series 1

There she goes, wandering the halls again. Her white dress trails behind and billows softly.

She’s crying. 

The woman goes from one room to another and walks quickly behind my mother before disappearing again. 

It’s so cold when she’s around but I tuck myself into my bed and watch her. No one else pays her any attention, so she cries.

 She wails and plays with the lights but no one pays her any attention. I watch as she sits at the foot of our bed and looks out into the distance, seeing nothing. 

The rain pounds against the glass like angry fists and flashes of lightning illuminate her form. It makes me tremble. She sits and cries.

 Sometimes she watches me too and smiles. 

But it looks wrong, not like when my family smiles. 

She points to my toys and I get them for her, but she never grabs them. 

Her limbs are bent awkwardly like something I’ve never seen before.

 She cries at night all alone and no one else sees her. 

I tuck myself into the bed with my sister. Our parents don’t listen because they can’t see her. 

Adults never listen to kids. 

Our imaginations are “too big”. 

I close my eyes ready to rest, when the floorboards creak by the door. There she goes, wandering the halls again.

This was written by our contributing writer, Isis Jordan.