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I’d promised myself that I’d never return home. Yet, here I was.
I walked along the long dirt path that led home, underneath the tall oaks, thick Spanish moss dangling from their branches. The door opened easily after years spent unlocked. No one would come here, except for me.
The parlor felt heavy, like the air had been weighed down more and more for every year that the house had gone uninhabited. I’d come here for the sake of my mother—she wanted her diamond necklace.
I needed to help my mother, and everyone else.
Instead of going up the stairs to her jewelry box, I explored what was left of my childhood. The piano in the sitting room was covered by a layer of dust and the grandfather clock had ceased ticking. I sat down at the piano, blowing some of the dust off the keys. The piano was out of tune, of course, but I remembered the music.
As a child, I’d played for our guests—alive, and otherwise. This house had long gathered its ghosts, the generations of my family who’d wanted to stay. I played for what felt like an hour; the air felt less heavy now.
It had taken me a long time to learn that other houses didn’t have ghosts. The ghosts had felt like any other guests, different only in their appetites.
I climbed the stairs to the master bedroom; they didn’t even creak. My mother’s jewelry box was where she’d left it, her diamond necklace inside.
I had to leave. As I gathered the necklace, I felt a light tug from something inside.
“Sssh,” I said. “It’s time for both of us to go.”
I said goodbye to the ghosts when I closed the door behind me. Without my mother’s last treasure, the ghosts would finally know peace forever.