The house sat tucked away in the depths of the woods. Its once white, pristine boards had turned a nasty shade of brown from years of wear. The windows were covered in dirt. The roof sagged, holding its breath so it wouldn’t cave in. These were the thoughts that crossed Maggie Harrington’s mind when she found the farmhouse.

The Harringtons had searched for months, right after tying the knot. Michael wanted a move-in ready home, but Maggie seemed bored by every house. Newly renovated kitchens and pre-furnished rooms didn’t interest her; she craved a project. She was ready to give up until she spotted the faded “for sale” sign.

“No.”

“Please, Michael! This house is magic, I swear,” Maggie pleaded, hope shining in her uneven voice. “I see so much here.”

“We don’t have the time for a project like that; you’ll get way in over your head.” 

“Correction: You’re the one drowning in work, not me. I need this, Michael. You have to at least look at it. Let me show you what I see.”

“I’ll do you one better. I’ll contact the realtor and set up a tour for us. If it’s just as bad as the outside, that’ll knock some common sense into you.” Michael’s words left a sour taste in her mouth.

The following week, the Harringtons toured the farmhouse. Michael noted the discolored exterior and dust. He glanced at the windows and thought he saw a shadow wave. As he turned to Maggie, her expression was one of pure delight. He only hoped the inside would change her mind.

But inside, Maggie excitedly shared her plans for the house, undeterred by its state.

“Look at this parlor! The sun hits it so beautifully, honey. Oh, come over here  we can invite the whole family over for dinner.” To Maggie, the wood wasn’t rotted and the doors didn’t groan each time they opened. He tried to understand, but he just didn’t get it.

“This will be our son’s room,” Maggie grinned at the spare room, eyes soft. Michael bit his lip, knowing her mind was made up. He watched her eyes dance over the old closet and quietly slipped out, leaving her to her dreams.

Entering the closet, energy surged through Maggie’s bones. This house would be hers. A small voice echoed in the back of the closet, beckoning her closer. With each step she took toward it, she was alive and whole. Maggie reassured the voice she would stay, promising she’d care for the house. 

Back in the living room, Maggie noticed the apprehension on Michael’s face. She put in an offer for the house before he had the chance to speak. He didn’t stop her, just hung his head in defeat. Pure terror settled on his face. His fear made her heart ache, but Maggie made a promise. She wouldn’t let this house go.

Summer came with a sweet sense of promise. Maggie’s offer and pleading eyes were enough for the house to become hers. Michael did, however, seem lighter as they prepared for the move. He even offered suggestions on how to fix up the house. Maggie’s heart soared.

“Our first night sleeping in our home!” Maggie had put her efforts into the bedroom first, as it would be where they would spend their nights. She painted the walls a lovely shade of green and brought in her family’s old mahogany bedroom set. The room became a comforting forest of green and brown. Michael’s face softened at her work, a bit of light creeping into his eyes and his shoulders lifting. Maggie sighed with relief knowing that he liked it.

As Maggie dozed off, Michael began to toss and turn restlessly. The thought crossed his mind someone watched them. His eyes moved to the doorway, searching for movement as his wife slept peacefully. Michael felt envious of how comfortable she was. Every time he stepped foot in the house, a sense of unease wrapped itself around him, coiled in his gut like a snake. He pushed these sensations aside for Maggie. The way she lit up entranced him. They’d go out more, or he’d pick up extra hours at work, he reasoned. He wouldn’t have to be home as often while the renovations were taking place. Once the house was finished, things would be better.

Night after night, he tossed and turned. It soon led to thrashing, which caused him to wake in a cold sweat. Even with the renovations, Michael couldn’t relax enough to sleep. He spotted shadows out of the corner of his eye every night for weeks. On a particularly rough night, he gave up. Making his way to the sink, he splashed water on his face. It was two a.m. and very hot. Michael shivered even though his face flushed. He examined his face in the mirror. His cheeks were red, and his hair ruffled. As he continued to scrutinize his features, a towel next to him fell to the floor. He turned but saw nothing. Probably just gravity he surmised. Clearing his thoughts, he popped a Tylenol and made his to bed.

In the morning, Michael forgot the events of the previous night. He couldn’t remember getting out of bed or being restless, though it felt like he’d been hit by a bus. This pattern continued for a month, the circles under his eyes grew a deeper shade of purple.

“You don’t look well, honey,” Maggie said every morning.

“I’m fine,” he brushed it off.

“Spend more time at home. You need the rest.” Michael would just snort and change the subject. The house only made his paranoia worse. He convinced himself it was move-in jitters and his body needed to adapt. Maggie, however, seemed better than he’d ever seen her. Her skin glowed, with a bright, radiant glow, and she was always in a cheerful mood.

