You

You stand outside your tall, Victorian-style house, peering at the foggy windows with much curiosity. You shouldn’t have to be curious, for this was your place of residence. You have inhabited all of the space in this house; but, it was not just you. Not just you were once confined to these walls, not out of force but out of willingness. This house was picked out by your family. Your wife and daughter. Slowly but surely, you walk to the front door that used to be painted a hue of dandelion, but it has now faded into a smoky hue. It was her favorite color, and just seeing this makes a sharp pain hit your chest like a bullet straight through your heart. You touch the door handle gently, turn it with care, and step inside. You peer inside, so cautiously–for who knows how long it will be until the pain comes back. The floor is now covered in dust. The brown floor boards creak as you set your old leather travel bag onto the floor and look about. It’s just as you left it, but more sad. More lonely, for there are no sounds of laughter, and no sense of joy vibrating through the walls. You see the mirror that hangs on the wall in front of the door. You can almost hear her voice saying, Even though it’s small, it’s so homey! We will put a mirror in every room, so the wonderful light will be reflected all around! You try to control the pain, but here it comes once more. You see yourself wince in the mirror, then pause – to look closer.

Your tall figure stares back at you, your brown hair spewed everywhere, round glasses slipping down your nose, and under the lenses, your wide gray eyes that match the now dusty color palette of the house. You think to yourself, I look like I’ve seen a ghost. Really, a ghost is seeing you.

We

We watch from the mirror as he moves around. We are hit with an overwhelming feeling of comfort, even in seeing him in discomfort. We flow from mirror to mirror, looking. Watching, as he travels into the living room, the one that we once all laughed in. We go to the large mirror , watching as he walks around, cautiously, for he knows we are here.

“Is that him?” Lana asks, as she looks through the glass pane with a great sense of wonder.

“Yes, it is,” I say in return.

You

You look around the living room pausing at the next mirror. It shines, but not like it used to. The little fingerprints on it that used to be there gave it character. You take a step closer, seeing that they are still there. Here comes the pain again, and it hurts so badly that you don’t notice the hint of the eyes, the eyes of something from inside the mirror.

You turn into the kitchen, for though you haven’t eaten in days, you would like to feel the warmth of the oven on, smell the light sugary scent of the treats that she used to make for your daughter. You go to the cupboard, and you take a look about, hoping to find the box of recipes. Thinking, you try to remember the last time that you used the box. You realize that it is up in your room. The room that you and her shared, for the few years that you had. As you turn and go up the stairs, you stop when you see something that you thought you forgot about. Under the eleventh stair, there is a small painting. In it, there is a clouded sky that is very professional looking, the colors flowing seamlessly, as if you were looking out the window into the sky. Underneath, there are about twenty hand-drawn flowers. You remember this like it was yesterday, for it almost was. You think back to when they were still here…

It was a sunny afternoon in the early months of the spring, when there was still a light sprinkling of snow still on their lawn. The school bus had just pulled up, and little Lana stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk, her long wispy brown hair falling out of her braid. She skipped onto their lawn, her backpack swinging over her shoulders as she did. She looked up the stairs, then ran inside. She flew to the living room and onto the couch. She noticed that her mom was not in the normal spot that she was, every day, after Lana would get out of school. So, she walked around calling, “Momma! Momma, where are you?”

She ran up the stairs to check her room when she almost tripped over her mom, feeling her before seeing her. Her mother was sitting crouched down on the stairs, with pieces of wood, nails, and paint containers set on the stair above her. She looked destressed even when Lana leaped into her lap. Lana looked up at her mother and exclaimed, “What’s the matter momma? Why do you look so
sad?”

Her mother then replied, “I’m not sad, I promise. I am trying to fix this stair, but I can’t match the paint color just right. It’s okay honey, I will take a break to play with you,” she said with a melancholy smile.

Lana launched herself of of her mom with a smile that could be used to light an entire town. “Okay mamma!”

Later that night, when Lana was presumably tucked into bed, her mother sat on the couch, talking to her husband. They looked deep in discussion, and they were so into it, that they didn’t hear the floor boards creaking as Lana stepped down to the eleventh stair. She sat on the stairs, pulled out her markers and got to work.

