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Day one
Henrietta Woodstone had been dead for a full twenty four hours. She was a ghost, too. It took her a good three hours to figure that out.
Were there other ghosts in the house? Could ghosts not see each other? She wasn't exactly sure what the rules here were.
She had performed what her father always called: Self-Slaughter. Oh, what would the papers say? People only killed themselves if they were insane! It was a sin, caused by insanity. She had been told that many, many times in her life.
She had to watch her body lay lifeless on the library floor for a good twenty minutes, before the police finally broke the door down. Turns out she could've walked through the door or wall, but how was she supposed to know that?
That scream that her maid let out was something that she would never forget. She could still hear it, ringing in her ears.
Day twenty-three
Turns out that animals could become ghosts as well! One of her old puppy dogs, from when Hetty and Margaret were just children, was on the property as well.
He was sweet, and adorable, but certainly wasn't much of a conversationalist. He would yip at Hetty sometimes, or chase around a stray ghost squirrel, but. . . . It just wasn't the same as talking to another person.
The house was still being taken care of, Hetty's old maid, Lucy, was still there. Hetty often followed her around.
When Hetty was alive, she never would've thought she would be following around the staff, but things were getting frightfully boring.
It was day twenty three when Hetty had a fleeting thought of excitement that maybe, just maybe , Lucy would suddenly die and Hetty would hear another human voice talking to her again.
Day fifty-six
Her dog had basically evaporated into thin air yesterday. Hetty had taken to calling it, “Getting Sucked-Off.” It made sense, did it not?
Lucy had cleaned every inch of the house, before leaving. Hetty knew that she wouldn't be coming back. All doors and windows were locked closed, the furniture covered, the house waiting quietly for Thomas to arrive someday, when he was ready.
Thomas was only a boy. He was only fifteen- and his mother had passed. Hetty felt terrible, but he had what he needed. Wealth and a home. He would be fine.
She was sure of it.
Day sixty
Clementine had come to visit today. Hetty's youngest child, a girl who was only the age of five. She had left some of her favorite dresses in her old bedroom in the manor, and her nanny had come to collect her things.
Hetty had taken to following her daughter around that day. Clementine seemed to stop and pause to look at Hetty, but Hetty had convinced herself that she was just looking at something behind Hetty's ghostly body.
Until Clementine pointed at Hetty and yelled, “Mama! It's Mama!”
She could see her.
Hetty picked up her skirts and bolted as fast as she could. Children could see ghosts- so it wasn't just an old story.
Hetty hid in the old powder room until her daughter left, being dragged out kicking and screaming that Mama was still in the house.
Day seventy-one
Hetty saw the first flower bloom from the ground today. She realized that she had completely forgotten the holiday season. Her family would have been celebrating, she hoped that her children all got their special Christmas wishes answered.
She wished that she could be there with them.
Day eighty
Spring had come, the warm weather coming with it. None of Hetty's family had been back to the house yet, and no other deaths had occurred.
Hetty had begun talking or singing to herself. She did this when she was alive- when she was concentrating hard on needle work, she would often mutter certain stitches to herself. But now, she had begun wandering around singing old songs to herself. Songs that once upon a time, she would sing to her children.
She had a hard time convincing herself that this wasn't her going insane. She was lonely: it was perfectly normal to talk to herself! Eighty days alone? That was a reasonable time for one to begin talking to herself!
She had been alone in the house for eighty days before, back when Elias would leave. But then she still had the maids to say passing words to. Oftentimes, when Elias left for long periods, Hetty was pregnant. So she would simply excuse her taking to herself to be her talking to the baby.
Thankfully there was no one around to see her chattering away.
Day ninety-three
Turns out there was some type of Dead-People-Walking-Limit set on the property. Hetty had taken a walk towards the neighbors yard, finally giving into temptation that maybe it would be okay to spy on them for just a moment. They couldn't see her, after all.
When Hetty got near their yard, some invisible line forced her back. It was like she was thrown into some type of mirror- she just came bouncing out the other side, right back where she started.
Okay, so she couldn't leave the Woodstone estate grounds? No problem! As long as no one sold any property.
Day one-hundred
Okay, someone sold some of the property.
She walked right into that one, really.
It was almost midday, and Hetty had been dancing around the small ballroom by herself. It was day one-hundred sense her death, so she had decided to celebrate (or should she call it mourning? She couldn't exactly wear a mourning dress for her own death anniversary.) By practicing her old favorite dances.
When she was right in the middle of an old waltz, a loud noise echoed across the property. It sounded almost like a bell ringing? Hetty had rushed towards the nearest window, just in time to see the boundaries turn blue and shrink in towards the driveway.
Okay, so long as no one sold any more property.
She should stop saying that, really, she was going to jinx it on herself.
Day one-hundred and eleven
By God, did Henrietta Woodstone miss cocaine.
Day one-hundred and thirty-one. Probably.
Hetty had begun losing track of the days after the One-hundred and twenty mark. She woke up one day- Yes, apparently she still needed to sleep- not remembering if it was day one-hundred and twenty-two or if it was day one-hundred and twenty-three.
All perception of time went down in flames after that, really.
Day one-hundred and forty-something
Hetty could've sworn that she saw a man walking through the forest yesterday. A taller man, with long scraggly hair, and a large red coat. He was playing- what sounded like, anyways- a fife.
