There's a ghost in my bedroom, it haunts me at night.

 I always hear the children playing. Little footsteps pattering across the floor upstairs, squeals of delight when they chased each other. They play hide and seek through the expansive rooms, sip from teacups in their frilly dresses, and get tucked in at night with their nightlights glowing from the walls. Visitors come and go through the grand front entrance, offering hugs and carrying sweet treats.

I sit on the stairs and watch them go by. Year after year. An ever revolving door.

I had seen seven families live in this house.

They never stayed very long.

I think that’s my fault. But they never understand. I never do anything wrong. I just want them to see...

It wasn’t my fault.

This time it was a family of five and their shepherd dog. They moved in on a weekend-smiles bright and stacks of boxes in tow. The two younger children ran through the front door shouting about what room they would pick, with the teenaged daughter following close behind pretending she was unamused by their excitement. A tension lingered around the parents when the children disappeared, the uncertainty of something new.

I watched from the open basement door. 

They couldn’t notice me yet.

Footsteps sounded below me. When I squeezed my eyes shut, I dissipated.

I spent months trying to get their attention. I would knock things over-vases that would shatter on the wooden floors, picture frames that flew off the walls, stuff animals that I would toss to the ground. I ran my disfigured nails down the paneled walls, letting the faint scraps fill the air. I wandered the halls at night, with footsteps that creaked the floorboards. I would bump into them, letting them feel the chill run through their veins as they passed through me.

They still didn’t see.

The man kept finding me. I would lose days trying to escape again. They couldn’t hear my pleas.

I had a fresh wave of dread and sorrow when I got away for the third time since this family’s arrival. I had to act fast. I decided to go to the girl’s room, who’s name was Anna. I slipped through the crack in her bedroom door after the lights had already flicked off. She was asleep on her side, curled around a pillow. My steps didn’t make any sound.

I paused at the foot of her bed, contemplating. Speaking wasn’t an option, my words couldn’t come out in more than gurgles and slurs. So, I grabbed the covers and slowly pulled them away.

She stirred, reaching for the edge of her blanket. Her eyes fluttered open and as she blinked she caught sight of me. With a gasp, she scrambled upright on her mattress, scurrying as far away from me as the twin-sized bed would allow.

I knew I was a ghastly wake up call. With a torn and tattered white dress that hung from my left shoulder, deep bruise like circles around my eyes, broken and jagged fingernails with dirt and dried blood caked under the remnants. Injuries dotting my exposed skin-scraped knees, dirty hair, smudges everywhere. And worst of all, the thin and clean slice across the front of my neck with the trails that had since turned brown down my front.

Before she could run, I gripped Anna’s ankle, willing her to listen.

The flashes played in my head like a movie I knew she could see. Something smashing into the back of my head as I was walking home that night. Waking up tied to a pole in this basement, already bloodied. The man hurting me. Crying for help until I lost my voice. Dragging my body across the ground, trying to escape. The pain of the knife against my skin.

Tears were dripping down my cheeks when I let her go.

“You...you’re trapped here,” she said in a shaking voice. “You can’t leave.”

I nodded, but I hadn’t heard the footsteps coming up behind me. Anna screamed as a hand slapped over my mouth and I was yanked backwards.

I woke up in the basement, a chain around my leg. He stood at the work table, sharpening his knife.