The next morning, when Lana’s dad had already headed to work, Lana’s mother stepped down the steps and realized that all of her painting materials were put away. She looked at the stair, only to find that there were eight little flowers drawn there. She sat on the stairs and smiled, because she knew. Even as a little child, Lana could tell what was happening. Lana then stepped down from the top step, looking at her mom.

“Mommy, do you like them?” she asked, with such innocence that there was only one answer that could come out of her mother’s mouth.

“Of course! And you know what?”she said as she walked down the stairs the rest of the way, Lana following closely behind. “I think that I will add to your art.” She went through the living room and then turned into her study. It was not meant to be an of ice, but a greenhouse, for it was made entirely out of windows. There were no mirrors in this room, because they were not needed. Lana’s mother went into the drawer and grabbed her paint set. And so, the rest of the Saturday morning was spent turning the stair
into something much better than broken.

You reach the top of the stairs, and you look. You peer inside your bedroom, and you see the old chair that used to belong to her grandmother, with the small dandelion table next to it. It still holds her magazines, as well as the clips of past newspapers. Above it is a small mirror that is in a gold frame. It is all too much for you as you step into the room. You look around, and as you do so, you feel the pain shoot into your chest yet again. You decide that it is not necessary to go in right this second, so you step back out. You head back down the stairs. The cookies can wait until another day.

We

Again, we caught a glimpse of him while he was going up the stairs. He even looked right at us, but he was way too dazed to even notice who was there.

“Why didn’t he say hello?” Lana implored.

“He does not yet know,” I say.

That night, he didn’t sleep in his bed. His and mine. He looked very nervous even though he was set up as cozy as can be on the couch with a small candle on his left, as well as a cup of tea. We flow into the kitchen mirror to take a closer look as he paces back and forth a few hours later.

“Is he scared of us?” Lana askes, looking more scared than him.

“No darling. He is not.” I say, as to not hurt her feelings. I am not sure myself, for he has not acknowledged us yet. We know that he misses us, and maybe that’s why he looks frightened. Maybe he is feeling all of our memories too close, just as we were.

Finally, he goes to bed. We watch him as he sleeps, in total silence. He is frowning in his sleep, as if he knows that something is wrong. For the rest of the night, we sat and stared at him. May we always be with him. In his sleep, he suddenly stirs.

“You will always be with me, my love,” he whispers.

You

For many more days, you stay on the main floor of the house. You work in the kitchen every day,
trying to distract yourself from the overwhelming feeling of the presents of something else. You fall into a
schedule that you run through every day.
One night
you fall asleep
The thinking starts
Somewhere else
The temptation of closing your eyes
Ignoring the distress
Half asleep, you hear a sound.
A whisper
Asleep,
Your eyes open
You feel a breeze
Did I leave a window open?
You look, but it is not
Turning the corner into the kitchen.
Check the window in there
You look, but it is not
Into the main room,
but then you turn around
What happened to the door?

It was right here one second ago…
You turn back around
Facing the stairs.
You hear a faint whisper.
Please…
Confused, you back up
Into the mirror in the main room.
What is going on?.
Your vision gets blurry
You are lost
Everything gets clear
For a moment
You see the two figures in the mirror.
Please…
Again, you’re at the top of the stairs
looking into the mirror in your room.
Everything gets clear
For a moment
You see the two figures in the mirror.
You are back in the main room.
Dizzy, you see them
Coming towards you.
You are back in the kitchen.
They are coming out of the mirror.
You turn
and run.

To the room…
the only room…
You wake up
Everything gets clear
For a moment
You look in the mirror
No ghosts look back at you
Good, it was only a dream.

We

We feel bad, for we did not mean to scare you. I sit, watching the distraught look on your face as you walk all around the house. You have become more nervous after that night, and I know that deep down inside, you know that we’re here.

Weeks pass, and you grow more calm, but only slightly. Lana only grows more curious, but I need to keep her away. You don’t know what you want right now. One day, early in the morning, we saw you walk out the door. We sit and wait, patiently. We have to be, for your sake. After many hours of waiting, you show back up. In through the door, bags slung around your shoulders. Groceries, we assume, because that is all that you leave for. But there is too much food for only you.

You

You walk into the kitchen, and you set everything down. You have an idea. An amazing idea, if you do say yourself. You have realized that you are too uneasy in your own house, and you think that you know why. It is because the house is too empty. It used to be full of light and laughter, but not any more.

