Chapter 2

As dusk settled over the modest neighborhood, the sky bled into deep shades of indigo and bruised purple, casting long shadows through the cracked window of their small, dimly lit home.

 The air grew cooler, carrying the faint, distant calls of evening vendors and the occasional bark of a stray dog. Their mother still had not returned. Eloise stood by the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, eyes scanning the empty street with mounting anxiety.

She dared not leave Elena alone—not in this part of town, not at this hour. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on her young shoulders.

“Ely, where is Mom?” Elena’s small voice trembled with worry as she clutched the edge of her faded blanket, her wide eyes reflecting the flickering light of the single kerosene lamp.

Eloise turned, forcing a gentle smile that did not reach her eyes.

“I don’t know, little one,” she replied softly, crossing the room to kneel beside her sister. “For now, we’ll just wait. She might come home even after dark. She always does.”

But inside, fear gnawed at her. Their survival hinged on more than just their mother’s return. Eloise’s gaze drifted to the old clay pot on the rickety table. Inside lay nothing but a small clump of cold, leftover rice—hardened and meager, barely enough for one sparse meal.

 Their parents had not brought any fresh provisions for the entire month, their promised wages seemingly swallowed by the city’s unforgiving demands. How would they eat tomorrow? Or the day after?

Eloise’s stomach twisted with hunger, a sharp, persistent ache that made her hands tremble. She could not abandon Elena to search for work, the thought of leaving her sister vulnerable in their fragile world was unbearable. The rice would have to stretch between them tonight, but it was pitifully insufficient.

With quiet desperation, she reached for the worn leather wallet tucked beneath the mattress. Her fingers fumbled through its contents—only a few tarnished coins clinked softly against one another.

 Not nearly enough for proper groceries. She had hoped for at least one egg to mix into Elena’s portion, something warm and nourishing to ease the child’s hunger. Devastation washed over her as she stared at the pathetic sum, her throat tightening with unshed tears.

She closed the wallet slowly, her resolve hardening despite the despair. They would find a way. They always did. But as night deepened outside, the silence in their little home felt heavier than ever.

Eloise let out a heavy sigh, the sound barely audible in the quiet room. She sank onto the edge of the worn wooden bench, elbows resting on her knees, her hands cradling her head.

 Tomorrow felt like an impossible mountain—how would they survive it? The cold rice in the pot would be gone by morning, and the few coins in her wallet offered no real hope.

She stared into the flickering shadows cast by the kerosene lamp, her mind racing through desperate possibilities: odd jobs she might find before dawn, neighbors she could swallow her pride to ask, or simply stretching nothing into something. But every path seemed to lead back to the same hollow ache of uncertainty.

“Ely,” Elena said softly, her small voice cutting through the silence. “I’m not going to school anymore. I know you don’t have money to support me. I’ll stop for this year and help you instead.”

The words struck Eloise like a quiet blow. She lifted her head, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Before she could find the strength to respond, Elena reached out and gently tapped her older sister’s shoulder, a tender attempt to ease the burden she could sense weighing so heavily. The gesture, so innocent and full of love, nearly broke Eloise’s heart.

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, Eloise simply pulled her little sister into a tight embrace. She held her close, burying her face in Elena’s hair, breathing in the familiar scent of home and childhood.

In that moment, the weight of their world pressed down on both of them—two young girls trying to hold each other together when everything else was falling apart.

Then, a sharp knock echoed through the thin wooden door.

Eloise’s heart leaped. She released Elena from the hug, wiping her eyes quickly as hope surged through her. Mom, she thought, rushing toward the door. Please let it be Mom. Her fingers fumbled with the rusty latch, pulse quickening with anticipation.

When the door creaked open, however, it was not their mother who stood on the threshold.

Instead, George greeted her with a warm, gentle smile that seemed to push back the darkness of the evening. In his hands, he carried a sturdy cloth bag, its contents warm and fragrant.

The rich aroma of freshly cooked rice, savory stew, and fried fish wafted through the air, making Eloise’s empty stomach twist with sudden, painful longing. She knew that smell all too well—it was the unmistakable scent of real, nourishing food.

