Kamali and Her Friends

Kamali and Her Friends

Kamali had always been a quiet, reserved girl with a knack for making the strangest friends. Ever since her family moved to the old colonial house on the outskirts of town, Kamali found herself more alone than ever. The other kids at school whispered about her, the new girl with the big, haunted house.

It started on a stormy night, the kind of night where the wind howled like a lost soul and the rain pelted against the windows like skeletal fingers tapping to get in. Kamali sat by her window, watching the storm, when she saw something move in the garden below. Squinting through the rain, she could make out the figure of a girl, drenched and shivering.

Kamali rushed downstairs, her curiosity overcoming her fear. She opened the back door and called out, "Are you okay?" The girl turned slowly, her face pale and eyes wide. She wore an old-fashioned dress, torn and muddy.

"I need help," the girl whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm. "Please, can you help me?"

Without thinking, Kamali nodded and led the girl inside. She fetched a towel and some dry clothes, noticing how cold the girl’s skin felt, like she had been standing in the rain for hours. As the girl changed, Kamali couldn't help but ask, "What's your name?"

"Marianne," the girl replied, her voice soft and distant. "I was lost... I’ve been lost for so long."

Kamali frowned. "How long were you out there?"

Marianne looked up, her eyes filled with an ancient sorrow. "Years. I’ve been lost for years."

Kamali’s heart raced. "Where are you from?"

Marianne’s gaze drifted to the window. "Here. I’m from here."

Over the next few days, Kamali and Marianne became fast friends. Kamali was enchanted by Marianne’s old-fashioned mannerisms and stories of a time long past. They spent hours exploring the house and its vast, overgrown garden. Marianne seemed to know every nook and cranny, every hidden door and forgotten room.

One evening, as they sat by the fireplace, Marianne’s expression grew serious. "There’s something you should know, Kamali," she said, her voice trembling. "I’m not like you. I’m different."

Kamali frowned. "What do you mean?"

Marianne took a deep breath. "I’m a ghost. I died in this house many years ago. My friends and I... we never left."

Kamali’s heart pounded in her chest. "Your friends?"

Marianne nodded. "There are others. We were all here together when it happened. The fire. It trapped us inside."

Kamali felt a chill run down her spine. "But... why haven’t you moved on?"

Marianne’s eyes filled with tears. "We’re trapped. Something is keeping us here."

Kamali spent the next few nights learning more about Marianne and her friends. She discovered that the house had once been an orphanage, and a terrible fire had claimed the lives of many children. The townspeople had tried to forget, to erase the tragedy from their memories, but the spirits remained, bound to the place of their death.

Determined to help her friend, Kamali delved into the history of the house, uncovering old records and speaking to anyone who might know more about the fire. She learned that the fire had been started deliberately by a vengeful spirit, one of the children who had died in the house. This spirit, consumed by rage and sorrow, had trapped the others, refusing to let them move on.

Kamali knew she had to confront the vengeful spirit. With Marianne’s guidance, she ventured into the heart of the house, to the room where the fire had started. The air was thick with an oppressive presence, and Kamali could feel eyes watching her from the shadows.

"Why are you here?" a voice hissed, echoing through the room.

Kamali stood her ground. "I want to help. I want to free you all."

A figure stepped out of the shadows, a young boy with fire in his eyes. "You think you can help? You can’t understand our pain."

Kamali took a deep breath. "I know I can’t. But I want to try. You’ve been hurting for so long. Don’t you want to find peace?"

The boy’s eyes softened for a moment, but then he shook his head. "Peace? There is no peace for us. We are forgotten."

"No," Kamali said firmly. "I remember you. Marianne remembers you. You’re not forgotten."

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes. "Marianne... she’s still here?"

Kamali nodded. "She’s waiting for you. She wants to move on, and she wants you to come with her."

The boy hesitated, then slowly nodded. "Alright. But you must promise to remember us."

"I promise," Kamali said, her voice steady. "I will never forget you."

As she spoke, the room began to glow with a soft, golden light. The oppressive presence lifted, replaced by a sense of calm and peace. The boy’s form began to fade, and he smiled at Kamali. "Thank you," he whispered.

Kamali watched as the spirits of the children, including Marianne, appeared around her, their faces filled with relief and gratitude. One by one, they faded into the light, leaving Kamali standing alone in the now-empty room.

The next day, Kamali felt a profound sense of calm. The house no longer felt haunted, and the oppressive atmosphere had lifted. She knew that Marianne and her friends had finally found peace.

Years later, Kamali would often think back to her time in the old house and her extraordinary friendship with Marianne. She kept her promise, sharing their story with anyone who would listen, ensuring that the spirits of the children would never be forgotten.