Part 5

Hmph... I'm still an active spirit in this house, wandering while everyone sleeps. I don't know what to do unless—

"Maribelle! Are you here? Big sister!"

I turn sharply. Arthur stands at the end of the corridor, his small figure, glowing faintly in the dim light.

"Arthur?" My voice trembles. "Are you here somewhere?"

I look around the upstairs hallway, but when I glance down the staircase, I see him walking through the corridor below. I rushed to see him.

"Arthur! I'm so glad to see you. I didn't think you would find me here."

He smiles softly. "Mom and Dad said you might still be here... attached to our house."

"Of course I would be," I whisper. "We grew up here."

He looks around curiously. "Has anyone been living here recently?"

"Yes," I told him. "A family of four moved in not long ago. A mother, father, an eighteen‑year‑old daughter, and a ten‑year‑old son. You might like the boy—he reminds me of you. His name is Timothy. The daughter's name is Serena."

Arthur brightens. "Really? Oh boy, I can't wait to meet them."

Morning arrives gloomy and gray, as if the sky itself is unsure whether to rain. The house is quiet; the parents and children are still asleep. I drift through the halls, thinking... maybe today I can try something different.

My eyes fell on my violin.

I lift it gently, the wood still familiar beneath my fingers. I began playing a soft classical piece near the staircase, letting the notes drift downward. I move through the corridor, then into the main room, the melody growing from a whisper to something fuller, richer.

Upstairs, the parents stirred. They think a neighbor is practicing... or that someone left a radio on.

The mother rises first. She steps into the hallway, following the sound. When she reaches the bottom of the stairs, she pauses—right beside me—shivering as a cool breeze brushes past her.

"Someone is here," she murmurs. "I can feel it. We're not alone in this house."

But she isn't afraid. If anything, she seems open‑minded... curious.

She walks into the kitchen, grabs a cup, and pours herself coffee. A moment later, Nick comes downstairs, groggy but smiling.

"Good morning," he says, kissing her cheek. Their gentle dynamic warms the room.

Meanwhile, Arthur found Timothy. He follows him quietly, studying him, fascinated by the boy's energy and personality.

I drift upstairs to Serena's room—my old room, now hers. I stand in the corner, watching her scroll endlessly on her glowing device. She could be outside enjoying the fresh air, yet she's glued to the screen.

I whisper, "Hi."

She doesn't hear me.

I move closer. "Hello there."

She startles, eyes wide, trying to keep her composure. "Who's there?"

"If there's a spirit of some kind," she says shakily, "show me a sign."

So, I do. I slid the pillow across her bed.

She gasps, then steadies herself. "I'm not trying to cause trouble or harm. I just don't like being startled... and I don't want to seem crazy."

I understand her completely. I'd feel the same in her place.

She begins asking questions—my age, my gender, how I died. I answer as gently as I can. Across the house, Arthur continues trailing Timothy and his friends, leaving subtle signs of his presence. It used to be just me here... until he found me. Now we're reunited again in the afterlife.

By afternoon, the clouds part slightly, letting sunlight spill through. Everyone is awake. The father leaves for work, the mother stays home, and Timothy heads out with his friends. Serena comes downstairs.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in ghosts? And the afterlife?"

Her mother pauses. "I do. Why?"

"There are two children spirits here."

The mother freezes. "I didn't know that... but it explains the cold breezes. And the faint violin this morning—I thought someone left the radio on."

"The violin?" Serena asks. "Oh—that was Maribelle. She's the one who played."

Her mother's eyes widen. "Really? Who's Maribelle?"

Serena explains everything—our encounter in her room, the pillow, the whispers. "Maribelle is a fifteen‑year‑old ghost from the time tuberculosis was deadly. She died here... this was her home."

The mother is stunned. "Wow... that's incredible. You did research on the house?"

Serena nods, and they continue talking as the day unfolds—unaware that Timothy and Arthur are about to have an interesting encounter of their own.