She was about ten. She wore a dress that looked at least one hundred years old. She never spoke or changed over the years
It would happen when I passed their room. It happened many times.
Once my Mother sent me to fetch her hairbrush, when I turned the small corridor into their room the girl was sitting at my Mothers dresser, combing her own hair.
She looked up and grinned.
Frightened the living daylights out of me.
There was always things happening in the house.
Another time, I seen a man’s legs walk up the stairs.
Dad had been at a council meeting that night, arriving home just seconds after the legs made their way upstairs. Dad thought it was a burglar.
Himself and his friend Gus ran up the stairs, searching for the owner of the legs.
All they found was my hiding place, behind the wardrobe. Where I would throw everything when I pretended to tidy my room.
The owner of the legs was never found.
My parents were mortified, my Mother nearly killed me, made a show of her she said.
No one sleeps in that room now. It’s cold in there.
I wonder does the girl still brush her hair?
I don’t believe in banshees, but I believe in that girl.
As for the man’s legs, I’m not certain.. He was wearing jeans, maybe he was a trendy spirit.