Footsteps

classic ghost short story

The house loomed tall, brooding and dark against the grey skies. Vines and brambles grew unchecked and wild, thorns deadly to the touch. A sense of foreboding hung in the chilled air, a scent of danger lurking. I gazed up at what was supposed to be my home now, and wondered why they sent me here, and why I was the only soul around for miles.

"It's not so bad you know," a soft voice said from beside me.

Startled, I turned. A small girl stood barefoot, clothed in only a ragged snow white dress. Her porcelain face shone amid a fall of raven hair.

"Come on," she whispered softly, and with soundless footsteps, she ran toward the house.

"Wait!" I called out, and began to follow her.

On the porch steps she paused, and turned to me. A flame danced in her eyes, then flickered out. Her eyes, emerald green with violet flecks, gazed out into nowhereland. Then she turned her gaze toward me, and in a voice so hushed it was almost nothing, she uttered four words.

"The time is near..."

Her murmur was a tidal wave of sorrow, and as if in grief, she looked away, raven hair masking her face.She turned swiftly and disappeared into the house, leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Wait, what do you mean?" I cried. I hurried to follow her, noticing the two sets of footprints on the dusty porch. I pushed the door open to venture inside.

"Who are you?" I heard myself say.

But as the light from the outside drifted into the chill house, I could see there was no one. An icy cold began to seep into my bones. Nervously, I looked back at the porch, to see the footprints.

There was only one pair.

Mine.