Both stood there gawking for a long time, staring at each other with faces full of pure shock.

Marie was able to get a good look at the ghost, making out more of his features now that he was standing still. His hair was tussled, his stature tall and lean, but the thing which caught her gaze most were his eyes. Dark, and so very sad. As if reflecting his pain, letting her see his broken soul.

"Who are you?" her voice shook more than she had expected. He did not answer, only continued to stare. Though his expression seemed blank, his eyes were flickering as if looking for something, his gaze searching her.

"My name is Marie. This is my grandmother's house, which she has given to me. Please tell me who you are. Or if this is all in my head." as she spoke, she wondered if perhaps he could not understand her. 

She looked more closely at him now, noticing a small scar on the left of his forehead. His body was faded and blue, almost resembling a reflection in water. 

Knowing her only options were to leave or stay, and not quite feeling ready to go back and see her sister, she yet again chose to stay. She had gotten used to the very long and mundane process of speaking to the air, after all of the waiting during visits to her grandmother. Perhaps she could treat this like she was talking to dear Charlotte, only this time she was speaking to a ghost.

After a few more failed attempts to introduce herself to the ghost, Marie decided it would be best to at least use her time doing something. So she rose from the ground, not bothering to say goodbye as she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. Throwing away all of the far-since-rotten food would be a start to tidying up the old house, as it would also help to clear out the dingy smell.

Cabinets were full of dust, bugs and other such creatures dead amidst what had once been food. The only thing which seemed to have remained as beautiful as it had been over half a decade ago was the lovely set of china. Displayed neatly and perfectly in the cabinet, reminding Marie of what the house had once been.

She then began to hum to herself, and was shocked at the tune which escaped her lips. That slow, tragic song was one her mother used to sing to her and Eve each night when they first moved close to Charlotte.

Anne's voice was not at all mellifluous, but her broken notes were enough to provide a small sense of comfort to the two young girls. Some nights, if Anne was too tired or sad to put them to bed after a long day at work, Eve would hum the song to Marie with her soft, sweet melody.

Those pleasant moments were often the ones Marie most longed to forget. It reminded her of the days when she thought the world of her mother. She would look at her with bright eyes, thinking that someday she wished to be as hardworking and wonderful as her. 

But those were just the moments which clouded the painful truth. The days which convinced Marie that her mother was hurting as much as they were. And perhaps she was, but Marie no longer liked to think about it.

After Marie had repeated the song at least a dozen times, she snapped out of her pensive daze at a sound which startled her. But as her head whipped around, she only saw the ghost standing a few feet away. Watching her.

She wondered how long he had been observing.

Marie nodded in his direction and made her way into the living room. That room smelled unpleasant as well, so she opened all of the doors and windows to let in some fresh air.

Then she began to tidy up, smoothing out the pillows and sweeping up the dusty floor. And as she reached the end of the hallway, hoping to put a book back in it's shelf, she yet again saw the locked door. Curiosity gnawed at her mind with eager impatience, nearly considering breaking the door as the best option. But she quickly shook away the thought, knowing whatever was in there wasn't worth the trouble.

She remembered that the ghost had been in there, and realized that if she found a way to interact with him, he could tell her what was inside. If he was real.

Marie spun on her heals and ran down the hall so quickly in order to find him, but stopped in her tracks when he was, yet again, only a few feet behind her. He tried to flee, but Marie called for him to wait.

And he listened.

"You can understand me?" she asked under her breath. The ghost stared blankly, eyes full of fear. Marie's hope flickered out of existence, her gaze falling to the floor. She bit her lip, thinking of how unbelievable her day had been. Then all of her tenseness released as her lungs let out a laugh.

The ghost watched with furrowed brows, even more confused than Marie. She felt so lost, so ridiculous. But she had learned from years of chasing inconceivable stories that sometimes the only option left is to laugh.

She laughed at herself, for trusting her eyes, and at her mother for thinking her manipulation would work. And when the laughs slowly faded into silence, she blinked away regretful tears. Her life was so horribly ironic that some days she wished to write a book about it. She knew going back home would be a mistake, yet there she was. Falling back into the patterns she had tried so hard to escape. Every day a new trick for her mind. 

In the midst of her deep thoughts she didn't notice the ghost moving closer to her. His forehead was lined with worry, his eyes again flickering over her face. Marie looked up and smiled, embarrassed but grateful she hadn't cried. 

Then her eyes widened in shock and confusion as he opened his mouth, a smooth, low, comforting voice speaking words she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Are you alright, Marie?"

And then she began to cry.