I sat in a dusty window sill, wearing one of my old, musty and oversized beige sweaters from a countless amount of years ago. I traced the rim of my coffee mug with my finger, stained with blood. The blood, along with the sweater, was very dated. I let out a breath, if those seemed to still exist, and pulled the mug to my mouth, taking a sip of the hot and bittersweet liquid. I was tired of existing in the frozen void of nothing. The amount of times I tried committing suicide to end it all are countless. The year was 1983. And from the windowsill from my old bedroom I was watching yet another family move into my house; the house flooded of murder, hate, and dark forces. I heard the distant sound of firecrackers, slowly progressing to the point where they were in my room with me.

"Troy, you aren't very skilled in the nature of surprise," I joked dryly, still gazing out the window.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed he became visible, along with Brian, his twin brother. They didn't look too thrilled that I wasn't playing along with their game, whatever it had been. I finally faced them when they didn't speak. I raised an eyebrow at them, "What do you want?"

"There's a boy." They said collectively, smirking.

I rolled my eyes. It was fake eye roll, but I didn't want to seem too easy in front of the twins.

"Is he cute?" I asked, trying to be nonchalant. Troy gave me a look that told me he had no idea what he thought cute was to a girl.

I rolled my eyes again and quickly pulled myself off of the windowsill, setting down my coffee that had grown cold, and paced my way down the hall. I noticed Gladys standing over the staircase railing, watching the living like goldfish.

She turned her head my way and smiled, "Came for the show? Everyone seems to be chattering about the new family."

I let out a laugh, "I'm only interested in the son." I made my way next to her and peered over the side. All I could see were two blond heads. One was obviously the mother and the other the boy.

"So this place is haunted?" he spoke. His voice was young, too young.

"Tate, go pick out a room for you and I'll continue with the realtor," his mother said with a slight southern accent, while completely ignoring his comment and sending him upstairs.

When Troy stated that there was a boy, I didn't realize he meant an actual boy. Tate looked to be six years old. He wore a sweater that was similar to mine. It hugged his small body while mine almost hung off of me; the sleeves rolled up and it almost down to my knees. His face was visible to me now; I turned to him, taking every aspect of him in. He was half the size of me. His hair was bright blond and short. His eyes seemed tired and lost, even though they were only the ones of a child. His eyes glazed past me while he sighed. He turned and slugged his way down the hall toward my bedroom.

I glanced at Gladys, who gave me a look that said I should follow suit. I looked down at the floor smiling silly. I turned and made my way quietly towards the doorway. I knew he couldn't hear me, or even see me, but it was fun to pretend. I stood in the doorway and observed him. He had obviously seen my cup by the window. He picked it up and traced his fingers around where I had just been drinking it. I tilted my head and my small smile turned into a giggle. I wanted to mess with him. His head shot up towards where I was standing. He seemed to be scared, but he tried to hide his fear.

"I can see you," he said, his voice shaking.

My eyes widened, he couldn't, right?

I walked silently into the room and made my way over to the chalkboard on the opposite side of where he was. I picked up a piece of chalk and starting writing out, since I had no intention of speaking to him.

"What am I wearing," He read out my words slowly. My handwriting was messy and ugly. I was surprised he could make it out.

He stuttered a bit with his words. "You know… a shirt… and pants..."

I smiled, he was cute. Before I wrote anything else his mother strode into the room. She was pretty in an old middle aged woman way. Her hair was perfectly shaped into a beehive on the top of her head; she wore a blue and green floral dress and a bit too much makeup. I could smell the powder caked onto her skin from across the room.

"Well, so is this your room?" She said rudely.

He smiled knowingly, "Yeah."

The rest of the night I sat in the corner of the room and watched him unpack mostly clothes, toys, photographs, and books. He had a lot of sweaters and long sleeved shirts. I only saw a select amount of t-shirts. A young autistic girl walked into the room and sat on his bed. "I don't like it here."

Tate shrugged, "Get used to it."

She didn't respond.

He continued pulling shirts out of cardboard boxes and stuffing them into drawers without folding them.

The girl finally spoke again, "I don't like the ghosts, either."

He hesitated in responding, "What ghosts?"

"The twins, the nurses, all of them," She said quietly, glancing over at me, but then back at Tate. "I can see them all. There are too many here. Why are they all here?"

He didn't know how to respond, from what I could see. I was at lost for words. I thought of leaving, but I decided not to; to see what the girl would say.

"I think ghosts are cool…" He asked. I knew he was thinking about our encounter earlier. I knew I should have left the second his mother walked into the bedroom. I was too infatuated with him.

