miss Joy comes in to announce dinner to us and the people at the bar, so we conclude our game.

-§0§-

Dinner sucked.

Well, I'm sure a lot of the guests would disagree with me, but seeing as the majority of them are drunk, I can't exactly trust their opinions on the matter.

Pegasus truly outdid herself on the cooking, but the mood was just so dull and dreary that I really couldn't enjoy my meal. And then all of the adults who were too sullen for idle chitchat chose to drown themselves in the champagne. That certainly didn't help the overall takeaway of the night.

After dinner, I retired early to my room. I tried going to sleep, but the sharp cracks of thunder were too distracting. I ended up pacing my room in impatience, for what, I have no idea. I just felt restless tonight, uneasy. As if something bad was going to happen. And then I remembered the ghost's words. 'Malevolent thoughts fill the air... someone will die tonight.' The words made me want to curl up and hide beneath my covers.

But how did I even know I could trust the words of a ghost? They weren't obligated to speak the truth and nothing but the truth.

Well, here I am now, pacing my room, wondering if something bad really will happen tonight, when a shark knock raps upon my door. For a single moment, I consider feigning exhaustion, but the knocking starts up again, and louder. Groaning, I heave myself up and slowly twist the doorknob with one hand, the other wearily rubbing my eyes.

Just as I'm about to see who's behind the door, my vision goes dark. Opening them up again, I see that I'm no longer in my room, but someone else's. I'm looking down at a chess board, playing as the blacks. The white king falls, and I mutter something under my breath, but before I have time to make out the words, my vision morphs into a different room.

I'm in the kitchen, and I'm making some sort of dessert with a whipped topping. It looks delicious. I have something in my hand that I'm about to sprinkle on it, but the darkness consumes me again.

I am in the dining room, but I am walking back towards the hallway, towards the stairs. Before I reach the first step, I turn back and look behind me. Delilah Black is seated at the dining table, eating something that has a puffy top to it. He coughs once, them twice, before doubling over in his seat. I hear footsteps, and I turn to look at whoever is approaching, but my vision once again morphs.

For a minute, I don't move. I don't expect myself to be able to. I expect myself to be in one of the guest's visions or memories that the ghosts decided to show me. But I realize that I am in my own body, that I am in control... by where am I?

I am in some hallway. I spin in a circle, trying to gain my sense of direction back in this maze. Turning down a random corner, I find myself back at my room. How I moved, I have no idea. Do I normally move while... "inhabiting" others? I shudder, realizing that I have no idea.

The instant I close my door, it is knocked on.

I freeze, wondering if it was only my imagination, when I hear the knock again. And a third time. But I can't bring myself to move.

The knob slowly starts to twist...twist... twist... until the lock clicks and begins to swing open. A shadowy, hooded figure dominates the majority of the doorway. One of it's obscured arms stretches towards me, until the sleeve falls back, revealing skin the color of snow. The other arm gently pushes it's hood back, revealing a perfect, milky face framed by auburn hair. A woman. Mother.

I am entranced. I reach out to meet her fingertips, and the room spins. Faster. Faster.

The colors mold and warp until I'm on the highway in a ratty car, a man beside me in the driver's seat. Father. I reach out and hold his hand, and he gives me a breathtaking smile. His caramel hair and hazel eyes make him the most handsome man I've ever seen. My eyes cast forward through the darkness, the car's flickering headlights shining through the night. I smile, and I finally feel at peace.

Until the car flips with a maddening lurch, and the seatbelt constricts violently against me. I gasp for air in the two seconds we're airborne, the world swirling around the windows. Then the cars thuds down heavily on its side, off the road and encompassed on three sides by trees, with the windshield facing the empty road.

A squelch sounds rips through the deafening silence, and I begin breathing faster. I struggle with the seatbelt, and it clicks back, allowing me to slump down against the door. I hold my hand against my chest. I'm alive, at least. But how did the car... how...?

I look over to give my companion a sort of half-grimace-half-smile, but something is wrong. His head is leaned too far over to be natural. And a red stain is quickly spreading over his legs. His legs. Oh my god. They're pinned beneath the underbelly of the dash. And he's not moving. He's not breathing.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP US! My husband... MY HUSBAND IS INJURED!" I feel myself saying, but my eyes are latched onto him. His face... so peaceful.

Tears stream down my face as I grasp his hand. I don't feel a pulse. He can't be dead. No. Sobs rack through my body as I grip his shirt. No. I can hardly see anymore, but I don't care. No. And our little girl... what will I tell her? Our little Margarita...

A blinding light shines into the vehicle. I press against the cracked glass to see what it is. It's a car. It looks really big, and black as pitch,

"Hello? Please, we need your help! My husba—"

I freeze as I hear the engine of the car opposite us revving up. What is it doing...?

The engine revs again. Well, if they're not going to help... I snap out of my daze and I scramble to open my husband's door, as mine is facing the ground. I climb up past him and through the door, then turn back to unstrap him.

But I pause. His legs are pinned. How can I get him out? I look forward at the opposing car again. It's about 100 feet away. Why...?

The car surges forward. At us. Why? Salty trickles dribbling off my chin, I gaze back lovingly at my husband's corpse. We had a good run. I only wish that I could see my Gray one last time—

The car explodes in a fiery burst, and I open my eyes in my own body again. I'm curled up on the floor in a fetal position, and I'm trembling. The door's shut again, as though it had never been opened. But I know better.

Every cell in my body quivering, I press my face against the cool wood floor again. Close my eyes...

When I open my eyes again, I'm in my bed. How, I do not know. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but a look out the window tells me it's still night.

Opening up my dresser, I pull out one of my sweaters, and slip it over my nightgown. Miss Joy made me these sweaters, so that whenever I feel sad or alone, I can wear it and feel safe. I inhale the scent from the neck of it, and sigh. Flowers.

I make my way to my closet across the room, wanting to grab a big comforter from my collection of blankets. But when I open the door, hazel eyes stare back down at me.

Slamming the door in his face, I let out a long scream. Not a second later, a second scream echoes from the manor. But not mine. Not a scream of surprise. This is a chilling, bloodcurdling scream. One of death.

I fling open my door and fly downstairs, trying to locate the source of the sound. Others seem to have the same idea: doors are opening and bleary faces are squinting in confusion, while slippered feet are sprinting down the stairs in a hurry. At least it isn't just me and my voices, because everyone seems to have heard it.

At last, the crowd halts at double doors. The dining room. That is where the scream of terror came from. Margaret steps forward and pushes open one of the doors. Once she is inside the room, she gasps, and her hands fall to her sides. The rest of us push past her and into the room to see whatever made Margaret stare in shock.

The room quickly hushes, and I make my way towards the front, others parting around me like water, looks of pity across their faces. And once I see what I see, I understand why they all look at me that way.

My uncle is lying across the floor, his extremities flopped every which way. The side of his face is plastered to the floor in a sticky sweat, and his eyes are open, staring glassily in front of him. And I can tell, even without looking, that the man in front of me is dead.