Whispers in the Attic

Part 1

Letitia Fong was bubbling over with excitement. The young, twenty-something artist had a respite from uncertainty—an inheritance from her fourth aunt, twice removed. Although the relative had been a mere acquaintance, Letitia didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She arrived in the antiquated Victorian town of Gatesville, with a population five hundred. At first sceptical the budding artist took to the area immediately. With its conventional, small-town charm and houses with balconies and balustrades, it was every artist's dream neighborhood. 

Part 2

Letitia arrived at her grandmother's house in Gatesville. The Gothic Victorian mansion, with detailed staircases and balustrades, was every artist's dream,

The young woman could not be happier, though the dream held secrets of its own. 

Part 3

Letitia arrived at her relative's house in Gatesville. The Gothic Victorian mansion, with its detailed balconies and pillars, was the ideal boost for creativity.

She hastily unpacked her clothes into one of the two antique dressers in her room and started to explore the house.

The bedrooms, with dark grey curtains and dark hardwood floors, were exceptionally large. Letitia's immediate lightbulb moment - to turn one of these into an art studio. 

The kitchen, enormous with ornate, rosewood cabinets, 

had black hardwood flooring that darkened the space and enclosed it. The ceiling, low and painted in dark gray, practically covered the room. Unusually cloying though it was, Letitia enjoyed the space.

But the room that caught most of Letitia's attention was the attic, filled with boxes of all sizes and shapes. Her cousin must have used it as a storage area. 

She set her mind to clearing the boxes - this would be her studio instead. An open box of envelopes caught her otherwise tired eyes.

In the envelopes were old letters and a couple of photographs. A photo of an elderly lady held her gaze for more than a moment. Probably one of the home's previous owners, the photo overwhelmed Letitia with a profound sadness she could not explain. Her ruddy cheeks and opal-blue eyes drew her in; they were strangely heartwarming. She had a smile that seemed to light up the attic.

Putting the box away, Letitia turned to go downstairs. She could not shake Evelyn's face.

Part 4

That night, an exhausted Letitia poured into bed after finally unpacking. After a while, exhaustion became overwhelming company, and she dozed off. 

Sounds from the attic roused her. She got up, blinking and feeling a little groggy.  She was alone; intruders were a rude, real, and dangerous possibility. 

Battling the heaviness of her feet, Letitia hauled herself up to the attic. Her eyes focused immediately on a shadowy outline by the window.       

Letitia typically had better nerves than most. The movement of that outline fixated her gaze. It was that of a lady, shaking, sobbing. It was the lady in the photograph; her features, rotund, charming, welcoming, yet so haunting and sad, kept her eyes anchored. 

An obvious notion developed. She poured the old letters, using her mobile phone to provide light. Evelyn had never really left the home after she had passed all those years ago; she was still there, unable to leave.

And Letitia wanted to know why, 

Part 5

Evelyn was neither a pugnacious busybody nor a glutton for punishment; her concern for others, especially lost souls, was paramount. She just wanted to help. 

Surely the neighbours in the area would know about the home and what it had seen all those years ago. They would have witnessed it too. 

And they told Letitia a compelling story. Evelyn, by all means, was a beloved member of the community; everyone who knew her described her as compassionate, nurturing, and loving.

But bad things did happen to good people. Evelyn had lost her son after falling his horse. She blamed herself; if only she had followed her instincts and disallowed his riding when her gut told her that it was a no-no. Her death followed shortly, and her spirit had anchored itself in the home, unable to cross over. 

Spirit guidance wasn't among Letitia's set of skills. Helping Evelyn was a task that was too difficult to accomplish. But it was becoming a necessity. 

Letitia's presence in the home led to Evelyn's spirit craving for attention. Objects on the shelf became misplaced. Things started moving on their own. 

As time went on, they grew more dangerous. Knives started to fly in the kitchen, sticking into walls.                      

"Evelyn, you have to stop this!" Letitia was kind but also petrified beyond belief. She didn't want to be afraid to go into her kitchen, but it was looking that way. 

Evelyn needed to be where she belonged.

Part 6

Solutions weren't coming to Letitia. There was no questioning Evelyn's kindness or heartache. But how was she to give a ghost a boost?

At a loss, Letitia, paced around the the attic for a while, biting her lower lip, Finally, she sat down in front of her easel and canvas. She started to paint a picture of Evelyn's son, Michael, on half of it, leaving the other half empty. She stopped, calmed herself, and closed her eyes

Soon, a cold gust blew through the room.

"Hi, Evelyn," Letitia smiled. She surprised herself with her composure. Evelyn's ghostly form, in a high-collared, austere black dress, stood in front of her, frowning, furrowed lines on its brows. 

"Michael's here," Evelyn pointed at the canvas. "I have an idea. Why don't you join him?" She said, gesturing at the space. 

Evelyn gave her a quizzical look. 

Letitia turned the easel and canvas to face her. "Why don't you stand still? You'll be with Michael in no time,"

Letitia's brush caressed the canvas. There was an advantage to painting a ghost - it could stay still without toilet breaks. 

Before too long, Letita looked up at Evelyn. "Here," she motioned to the ghost. "What do you think?"

Evelyn stood behind Letitia hesitantly but started to spring with a little confidence.

Her enchanting form stood next to Michael's on the canvas, its face radiating with a wholesome glow. Her ruddy cheeks comforted even herself. Letitia had dressed her in a pastel yellow dress covered with sunflowers.

"Yes, no black for you now," Letitia nodded. "Michael won't like that." 

Humans aren't the only ones privy to wardrobe changes. Evelyn was no longer wearing black; she was in the sunny, sunflower-covered dress Letitia had painted herself in. 

"Join him," Letitia motioned to the canvas.

Evelyn, tearing with relief, nodded and vanished.  The woman on the canvas now had a warm smile. 

Part 7

Over time, Evelyn's presence became less obvious. The rooms became slightly brighter; more light came through the kitchen windows, giving the rosewood cabinets and hardwood floors and new shine. 

With newfound peace, Letitia continued to stay in the house. She conducted painting classes in one of the bedrooms, having turned it into a studio.

The attic was her favourite room.  Awash with light, Letitia's paintings hung on all four walls. The one of Michael and Evelyn, at the centre, stood on an easel in the centre of the room, welcoming visitors into the home all of them shared.