Her imagination must be playing tricks on her. No one else was here- she would know by now.
Right?
Day one-hundred and sixty-something
The old gas lamps and candles had burst to life yesterday. Hetty had been sitting on the couch, counting the amount of freckles she had on her arm (one of her most common past times, as of late) when they had all suddenly ignited.
Hetty had jumped, scared. She simply watched the candle near her for a few moments. She dragged her fingertips over the flame, taking comfort in the different sensation.
She swore she heard a man screaming, somewhere on the property. Her mind must be playing tricks on her again, just like with that red coat man.
Just as suddenly as the candle flames were born, they died.
Day two-hundred. Probably
Hetty had given up on keeping track of the days at this point. God she missed morphine.
Day. . . Something
Hetty was pretty sure that today was her middle children's birthdays. Her twins, Michael and Mary. They would be turning eleven years old. She sang them happy birthday when the sun was setting- their favorite time of the day.
She hoped she had the date correct.
Day two-hundred and something
Hetty was positive that she had passed the two-hundred day mark at this point, so she was going off of that.
A kitten had wandered its way onto the property, the poor thing was picked up and taken away by a hawk. Its little ghost soul had fallen right into Hetty's arms.
The kitten wasn't much of a conversationalist either, much like her puppy, but it was some form of contact. She never let that small thing get far out of her sight.
She had named him Gordon, after a childhood butler that Hetty had. She missed him.
Day two-hundred and something
Summer had arrived. It was pure heated pain for Hetty, in all her skirts. She had taken to sacrificing what little self dignity she had left, laying down across the cold kitchen tiles. Gorden often curled up in the sun in the kitchen with her.
The days were long and warm, but she was finding herself to be enjoying them just a little more with her little furry friend by her side.
Day two-hundred and something
Lucy had come to clean today! Apparently she was still employed by the family- that's what Hetty had to guess anyways. Maybe Margaret had hired her when she took in Hetty's children?
Hetty and Gordon had followed her around all day. Lucy chatted and sang to herself too, apparently! Hetty talked back, even though Lucy couldn't hear her. She even sang along with some of the old tunes that Lucy would sing.
She was so glad to hear another human voice, even if it was just for a mere twelve hours. Today was a good day.
Day three-hundred-ish
Hetty had lost any track of time that she used to possess. She watched the stars and the sun, trying (failing, really) to remember any of the old star mapping systems that Gordon (the butler, not the cat) had taught her.
It didn't work, and Hetty still couldn't remember the days. She desperately hoped that someone would die here soon.
Even an Irish person.
. . .
No, she wasn't that desperate.
Day. . . . Who knows anymore
Hetty could've sworn she saw another red coat man sitting at the lake, this time with a short lady who was wearing a potato sack.
Some point in early autumn
Hetty had now taken to guessing the dates based on the seasons. Summer was starting to cool, and the leaves were starting to turn and fall. She estimated that it was some point in September.
She had taken to going on daily walks, Gordon would sit on her bustle for the ride. She quite enjoyed these walks. They were nice.
For just once, Hetty wished that everything would stay just the same as it was now.
Some point in late-early autumn
Gordon had gotten sucked off. Hetty cried for days.
Some point in mid autumn
Hetty missed the Morphine that would numb her pain.
She missed her children. She missed her sister. She even missed the old house staff that she had never liked before.
She definitely didn't miss Elias, though. She was glad he wasn't in the house.
Some point in mid autumn
Hetty had been taking her daily walk around the house, humming to herself softly. Every day, she would go in and out of every bedroom. She wasn't exactly sure why-maybe it was for entertainment? She did anything she could think of to keep her feeble female brain from reaching insanity.
Or maybe she already was insane? She wasn't sure anymore. The days passed in a blur.
Hetty was about to go downstairs- the latter half of her daily house walk- when she heard voices.
Was someone in the house?
A strong gruff voice was the one she noticed first. Two other men as well. They all seemed to be talking about having patience. Or maybe someone named Patience? She wasn't sure.
But there were people in the house! People she could follow around all day, it was something to do!
Hetty giggled quietly to herself and picked up her skirts, rushing down the stairs. She stopped on the landing watching them. They were all wearing funny clothes; maybe Thomas was having a costume party?
A tall man in a large blue coat looked towards Hetty, and said. “Thank God she didn't die on us at least!”
The next man, about Hetty's hight with lovely dark skin and hair, said, “Then why is the house so empt-”
“You can see me?”
Hetty finally had realized what they said. “ At least she didn't die on us. ” But she had.
All three men turned towards Hetty, their mouths agape.
“H-Hetty? You can see us?”
Hetty nodded, coming down to the foot of the stairs. She dropped her skirts, her bustle swinging behind her. “I. . . passed away last year.”
All three men gasped, the blue coated one being the loudest of them all.
“How do you know my name? Who are you? Where- where did you even come from?” Hetty had one too many questions. She had been alone for the past year- were these men here all along? Was she even actually alone, all that time?
“Hetty! We watch you grow up! Watch you out age us!”
“I don't care,”
And Hetty didn't care. All she cares about is that there were people here with her. She didn't know who they were or where they came from, but she ran across the room and threw herself into their arms.
And she didn't fall right through.