The wind whistled through the dead tree branches. Brown leaves were scattered everywhere, matching the trees' appearance. I stood in front of the rusty, metal, gate, wondering if I should take a step further. With a mind of its own, my arm reached forward, lightly resting on the artifact, as if it could break at the lightest touch. I gently pushed it open and reluctantly took a couple of steps. Inside of the gate the atmosphere felt different. The air was thick, and it seemed colder than it was before.

I took careful steps on the beat-up sidewalk. The scuffling of my shoes against the concrete blew away with the wind. Moss filled the cracks and there were multiple places where you could trip. I stopped in front of the entrance doors and looked to the side. There was a sign, stuck in the dirt, the faint letters on it read:

Hospital for Children

Established 1864

Abandoned 1996

I took a deep breath, and tried to prepare myself for what I might find. The door creaked as I pushed it open and I walked into what looked like the waiting room. Files were scattered everywhere along with pencils and sign-in sheets, with fancy manuscripts that you don't see often these days. There was a desk in the corner, covered in dust and cobwebs, with what looks like small handprints that belong to a child.

What if the rumors are true? The question kept ringing through my mind, reminding me that I don't know what's here, and that I should fear the unknown. The thought sent a shiver down my spine.

The paint on the walls was peeling off, and there were chairs that looked like you wouldn't be able to sit in them for a long time without getting agitated. It smelled revolting, like rotten cheese sitting in your refrigerator, waiting to be thrown out. I tried to ignore it to the best of my ability.

I headed towards the nearest door, which happened to be a surgery room. Old tools were on rusty trays and the bed that the patient would lay on had an off-white sheet on it, with a thin layer of dust.

I gasped loudly at the big boom that came from behind me. I sighed in relief when I realized that it was just the door shutting. For a moment I had thought it was her.

"Snap out of it," I scolded myself. "There is no possible, logical way that she can be here. She's dead."

Then why did you come here? My brain argued. Because you couldn't resist coming here after what you heard.

I grumbled. My mind was right. I came here to find out, because of curiosity. Curiosity had always been my biggest strength and weakness. Curiosity kept me going, but it could lead me to disasters.

A gust of icy cold wind blew past me. I shrieked. I turned around and backed up against the brick wall. The windows weren't open, and they didn't seem to have any cracks in them. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself, but it wasn't working. My heart was pounding at an irregular beat against my ribcage, I felt like somebody had punched me hard in the gut and I couldn't breath, and a cold sweat was running down my forehead.

I hastily ran to the door, and pushed it open for me to exit. It seemed much heavier, but I was in too much of a hustle to dwell over it.

I sat down in one of the waiting room chairs, and tried to get my breath back. My shallow breaths filled the room, accompanied with my small, soft sobs. There could be a reasonable explanation as to what happened that I could find out by going back in there, but instead I sat there, acting like a three year-old.

I forced myself to stand up and pull it together. I decided to go down the hallway by the desk. It was dark and it gave me a creepy vibe, but there were lights hanging from the ceiling that were flickering on and off, providing me with a way to see where I was going.

My diligent footsteps bounced off of the walls and echoed back to me. My breaths were still shaky, but I did my best to stifle them.

There were many doors to choose from. There wasn't any signs on them indicating what room they were, so I just pulled open the first door on my left. Immediately I heard a loud, distinctive weeping from a child.

I let go of the door handle and it slammed shut. The weeping stopped. Once again, I opened the door and it started again. But instead of closing the door again, I advanced toward the sound.

Are you crazy! My mind shouted. Run in the other direction! Before it's too late!

Rather than listening to my brain, which may or may not have been a good idea, I kept walking further into the room.

"Hello?" I called. I didn't know what else to say and "hello" is what every character in scary movies say, so why not? Cliché phrases are cliché for a reason.

The weeping only got louder.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I promised to the imperceptible child. I turned my head to the right and there she was.

I screamed at the sight of her. She had long, tangled, black hair and she was wearing a grimy, tattered hospital gown. Her skin was an odd shade of light gray, she had hollow cheekbones that suggested that she hadn't eaten for a long time. But the most scariest, creepiest part of her was her eyes. I should even say eyes because she didn't have any. Where they should have been was just two black, dark voids like a bottomless pit. She was definitely a paranormal creature, but she didn't look like she would harm anyone. I used that as my motivation to walk towards her.

"Hey," I whispered when I was close. Most people would have been out of the building by now, but I couldn't help it. I felt drawn towards her, like I needed to help her. "I'm not going to hurt you," I repeated. Her weeping seized to a minor sob.

"What's your name?" I asked.

She looked hesitant to answer me at first, but I could have been wrong since one of the main way to read people's emotions is through their eyes. "Annie Corduroy," she squeaked. I was actually surprised that she answered me.

"Okay. Why were you crying?" I cooed.

She started crying again. "I'm looking for my mom, but I can't find her!" she frustratedly said.

"Um... I'll help you find her. Just... Just stay here while I look," I stumbled over my words.

I chose to look at the files in the waiting room to see if I could find anything. I raced into the room and picked up a bunch of files on the floor. I sat down in the nearest chair and began flipping through.

Eaton, Jackson, Marie, Smith ... no Corduroy in this pile. I thought. I grouped that next files together while hoping and wishing that I would find the right one. I didn't even know why I was doing this, I just felt the need to, but I knew that part of it was my curiosity. The other part might have been trying to help Annie.

I was about half way through the pile when I found it. The top part read:

Patient: Annie Corduroy

Parent/Guardian: Margaret Corduroy

Status of Patient: Deceased

Updated: 10/31/1995

The rest didn't matter. All I had to do was look up Margaret Corduroy, and find out where she's buried, because she's most likely dead. I pulled out my phone, thanking the Lord that I got enough service to fulfill my needs.

A minute later I had a funeral website on my screen with a picture of Margaret. I got the name of the graveyard: Wilson Cemetery. I realized that I passed it on the way here, which was music to my ears.

I quickly shoved my phone back in my pocket and briskly walked back into the room, with the file, where Annie was waiting.

"Annie!" I burst through the door. "I know where your mom is. Come on!" It was strange being able to talk to a ghost so easily and feeling pretty much comfortable with it, but I guess you can't believe what all those ghost hunter shows tell you.

She stood up and we headed out the door, with me guiding her with which way to go.

"Here we are," I announced. We were right in front of her mother's grave, and right next to it was Annie's own grave.

Most of the grass in the graveyard was dead, there were cracked tombstones everywhere and the white gate around the area had chips in it; all of the characteristics said that no one really cared about this place.

"Where exactly are we?" Annie asked me. I gulped. I hadn't told her that her mom was dead yet.

"Wilson Cemetery," I said quietly. She choked on a sob.

"So that means..."

"Yeah."

Annie took a deep breath and wiped away stray tears off of her face. I hadn't noticed before how she was still capable of crying. Maybe not knowing where her mother was crushed her so much that it gave her the ability to cry.

She tentatively placed her hand on her mother's tombstone and started tracing each letter delicately. When she finished tracing the "y", she started to disappear slowly until she was completely gone. She could rest now. She found her sense of peace.

I guess that curiosity is more of my strength than my weakness. It lead me to help a ghost, a paranormal creature, something that I never thought I would do. You never know what your strengths and weaknesses are until they come into play.

And if that means helping a ghost, then so be it.