Leona Charles: Haunted

It has been one week. And she has not left my side. The memories are flooding back to me, I remember my first bedroom, with the baby pink walls and the lace bedding, the fluffy toys, and little Georgie, all bright and new. I drew on the walls with Mum's lipstick, little stick figures, jumping off cliffs and killing one another. She would tell me the stories of the children that she snatched in the night, about the vampires that were occupying the houses down the street. And I soaked them up, all of them, but She was going to keep me safe.

Geraldine was so good to me. She gave me milkshakes and sweets. She told me happy stories of princesses and happily ever afters. She had a vast collection of fairy tales, on the book shelf among the crystals and pretty little stones. I loved her almost as much as Mummy.

But the woman in my bedroom told me they were wrong, that the happy stories were lies and that they would let the bad things happen to me. I had to listen to her. I had to stay with her.

I remember so clearly the tantrum in the train station, and the day that Geraldine took the darkness away from me, and we started out on our new adventure. Then we were safe.

She tells me that she killed Mum. I don't know if it's true, but Mum meddled where she shouldn't have. I know that now. She was angry at Mum she says, for taking me away. I'm in danger now, and it's all Mum's fault. She'll never let me leave now. I'm afraid to go to Geraldine. I almost stopped outside of her door today, but She stood before me, her ice cold hands squeezing my shoulders.

I cannot describe what she looks like. I can never see her well, her long black hair covers her face, the floating material of her black dress hides most of her body. I wonder if she is Annabella, snatching her children, even now.

I saw Chris on the stairs today, he stopped and asked if I was okay. It doesn't surprise me. I haven't slept in days, listening to the ghost stories at night, but She insists that I go to work, that I act normal. I smiled and said I was fine, just tired.

She tells me about Mum, how unhappy I made her, how Mum was only staying here so that I would eventually get snatched. I know that they are lies. And I have to keep reminding myself. Mum loved me. She took me away to be safe, and we had a happy life. Why did she insist on writing that stupid book? If only I'd never found her research. Geraldine was right. Everyone was. This is a bad place, and it can't be fixed. It has to be left alone.

I have to get out of here, but she won't let me go. I don't know who can help me now. I am the grown up child, haunted by my imaginary friend.