Despite her happiness, Maggie never left the house. She became so engrossed it was her only focus. Michael noticed how she spent much of her free time in the closet. He’d walk by and catch her muttering to herself.

When he brought this up, she explained she simply enjoyed working on that room. Michael let it go, knowing how content Maggie seemed, but eventually he needed to share  his concerns with her.

The night the mirror smashed pushed Michael over the edge. He had gotten up at his usual time to splash water on his face.  A shadowy figure stood behind him when he stared in the mirror. At first, he thought it was Maggie. The figure shared the same dusty blonde hair. But the apparition wore an old dress, with tattered sleeves and patches of dirt and dust discoloring it. Michael’s face paled when he made eye contact. He opened his mouth to scream, and the mirror splintered into a million pieces with a sparkling crash. Michael turned around but the woman vanish. Was that a smirk he saw cross her lips?

“What have you done?” Maggie rushed into the bathroom.

“I- I don’t know, I thought I saw” he paused at the sight of Maggie’s face. She glared at him with eyes so dark, he thought he was hallucinating again. Her icy stare bore into Michael; it froze him to his toes.

“Never harm the house,” Maggie’s voice sounded  strangely off. He sucked in a breath and nodded, gathering the pieces of the mirror.

In the morning, Maggie remembered nothing. Michael found her sobbing beside the broken mirror.

“I don’t know what happened; I don’t understand what I did,” she repeated. Maggie mourned the shattered contents as if it were a family member. It felt like her heart had broken too. She let Michael gather her in his arms and put her back to bed.

At work, Michael drove himself mad. Weeks of vivid memories and sleepless nights left him shaking. That house was not right. Maggie was obsessed with it.  He needed to put his foot down. It wouldn’t be easy. In his mind, he knew it was the right move, no matter how much she protested. A month to get used to a new place should be long enough. Her attachment to the house wasn’t normal. They had to leave.

That evening, Michael arrived home with the intention of laying his thoughts out on the table. He found Maggie in the guest room. She had tucked herself into the closet, giggled every so often and whispered. But when he entered the room, she flew the closet door open and screamed.

“You’re scaring him!” she yelled.

“What? Who?”

“You’re scaring Henry!” She pointed at the back of the closet. Michael peered into the empty closet.

“What are you talking about? Who’s Henry?”

“He’s right there. He’s crying, and he wants you to leave. Now!” Her dark stare returned, froze Michael’s veins to ice. What’s going on? Michael turned, left the room, and headed toward their bedroom where he started throwing clothes into a suitcase.  It didn’t matter anymore. They’d stay at a hotel for all he cared.

 “He is going to take us away,” she whispered into the closet, her voice trembled. Maggie gazed wide-eyed at the small child in the closet. 

“Don’t let him,” Henry whispered. His ghostly figure wrapped around Maggie’s waist. She couldn’t feel his transparent arms, but returned the hug. The air grew icy, and Maggie rose to her feet. She calmly walked to the bedroom where Michael was hurriedly throwing clothes together, oblivious to her footsteps. With a possessed power, she grabbed his wrist from behind and spun him around.

“What are you doing?” he stared at her hand with its white-knuckled grip.

“We are not leaving. Henry needs me.”

“Honey, we have to. This isn’t right. Look at you!”

“No, Michael. The problem is you. You hurt this place. You stained it.” Maggie’s voice was low, brutal, each word sharp and final. “I tried to help you see him. But you couldn’t. The future I wanted, you didn’t.  You refused to love this house.”

“Please, Maggie, is it a kid you want? I’ll give you that, but not here.” Michael tried to grab her hand, but her grip tightened. He was a danger to her vision; she understood now. Henry had opened her eyes. This house was his, but it was hers now. She had to take care of him, make him and his house safe. Michael didn’t care.

“Let’s just leave. We’ll start over. Just you and me, somewhere new. Somewhere safe.”

“You promise?” She flashed him those puppy-dog eyes, knew it would weaken him. When his exterior softened, she struck. Her other hand snaked up and tightened around his throat. Her strength was extraordinary and she pushed his body onto the bed. Michael tried to fight, but his sleepless nights and endless fever had left him weak.  She squeezed until only soft, strangled sounds escaped his lips and the breath slipped out of him.

“Thank you, Mommy!” Henry ran into the room. He beamed down at Michael’s body slumped on the bed.

“Anything for you, sweetie.” She scooped him up and walked over to the drape-less window. There, in the glass, the reflection of a woman with dusty blonde hair and a tattered dress holding a small, ghostly boy. 

Editor: Lucy Cafiero