A Kindred Spirit

February 19th 2017

I am just going to preface this page by saying on the record that I do not believe in ghosts. Having said that, I am pretty sure I saw a ghost today. It’s only been two days since I’ve moved in here. It was a quick moving process, given the drama with Alex. The house is old and run down but has good bones. I needed somewhere quick and far away. Honestly, I could have done worse. Once I spruce the house up a bit, I actually think I could be happy here. Just me and Milly and some space to breathe. At least that’s what I thought before tonight, now I’m not sure that I haven’t traded in one shitty situation for another.

I was reading in the living room with Milly was curled up on my lap, when suddenly something caught her attention in the corner of the room. She ran over and started growling at the shadows. I tried to call her back over but she wouldn’t stop growling. I told her there was nothing there, but the longer I looked into the dark corner, the less sure of that I was. As I stared at the shadows, I could have sworn I started to see a shape emerging. It was an odd shape, like a human but bent in the wrong places, uneven. The longer I looked, the more solid the shape appeared, eventually a strange strangled cry started to emanate from the corner. It got progressively louder, an odd choking sound, until it suddenly stopped. When I blinked, I could no longer see the shape at all.

February 22nd 2017

I saw it again last night. I was lying in bed when I felt that same chill come over me, that feeling of being watched. I sat up straight away and grabbed the bat I kept next to my bed. I shouted out Alex’s name, forgetting for a moment about the safety precautions I had taken. He didn’t know where I was. It couldn’t be him. I loosened my grip on the bat but still felt that sense of unease. It was there in the shadows of my room again. At first I thought it was just my dressing gown hung up on the back of my door. But the longer I looked at it the less likely that felt. I could make out the shape of a head, bent ever so slightly to one side. As I stared, the shape began to make that noise again. A horrific choking cry. This time I could make out what the noise actually was. It was a word. The figure was asking for help.

February 23rd 2017

I’m still not entirely convinced that I am not imagining this. But the house gives me a strange feeling. Like the walls themselves are sad. I decided to look up the history of the house but couldn’t find anything useful. So, I broadened my search to the town itself. Generally, it was a wholesome little town with low crime rates, but I did find one local newspaper article from the fifties that piqued my interest. It was a very short article about a missing woman. Her husband was interviewed briefly, he claimed that she was missing, but he feared she had run away of her own volition with a man he had suspected her of having an affair with. He said he knew that she had saved up some money and then one morning she was just gone. The thing about the article that caught my eye was the picture of this woman. It was faded and grainy, but she was unmistakably standing in front of my house.

February 24th 2017

It happened again last night. A weird feeling, a vague outline in the shadows and a strangled cry for help. I decided to have a snoop around the house today, to see if I could find anything about this woman, anything that might connect her to these weird experiences. It was after scouring every inch of the mostly empty attic that I came across a wobbly floorboard. It was loose so I pried it open. Underneath there was a bag full of cash – it must have been thousands of dollars – and a small black notebook.

October 26th 1958

Billy and I moved in to the new house today. It is modest but beautiful. Much nicer than the place we were in before this. It is quiet, surrounded by woods, right on the edge of town. I think I will go sit in the garden later and sketch some of the trees, they really are pretty this time of year. I love the impermanence of the falling leaves. Beautiful but fleeting. I find the transience of it to be a comfort. Maybe things won’t always be the way they are now.

As much as I like this house, with its open rooms, dark floors and big windows, I would trade it all in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I have a long way to go before that’s possible. Through my sketches I have only made enough for half of the bus ticket. I do have an appointment booked with Alan Foster tomorrow – he’s commissioned a sketch of his daughter for his office. Even then, I’ll scarcely have enough for the bus. That’s the problem with living in a small town. I can only work with people who I can trust, who I know won’t tell Billy what I have been doing.

I should go get dinner started. Billy will be home from the office soon and I can’t be late with his dinner again.

October 28th 1958

I had a visit from Mrs Glynn today. She came by and asked me to do a sketch of her husband for her. I normally have people sit for my sketches; I’ve never done one only from a picture before but I know how much it would mean to her. I told her I’ll have it ready in a couple of days. I really can’t wait any longer.

