Chapter Text
It was a brutally cold night. The only thing able to drown out the incessant dirge of raindrops on roofs and thunderclaps across the horizon was the mortal howling of the wind, strong enough to shake the bones of those lying in the cemetery not a mile away. It never used to rain this much.
That’s what the dead girl resting in the rafters thought.
She was ghostly pale, translucent, with skin like a paper lamp and hair like the shadows dancing in the windows. Her hair had danced once too, swinging from the branches of a tree. But she tried not to think about it anymore. She was dressed in the clothes she’d died in, all dolled up, hair straight and nails trimmed, ready for the day ahead. She’d never actually gotten to see that day, of course. But then, no one had, really. The moment she’d breathed her last had been the moment the world around her shattered forever.
No one knew there was a ghost in the house. But everyone knew there was a tragedy. It was depression, some said. Others blamed an eating disorder. It was murder! some cried, it was murder by the hands of her boyfriend, or father, or her creepy little kid brother, the shut-in, who hadn’t spoken a word since.
It was quite hard for the gossip-mongers to really know the why and who without having the faintest idea of the how.
Dying hadn’t hurt, really. She didn’t remember much. A loud crash— though, of course, not anywhere near loud as the earth-shaking scream that had followed. Sobs. A shaky voice, suggesting the impossible. The last thing she had felt was the faint sensation of something grazing her neck. Then she had left the mortal plane forever, no longer able to control how she healed or hurt others. That was the worst part of all of it—after all she had done to make sure her friends were okay, now she had to live—or, well, die—knowing she had hurt them more than she ever had in life.
All she could do now to make this house of tragedy a home was to make life easier for the inhabitants. There were four of them. A man and a woman, happily married and glad to make the quaint town their home. A fiercely protective big brother, a knight in shining armour at the ripe age of twelve. And a little girl, head filled with dreams and sweet memories of a life so far well lived. The ghost girl did what she could for them. A lost sock, placed on a dresser in plain sight. A dropped coffee cup, caught in the nick of time and placed gently on the floor. Any little thing she could do to help was enough. Any little thing to make up, slowly, for the suffering she had inflicted on so many others.
“What’s your name?” The question had startled the ghost. The face looking back at her was young and smooth, that of a girl no more than five. She stared at the ghost with wide, round blue eyes full of wonder, her face a perfect painting of innocent curiosity.
“You can see me?” the ghost said. Seven years. Seven years in this house and not a soul had recognized her, not even the one she had loved dearest of all. She resolved then that this little girl would know her name.
The name the ghost girl uttered then was the same name she heard now.
Amidst the roar of the storm and the cries of the wind, the ghost girl heard a rattle at the door. Holding a softly-glowing candle, she ventured through the floor— never down the stairs never down the stairs —and into the foyer. The slick doorknob trembled in her pale fingers as she opened the door. A hand flew to her mouth.
Standing before her was a face she hadn’t seen since she was alive. Pale, sporting neatly cropped black hair, the boy looked just like the one she’d left behind those years ago. He said her name in a voice tinged with loneliness and broken from disuse.
“Mari?”
Mari felt hot tears running down her face. He was here. He was here with her after all these years. First he had left her by locking the door and shutting her out, his mind twisted, seeing her as a distorted reminder of his worst deed. Then he had moved out of the house forever, leaving behind distressed friends and more questions than answers. Now he was back, all alone. But how?
Mari didn’t skip a beat before wrapping her arms around her little brother, returned to her at last.
“It’s you,” she said. “Sunny.”
---
It didn’t take long for Mari to notice something was wrong.
Sunny had always been pale. It ran in the family. But this—this was unnatural. His skin was porcelain-white, paler than Mari’s own dead skin…and glowing just as much. Fear began to set in. What happened to you, Sunny?
Even being a ghost, Mari was usually able to take hold of solid objects. She’d often grabbed a child’s hand to stop them from running into the the street, a door to stop it from slamming…countless times, she had prevented little accidents. Little tragedies.
But as she tried to take Sunny’s hand and came away with nothing but air, she knew she had been too late to stop the biggest tragedy of all.
“Sunny?” she said, her voice wrought with horror. “Sunny? Are you…dead?”
To her horror, his only response was a singular grim nod of his head.
“Sunny…” Mari said. “Sunny, talk to me.” She knelt down to meet him at eye level. Sunny didn’t say anything, merely walked past her, and Mari turned around, confused.