“Hi,” George said kindly, his voice soft and reassuring. “I know you don’t have anything to eat right now. So I brought something for you and Elena.”

For a moment, Eloise stood frozen in the doorway, the cool night breeze brushing past her as relief and gratitude washed over her like a wave. The simple act of kindness felt almost too much to bear after the long, heavy hours of worry.

Behind her, Elena peeked out with wide, curious eyes, the promise of a warm meal momentarily lifting the shadows from their small, struggling home.

Eloise stood in the doorway, the warm glow of the kerosene lamp spilling out into the cool night behind her. George’s family was one of the most prominent in their town—wealthy merchants whose name carried respect and influence.

Their large, well-lit home sat on the better side of the river, far from the cramped alleys and leaking roofs of this neighborhood. Yet here he was, the son of that respected family, standing before their modest hut with a bag of food in his hands. The distance he had traveled only deepened her gratitude.

“Thank you, George,” she said softly, her voice laced with genuine appreciation and a hint of shame. She looked down at her worn dress, suddenly conscious of how shabby their home must appear to him. “I feel so embarrassed… You’ve gone through so much trouble for us.”

George’s gentle smile never wavered. He shifted the fragrant bag slightly in his arms, the aroma of warm rice and hearty dishes still drifting between them.

“Nothing to thank me for,” he replied kindly, his tone warm and sincere. “Don’t be shy. You’re not different to me at all. I’ve always considered your family as my own—you know that.”

His words wrapped around her like a comforting embrace. Eloise felt a quiet joy bloom in her chest, and she smiled up at him, her eyes shining with happiness. George wasn’t just a kind neighbor, he was her boyfriend, the one person who made the weight of her daily struggles feel a little lighter.

As she gazed at him, a chill suddenly brushed the back of her neck. Behind George, materializing from the shadows of the narrow alley, stood a female ghost.

She was pale and translucent, her long dark hair hanging limply over a tattered white dress that moved as though stirred by an unseen wind.

Her face was completely devoid of emotion—blank eyes staring forward, lips slightly parted in a silent, eternal stillness. The air around her felt colder, heavier.

Eloise’s heartbeat faltered for a fraction of a second, but she showed no outward reaction. No gasp, no flicker of fear. She had seen this apparition before, and she had learned to bury her unease deep inside. With practiced calm, she stepped aside and gestured warmly toward the interior of their small home.

“Come inside our hut,” she said, her voice steady and inviting. “Please forgive how simple our house is.”

George nodded gratefully and stepped through the doorway, ducking slightly under the low frame. As he entered, the female ghost glided silently behind him, her bare feet hovering just above the dusty floor.

Her emotionless gaze swept across the cramped room—the old wooden table, the patched-up walls, the two thin mattresses in the corner—before settling once more on George’s back.

Eloise closed the door softly, pretending she saw nothing at all. She forced her attention entirely on George, helping him set the bag of food on the table while Elena watched with wide, hopeful eyes.

The rich scent of the meal filled their humble space, pushing back the night’s shadows, yet the ghost remained—standing motionless in the corner of the room, a silent and unsettling presence that only Eloise seemed to notice.

“It doesn’t matter what you have,” George replied gently, his voice warm and steady. “That’s never been relevant to me. I care about you and Elena, not the size of your house or the things inside it.”

Elena’s face brightened the moment she saw him. She stepped closer, her bare feet padding softly against the uneven wooden floor.

 “Hello, George! I’m so glad you’re here,” she said happily, though her voice still carried a trace of lingering fear. “I was getting a little scared… We don’t have anyone else with us tonight.”

George crouched slightly to meet her eyes, offering a kind, brotherly smile.

“Don’t worry, my little sister,” he said reassuringly. “From now on, I’ll be with you every night. I promise.” As he spoke, he glanced up at Eloise and gave her a quick, playful wink that made her cheeks flush with quiet affection.

He set the heavy bag down on their small bamboo table, the legs creaking softly under its weight. The rich, savory aroma of fried fish, ginger chicken, steamed rice, and fragrant broth filled the humble room, chasing away the earlier chill.

Elena’s eyes widened with pure delight. She clutched her small stomach dramatically with both hands, rubbing it in exaggerated circles to show just how hungry she was.

“Wow… