H A U N T E D

t h i r t y - t h r e e

t h i r t y — t h r e e

(⚠️ mention of death)

"Do you miss her?"

Jack and I wander through the woods, helping each other over fallen logs and boulders. I stand still for a second, pondering over his question. Of course, I miss her, without a sliver of a doubt. She was my mama, the person whose life revolved around me. 

"A lot", I sigh out and grab onto a low-hanging branch to help pull myself up on a small steep hill. Jack grabs my hand to help pull me up, knowing the muddy ground is slippery from the rain and melted snow. We stand still for a moment, staring at the other, before Jack clears his throat and turns away. He told me about a spectacular sight that happens once you're high enough to see it. 

"Tell me about her", he demands, looking at me over his shoulder. I tuck a damp curl behind my ear, wondering which parts of her I'm allowed to share with him. I'm selfish, and some memories will go to the grave with me. The memories that remind me she was real. 

"You know her story", I simply state. The birds have migrated South for the winter, so there are no sounds of nature to fill the silence that grows. With a defeated sigh, I reach for Jack's shoulder.

"What do you want to know?"

Jack's serious frown turns up into a smile, and I instantly regret asking. 

"How did she look?"

Okay, not what I was expecting. Reminiscing back to my childhood, where my mama would stand in front of a mirror, twirling in a dress and catching my eye in the mirror. Her hair would be done up real fancy, in curls and held back by pins,  and she had this silver locket around her neck, where a picture of us would rest against her beating heart.

"How do I look, baby?", she'd ask six-year old me. I had grinned, raising my thumb in approval, and promised that she was the prettiest person I've ever seen. I blink back the memory, shaking my head to bring myself back to the present.

"She was beautiful. Her hair was darker than mine, like the color of wet bark, glistening in the air. We had the same eyes, but hers held more love for life and child-like", I trail off as I imagined the last time I saw her eyes. Instead of the sky-blue shades of beauty, it was a dazed and milky-white, as the life her eyes once held, was drained. 

"She was crazy, of course. She'd stare God in the eye, and jump into Hell while laughing", I chuckle as I shake my head at her antics.

"You'd never crossed her and what was hers, though. She would make you pay dearly."

Jack grins at my obvious nostalgia, before his eyes flick around the forest, searching for something, before his eyes settle on me.

"Did she know? That you can see...ghosts?", he struggles to say the last part. We rarely talk about my gift, as I think it makes Jack uncomfortable. I can understand why — but I wish he could tell me his reasons.

"Was she okay with it?"

"It's...complicated", I mumble, knowing he heard me. We seem to walk even steeper ground, as I nearly slip in the mud. Jack grabs my elbow in time, pulling me upwards.

"If you're not comfortable talking about it, it's fine", Jack encourages me, although I can hear the curiosity resisting against his words.

"I've never told anyone, that's all."

Edward knows, and I know he knows. He saw it, many nights ago in my memory, and I know he saw how sacred this memory was, how absolutely terrified I still am, nearly seven years later. The pain in my left shoulder returns, burning away at the muscles. I instinctively reach up for the imaginary pain, rubbing at the spot.