“Sunny?” Mari said again. Sunny didn’t respond. The more Mari watched him, the more she worried. Sunny didn’t own a pair of striped black and white shorts. Why was he wearing them now? Had he really changed this much? Did...did Mari even know him anymore?
Sunny drifted through the walls and towards the stairs— not the stairs not the stairs not the stairs not the stairs —leaving Mari to follow him. He stood on the top step, blank eyes following Mari as she walked to the bottom of the stairs.
“Sunny, say something,” Mari said. “I—I’m getting scared…” A cold wind ripped through the house, and Mari realized she hadn’t closed the door. She moved to do it now, but the sound of Sunny’s voice stopped her.
“No,” he said. Mari stopped dead in her tracks.
“Don’t go?” Mari said. Sunny nodded. The pain in his face was there , but it was hidden so deep down. Those blank, emotionless eyes scared Mari. What had happened in the three years since Sunny had left forever? What awful, awful things did he see every night in his dreams? The want to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything would be okay, overruled her fear, and Mari did something she hadn’t for years.
She stepped on the first step of the stairs.
Sunny opened his mouth and let out a horrible, deathly scream.
Somewhere else in the house, a little girl opened her eyes blearily. She had heard something. Was it the ghost girl? The ghost girl was Mira’s favorite playmate, the only one who understood the games she wanted to play. Mira heard it all the time—that she was such a smart little girl, that she would go places someday—but that didn’t really help when the other third graders didn’t know the things she knew. Mira knew about the inner workings of the heart, and the different species of birds native to Madagascar, and the structure of traditional titles of nobility in England. But no one else knew. No one except the ghost girl Mari.
For all that Mira knew about the world, she couldn’t figure out what had happened to Mari. Mari would tell her about lots of things—about what she was learning in her high school classes, and about how she had a boyfriend who loved her very much, and about how she played the piano better than anyone in the entire state. Mira wanted to be just like Mari one day. Not just smart, but kind too—Mari always helped Mira through it when the other kids made fun of her at school.
“I wish you could come to school too, Mari,” Mira said once. Mari smiled sadly, patting her head.
“I can’t, honey,” she said. “It’s hard to explain. I don’t really understand it, even. I get a feeling in my chest when I try to leave. A squeezing feeling.”
“Like a heart attack,” Mira said. Mira didn’t know about ghosts, but she did know about hearts.
“Yeah,” Mari said. “Like a heart attack. It does mean I can’t come to school with you, but I can do everything I can to help you here at home.” Mari wrapped her arms around Mira, and Mira smiled. Even if no one else understood her, at least she had Mari.
The sound continued. It almost sounded like…like a scream. Is Mari hurt? Mira wondered. No, that would be silly, she reasoned. Ghosts can’t get hurt. Right?
Regardless, she padded to the door and opened it.
Mari saw the little girl before the girl saw her. Mari went pale.
“Mira?” Mari called. “It’s not—It’s not super safe to be here right now,” she said. “There’s something going on.” To her horror, Mira walked down the hallway and to the stairs—the stairs where Mari stood now, paralyzed by the sounds of Sunny’s inhuman scream and of Mira’s small, even footsteps. Then Mira stopped cold.
“Mari?” Mira said, her eyes wide. “Mari, is this a ghost thing?” Mari looked around wildly before meeting the child’s eyes. She tried to take a step further up the stairs, but Sunny started screaming again, louder this time. Mira started to move towards Sunny.
“No, Mira, don’t—don’t go any closer,” Mari said desperately. “Don’t—it’s a—it’s a ghost thing, Mira, don’t worry about it. Go back to bed.” Mira narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Mari?” Mira asked. “I heard screaming.” Mari furrowed her brow.
“You can’t see—?” she said, before stopping herself. “It wasn’t me,” she settled on. “I’m okay.” Mira nodded hesitantly and went down the hall back to her room. Sunny turned his eyes back to Mari.
“Who’s the kid?” he said. The most he’d spoken since he’d appeared at the door.
“Her name’s Mira,” Mari said. “She’s eight.” Sunny didn’t seem to have much of a reaction to this information. “She took my room” was all he said. Mari’s brow furrowed.
“You be nice to her,” Mari said. “I get the feeling that—that life hasn’t been that great for Mira. Or wasn’t. Before she moved here.” Sunny nodded.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. Mari nodded, her eyes serious.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, you will.”