The marble statues were silent witnesses of the tragedy that had just occurred. On the grass the governess cradled the lifeless young boy in her arms. Her salty tears dripped on his closed eyelids. The rage that had slowly been building in her heart now escaped her mouth in full force.
“Show yourself, you demon! Show yourself!”
The woods surrounding the estate did not answer. The ghost of Glennis Aldershot, so vicious in ripping the life from the boy moments earlier, did not make himself heard or seen.
The governess stood up, still holding the boy in her arms. She shook his body, hoping to wake him from his sleep. But despair made way for resignation: his spirit had most definitely crossed the threshold to the afterlife.
How would she bring the devastating news to the boy’s little sister? It was her soul the ghost had seemed most intent on. Aldershot had been prying upon her, haunting her day and night, ever since the children had set foot into the mansion. Falling chandeliers had missed her by an inch. The runaway carriage had only bruised her. But it was her protective older brother who had now paid the ultimate price.
The governess consoled her aching heart with thoughts of all the preparations that the funeral would entail. Those would keep her occupied. Those would keep her mind off the death of an innocent child. Those would perhaps erase her own guilt.
As long as she stuck to the ghost story she had cunningly fed the children from the beginning, just in case something like this would happen.
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