When a ghost makes the walls bleed a message, it is usually something like "BEWARE" or "GET OUT." However, as a paranormal investigator, this is the first time you've seen the walls say "WELCOME"
I stare at the wall in confusion, the crimson seeping through the crackled paint of the drywall.
"WELCOME" It reads, and I squint my eyes, looking back at my notepad and scrawling a simple bullet point, 'House is definitely haunted. Yet to discover malevolence.'
I walk a few steps further into the room, scanning the clearly unmaintained space of the family who called me. Low-income housing was often like this. I would have to have a word with the building manager when I'm done here, even if it's a fruitless endeavour. I hated knowing people were living in squalid conditions because of irksome circumstances.
As I move toward the dripping cacography on the wall, the curtains shift to my left by the window. I tentatively break the silence, "Hello...? Is someone there?"
The walls seem to tremble as a displaced voice rises through the skeleton of the run down house, "I... am... here..."
I ignore the shivers rippling through my spine, willing my hand to write another note, 'Can vocalize audibly. Very powerful spirit.'
"And who are you...?"
"I am... I... don't... know..." The building rustles as the disembodied voice rumbles through the living space.
Silence fills the room as the building settles, and I softly murmur my query, "You... you said 'Welcome'... why?"
"It is... polite..."
"Indeed it is... though it's also strange." I say as I slowly look around the room, trying to pin point the location of the shuddering voice. I continue when I'm met with silence, "Most spirits tend to be territorial, or threatening. I was not expecting a warm welcome."
"You... are... a... guest..."
I muster a small smile in response, my ears quirking towards the mirror hanging from the opposite wall. I scribble in my notepad, 'A surprisingly gracious host.'
"The family who lives here told me you were... trying to get them out."
"No... I... wanted to play..."
Those words cause me to freeze in astonishment, and I jot down a quick note, 'Child. Tread carefully.' Then I steel myself, walking hesitantly towards the mirror as I change my tone of voice to better fit this new information, "Do you know how long you've been here?"
"A... long... time..."
"Do you know where you are?"
A lull beats in my conversation, and my heart rate spikes. Dealing with child spirits was incredibly challenging... they were elusive and temperamental. One wrong decision and you could be fighting for your life, sanity, or both.
"What do you remember, dear?" I purposely make my voice kinder, trying my hardest to keep the conversation from growing out of control.
"... Mommy was... sick... I... got sick... too..."
I let the quiet flow, leaving room for the spirit to speak more if it wished to.
"Mommy... got... better... I... I don't know where she is..." The begins to shake, and my pulse quickens, a lump forming in my throat. I neglected to heed my own advice, 'Tread carefully'... I slowly gaze into the mirror, seeing the faint personage of a young boy, he looked no older than ten, from what I could tell.
"Your mummy is waiting for you... Can I help you find her?" I whisper gingerly, my voice trembling slightly as I stare at the small boy in the reflective glass. "How..." The voice rumbles, and my brows twitch with sorrow, I didn't know how.
"Is there... something you want? Something you remember?" I pose with a slight smile, keeping my voice as even and comforting as I could, though fear trickled up my spine, my heart pounding in my throat. "I... I wanted to paint... mommy said I couldn't paint until I was better..." The voice softens slightly, and I could hear the innocence of this boy now, the rumbling muted and allowing me to hear his true voice.
"I... I don't have any paints, dear... but I do have this notepad. Will that work?" I suggest while flipping the page of my notepad to a blank one, placing it on the ground along with my pen. My voice carries through the echoing walls as I offer what I have to this young spirit, "Go on... you can use it, dear."
I watch as the pen lifts into the air, the notepad following suit. The suspended items collide as the pen slides across the yellow lined paper, leaving a trail of ink in its wake that slowly forms into a small drawing... when the notepad and pen lower to the floor, I hear a small voice resonate through the walls with an air of warmth, "You are nice... mommy would have liked you..." My heart pangs at the spirit's gratitude, and a bright light fills the tiny house. I have to cover my eyes as it swells... then when it dampens, then disappears, I glance at my notepad still on the laminate floors. I bend down to pick it up, turning the paper to the right way around to look at the childish drawing. It's messy, though endearing, there are three blobs with eyes and happy smiles. One is small, holding hands with the taller one with a ribbon in its hair, a small inscription above it that says 'Me and mommy'. The third is one with glasses, and holding a small rectangle... in a messy scrawl below it reads, 'The nice lady who let me draw in her book.'
'Thank you nice lady.'
