The Girl In The Window: Part 1

We started putting all the boxes in the car. Handing one box to my dad I turn to go back to my room to say goodbye to my childhood. My toys all boxed up and put away. I run my hand along the walls, a single tear rolls down my cheek, all the good memories of my childhood are going away.

I go back outside to join my family, my brothers pile into the backseat. I go in the front next to my dad. Mom’s in the hospital, undergoing chemotherapy. She’s been sick for 3 years now.

We pull down the driveway and go the 30 mile drive to Nevada City, California. The new house gives me the creeps. It’s an old Victorian house built in the 1800’s by gold miners in the gold rush. The home is painted all white except for the deep purple shutters and brick chimney. Inside, the rooms smell like death lurking.

I choose my new room and I swear I see the drapes move like a wind is blowing, all though there are no windows open. I feel a presence. I turn around and go get more boxes. Once I get down the hall, I look in the window at the end, behind me I see a shadow poking out of my room. I turn to look and there’s nothing there.

I rush down the stairs and look up at the house. A cold wind blows. I grab the boxes and go back up to my room. Opening the boxes, the presence is back. It doesn’t make me feel afraid, it feels more curious than anything. I open the box containing my laptop and I put it on the desk.

Once my room is completely unpacked and organized, I put the boxes in the garage. I hear footsteps directly above, where my room is. I go up the hall and see a shadow moving around. I stop and listen. There’s a woman singing in my room. I go back outside and look up again.

I see in my window a woman in a Victorian era dress, looking down at me. She’s completely pale white and looks as though she’s waiting for someone. The wind blows again.

I run upstairs and rush into my room. As soon as I enter the room, the singing stops. It’s close to midnight, so I decide I’m just tired and go to sleep. I dream of the woman.

In  the morning, I go on my computer and research my address. I find out that a miner and his wife had lived here in the 1830’s. He died on his way home from a day of mining in a freak accident, and she died in a fire waiting for him to come home. The home has been restored since the fire and has just recently been opened for people to live in.

She was the woman in the window last night. She had to be.

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