Last night I spilled some wine on Billy's pants as I was pouring it for him. He grabbed my wrist and swore at me, his spit flew into my face. I could see that look he sometimes gets in his eyes. And I tried to get free from him. He didn’t like that and he squeezed my hand so hard that he broke my thumb. I had to tell the doctor that I had crushed my hand with a box while we were moving because Billy stayed in the room with us the whole time. I tried to plead with Doctor Campbell with my eyes, begging him to see through my words. Maybe he did. I don’t know. But he gave me a splint for my thumb and we left. At least it was my left hand, so I can still draw.

November 1st 1958

It has finally happened. I do not know what possessed her to be so generous but Mrs Glynn paid me five thousand dollars for my sketch today. I think she is old and lonely and maybe can see some of the pain in me that nobody else seems to see. I think she felt sorry for me. She said she has nothing else to spend her money on, no children to spoil. I considered refusing her, I feel guilty accepting so much, but I am desperate. I had to take it. I have enough now to go anywhere I want. As far away as I want. Somewhere Billy will never be able to follow. I stashed the money in the attic amongst my art supplies. I can see no reason why he would ever go looking in there.

November 3rd 1958

Tomorrow is the day. I went down to the bus station today and I booked my ticket. I am going to New York. The biggest, busiest city I can think of. I don’t think I will stay there forever; but I feel more comfortable being somewhere so crowded for now. He wouldn’t stand a chance of finding me. I think that maybe I will go to the West Coast from there. Somewhere sunny and warm and far far away.

November 4th 1958

I think Billy knows. I just received a call from Alan Foster. Billy came into his office today. He said Billy saw my drawing on his desk and appeared to recognise it as mine. Alan said he tried to pass it off as a favour I had done for him, but if Billy gets suspicious at all that I’ve been saving money of my own who knows how he will react. My bus leaves at five o’clock this evening, that is six hours from writing this. I have everything packed, only one bag. I will walk to the bus stop early and wait there; I don’t want to ta

February 25th 2017

I read through the notebook last night. There were many pages recounting normal domestic days, but it got darker and darker towards the end. This woman was like me. A victim of circumstance and a victim of a despicable husband. The difference was that I had gotten away, I had escaped my devil. She had been so close, painfully close. But from the abrupt end to her diary entries, I could only guess she was not so lucky. Now she is here, haunting me, perhaps because she knows I will understand, or perhaps simply because I happen to be here too. She is asking for help and I want to help her, but I don’t know how I can.

February 26th 2017

I was prepared for her last night, I no longer feel afraid. Just sad. I saw her shape emerge from the darkness in the corner of the room once again. This time I sat quietly and waited for her to show herself. As usual she started to croak out the word help. “How?” I asked her this time.

At the sound of my voice, she moved forwards out of the shadows, slowly as if she was gliding. She came right up to the edge of my bed. She looked grotesque but I didn’t flinch away from her. Her skin was a sickly shade of green, and she had deep purple bruises covering her neck. I could just make out the shape of fingers indented forever into the curve of her throat. Her head bent at an odd angle and her eyes were swollen and red. “I’m sorry,” I told her. And I was. Then I asked her again how I could help her. She stared back at me for a moment before turning and moving slowly out of the room. I scrambled out of bed and followed her.

She floated up the stairs, all the way to the attic. Once we were in there, she simply pointed to the floorboard that hid her stash of money. Her diary was no longer in there but I had left the cash where it was. As much as I needed the money, it wouldn’t have felt right to take it. As she pointed, with a look of immense sadness in her eyes, I somehow knew what she wanted from me. She was trapped in this house, tied here by the only remnants of her that were left, hidden away by the man who took her life. This was her unfinished business. These things were hers, nobody else’s, and they no longer belonged here anymore than she did. So, I burned them.

February 26th 2018

It has been a year and she has not been back. The look on her distended face as she watched her life-savings and her memories go up in flames is the last image I ever saw of her. It was a picture of relief, of freedom. Then she was gone.