But if you invite others in, it will change. You are not forgetting the memories that you have, but you are building more.

You muster up all of your courage, and you walk. Up the stairs. Into your room. You rush in, even while your heart is pounding so fast that if anyone else was here, they would be able to hear it. By the bedside you see it. The box with all of the recipes inside. You bend down to lift it, but you pause. There, on your bed stand, is your wedding photo. Yours and her’s. Remembering the best day of
your life should feel lovely, but it didn’t. It triggers a flash of pain shooting through your chest. You set it back down as if it were on fire, and then pick up the box. You walk briskly down stairs, and start baking. With all of the preparation that goes into events such as this one, juggling all of your work and your plans, you fall into a routine that is never interrupted. You get up, make coffee, start dusting, head to work, get home, bake more, and call people to invite. Once everything is all set up, you will fall asleep happy.

We

As these past days have gone by, you seem more content. It should be a greatly appreciated feeling by us, but it causes a bit of deep-rooted pain. I am overwhelmed with a feeling that is greater than I can describe. We have watched you for so long, in all of your despair, and I am afraid your longingness is being passed onto us.

Lana has gotten more curious about what is going on with you. She watches much more intently as you turn our house back to its former state, making it look like you never left. Like we never left.

“Momma,” Lana asks, “when will we see him again?”

“You have been watching him for days honey,” I responded.

“But it is not the same.”

“I know.”

You

The night is young, and everything is ready. The calls have been made, the food set out. You have filled all of the house with warm smells and anticipation. You are prepared. You don’t know it now, but you start to feel them slip away. You can’t feel it now, but you will soon.

With your house bustling with people, you hover around, making small talk.

“How have you been?”

“My, you look lovely tonight!”

Hospitality has never been your thing, but you put much effort into making everyone feel comfortable. The champagne is flowing freely, and the soft music that is being played on the piano makes you feel at ease. You stop for a moment and look around at all of the joy that has been created here, because of you. This was a marvelous idea! You think.

Suddenly, you feel a breeze, accompanying a faint whisper.

We

We have watched and waited for too long. We have tried to make him aware that we are here, but he has ignored us. He has gone on, trying to erase us, trying to forget. This will be the final time.

“Momma,” Lana whispers.

“Yes, darling?”

“Can we see him now?”

“Yes.”

You

At first, you think that it is just in your imagination, the breeze that seems to be flowing through the house. The whispers that you hear. Please… But then, everyone stops moving. They start to get frightened, as the piano music crashes to a halt. And then, everyone turns to look.

The mirror in the living room

The reflection of two ghostly figures staring
Not aware, you are locked in the stare
Guests are leaving, but you stay
Everyone is gone.
“Who are you?”
You know the answer.
“We are your family. Your wife. Your daughter.”
You are frozen with fear
“I have missed you so.”
They are taken back
They look at each other
Curiosity in their eyes
Lana whispers
“Can we see you again?”
“I am sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
“Will you come with us?” Lana asks.
“Come with us. Please.”
Your wife looks at you
Trying to convince you.
Of what?
Your wife asks again
“Please?”
Your head is pounding
You run
Into the kitchen, for them to show up in that mirror.
Please…

Up the stairs,
Into your room.
Following you
Please…
Back down the stairs you go
Please…
The voices ringing inside your head.
Please…
There is one place
With no mirrors.
Head pounding
Voices ringing
Into the office
The greenhouse
Everything is silent. The pounding in your head has stopped. So have the voices. You take this time to catch your breath, to devise a plan. You think about how you could get out of your house. Could I go somewhere else? You think. Would they follow me? You think.
Then, you realize the most important thing of all. You miss them, and you can’t do anything about it. Anything to help yourself. Anything to see them again. You can’t live without them. Even with them still in your house. They are with you, but you are not with them.

Please…

You hear the voices again, but you are no longer afraid. You feel the breeze again, but you are no longer scared. You are no longer trapped by the grief that was locked inside you. The voices get louder, closer. The breeze gets stronger. You see them. They are coming closer towards you, but you do not run.

You stay standing tall.

Lana asks again. “Can we see you again?”

You look down at her.
“Please?”
You only have one thing to say.
“Yes, Lana.”
“You will always be with me.”