Shadows of the Rooftop Garden

Maya sat in her family's former home on a cold fall evening, looking through her recollections of the former neighborhood.

A strange, faint sound, like someone calling her name, reverberated across the air as darkness drew near. She trembled, telling herself it was only the wind, but the rooftop garden was the thing that drew her attention.

Maya's grandma had tended to a rooftop garden with great care years ago. The garden seemed to have a life of its own, but the family continued to care for it even after she passed away.

Every corner seemed to hold a secret, and every plant had a story to tell. However, no one dared to go to the garden after dark after her grandmother's passing. Maya had never believed the neighbors' stories about the shadows that wandered around there at night.

But something made her do it tonight. Unaware of the reason, she found herself ascending the ancient wooden steps that led to the garden, each creak acting as a warning.

The smell of moist ground and faded roses filled the cool night air as she pushed open the rusty door. However, something else was also present—a peculiar, icy aura.

Maya felt a cold creep into her bones as the lawn was covered with long, unsettling shadows from the weak moonlight. She saw a place where the shadows appeared to be thicker, almost alive, next to her grandmother's favorite jasmine plant.

As though they were observing her, the shadows faltered, moving and contorting. Her voice was hardly heard as she murmured, "Who's there?" Thick and deep silence replied.

Maya heard a faint rustling sound that sounded like footsteps but was softer. Her heart pounding, she turned to see a familiar yet unnerving figure that appeared to be her grandma but wasn't.

The figure's eyes were warm and sorrowful, and it was pale, almost translucent. Maya took a step back, gasping. "Grandma?" she said in a tremulous whisper.

With a little nod, the shadowed figure's lips formed a smile. Despite the overwhelming sense of serenity, Maya's mind was racing with questions. She managed to inquire, "What brought you here?"

Although the figure's mouth moved, no sound was released. Rather, Maya had a feeling – a want to pay attention and to recall. She closed her eyes and her mind was filled with pictures of her grandma caring for the plants and singing quietly, her voice merging with the wind.

The tranquility was abruptly broken when Maya felt a chilly, acrid wind blow by her, rustling the plants and scattering the reassuring picture of her grandma. The shadow was different when she opened her eyes.

Something darker and more menacing had taken the place of the calm. It appeared as though the shadows were getting closer and encircling her.

She was terrified. Something stopped her as she turned to go—the jasmine plant had opened, producing a scent that reminded her of her early years. She came to the conclusion that perhaps, just possibly, her grandmother's ghost had stayed behind to guard the garden while she waited for someone to pay respect to it.

“I’ll take care of it, Grandma,” she said, her voice shaking. The darkness moved away, the chill dissipated, and a soft warmth crept into her heart. Maya realized as she came downstairs that the rooftop garden was a living legacy, preserved by love, rather than merely a memory. And her grandmother's ghost would always watch in the darkness.