I knew this was now my time to leave. I quickly slipped out of the room. I had no idea where I would sleep from now on, probably in the attic. I couldn't shake the thought that the girl could see me. How? It made virtually no sense. I was so used to being invisible to everyone and everything. I made my way down the stairs and slipped down into the cellar. I saw Nora sitting down in Charles' old lab.

"Where is my baby?" She sobbed; her handkerchief that was stained black with dirt in her hand. I rolled my eyes and strode into the opposite room that was empty and cold. The only light source was the small upper window that was covered in dirt and dust. It was pitch black out, but the moon barely shined through. I didn't know how or if ghosts could sleep, but I tried. I tried pulling myself into the darkness. To shut off everything, just for the night. It didn't work, and I ended up laying in the room alone with my thoughts.

I couldn't stop thinking about Tate. I didn't even know his last name or anything about him, but I was drawn to him. My thoughts wandered to what he would look like when he grew older. I then thought about showing myself to him. I tried to shake these thoughts away, I felt like a total creep, thinking about a six year old boy romantically, but I couldn't resist. I thought about what he would think of me, would I be too ugly? Would he be disappointed? I liked the mystery; I liked having control over everything. I promised myself I wouldn't ever show myself to him, to keep it all interesting for both of us. I didn't want him to get bored of me. But then again, how easily could a six year old boy get bored? I then thought of kissing him, when he was older, of course. Could I even kiss him? I didn't know. I had had no other contact with a human until my death. I tend to keep away from the living. They're either always too happy with their lives or too sorrowful. I either am jealous or pitiful. There is never an in-between.

I was alone in the house. Constance was out at the supermarket buying dinner, Tate was out at school, and the girl, whose name I later learned was Addie, was at school as well. I walked around the house aimlessly. It was too boring here, I needed friends. All the other ghosts keep to themselves. Gladys was the only ghost I ever talked to. The twins wreck havoc on almost everyone in the house so I don't call their encounters anything close to friendship, just pure mockery. I made my way into my old bedroom. It had transformed completely since two weeks ago when the Langdon's moved in, the walls were still the same drab shade of blue. Their colors had faded so much over the years it had almost turned into some kind of gray color. I traced the new comforter on my old bed. It was brown. It didn't really match my iron headboard that he chose not to get rid of, but I guess he didn't care much. He had a stereo. Or I think it was a stereo. It played music like a record player. Music I had never heard of, but I liked it.

He seemed too complex for this house. He was smart. He reads a lot, from all of the books stacked around his room. He didn't have any type of book shelf or nightstand for them so they piled all around the floor, making it difficult to step around his room. He had a lot of informational books on birds and flight. I thought that was interesting. I could see why he would like birds. They were so free. They can go wherever they want, whenever they want. I wish I were a bird, maybe that's how he feels.

I opened up some of his drawers and I found the one with all of his sweaters. There were a countless amount of them. I picked one up that was green with brown stripes, or vice versa. I pulled it up to my face. It had a distinct smell to it; something that I couldn't quite place. Maybe it was Tate's smell. I always think that everyone has a certain smell to them, something that makes them unique. Whatever it was, it smelled nice.

I walked to the bathroom and examined my face. My scraggly brown hair hung down my back, alongside my bangs that were a bit overgrown and covering my high forehead. I learned to accept the circles that rounded my tired blue eyes were going to never go away. I sighed. The part that I hated seeing in the mirror the most was the scar that cut across my throat. I tried not to notice it. I pulled out a ribbon from under one of the loose bath tiles that I stored some of my belongings under. I tied my hair back solemnly.

"Why are you so interested in the boy?" Someone said.

I jumped and spun around. I saw that it was only Maria, the nurse. I looked at her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"I think I would be interested in anyone who moved into this house" I lied.

She shook her head, "This is different."

"He seems complex. There is something about him that I can't quite place."

"I agree." She said, but paused. "I can't wait until he gets older."

There was a hint of mischief in her voice. Jealousy flushed through me. I thought silently that Tate was mine. But that was a silly thing to think, seeing as he wasn't, and probably would never be.

"Are you going to show yourself to him?" I asked quietly. I knew I had no chance against her. She was ten times more beautiful than I was. Even though I had developed a little crush on Tate, I knew I would never be with him anyway. Seeing as we were ghosts, and him only a mere child. Knowing Maria, though, she would try something on him regardless. She always did. She would wait until he grew older, around his teen years, and then make a move.

She gave me an uncertain look, "I don't know, maybe one day. I've been terribly lonely."

"Aren't you supposed to be a good Christian or something?" I asked.

She looked at me for an extended amount of time. She exited the bathroom and almost walked down the hallway. She turned back to me one last time and said, "Jesus didn't save me. He didn't save any of us."

Before I could respond, she disappeared. With that, I made my way down to the kitchen for a much needed hot cup of coffee.