"I don't know, I had lived in that room for a long time. It's just a thing that happens." She gestured to the bedroom through its doorway. It was a bright room, minimalist to match the house, with nice big windows, clean white bedding, clean white carpets, and clean white accessories. Somehow not sterile, despite its paleness. Certainly not the type of room one would expect to be haunted. Hauntings should have belonged to the shadowy stairwell and balcony that overlooked the hall where they now stood.

"It creeps me out though," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a tad embarrassed.

"Oh yeah, it's creepy. I have lots of memories of being home alone and hearing the crying. During the day, too. The ghost isn't that shy."

"I thought ghosts hated sunlight?"

"Not this one. She doesn't care about the big windows."

"Huh," he said, gazing in to "his" room.

"But she prefers to be alone."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, we'd come home, hear the crying for a moment, then it'd stop. The louder we were the sooner it'd stop."

"...Weird."

"Wanna try it?"

He swiftly turned towards her, a pinch of fear. "Now?"

"Yeah, sure," she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. "It's not a big deal. It can't hurt us. It may not even happen."

"...Okay."

They exited through the front door and had pleasant meaningless conversation in gentle warm sunlight. She said it'd take about thirty minutes, so they ended up idly pulling some weeds in the garden. After enough time had passed, she checked her phone and said, "We can go back in, now."

He chuckled nervously. He had almost forgotten about it.

Their footsteps crushed imperceptible gravel on the concrete porch. Methodically, she pushed open the door and snuck inside. She turned around and put a finger to her lips, then beckoned. He stepped past the threshold and shivered with gooseflesh. He could not help that the faux wood floor creaked underneath his larger body, but the ghost did not care about the noise. Sure enough, she was crying.

"Aha, aha, aha," came the faint sound down the hall. His heart pounded, even though this was the second time he'd heard the crying. An empty room should make NO noise. This was wrong.

"Aha, aha, aha..."

"Aha, aha..."

"Ahhh... Aha..."

The crying tapered off.

His companion shivered and he started. "It still gets me," she said.

"Oh my God," he said.

"I've wondered if it is a problem with the vents or something. There are times where it sounds like wind."

"That doesn't make sense though."

"No, it doesn't. Why would vents respond to human presence?"

"Do you know about the previous owners of the house?"

"Yeah, it was a childless couple. They had wicked marriage problems, from what I remember. She turned to wine. I don't know much about her man. I'm not sure who was the abuser, it could have been her, it could have been him. I've always thought she was crying because of a fight."

"How did she--"

"Die? That's the funny thing..."

He swallowed.

"She's still alive."

---

Author's Note: Based on a dream I had on October 15th, 2025. If one's emotions are strong enough, do they imprint on the objects around? Sometimes I wonder if I have left ghosts behind.


By Adaline Guerra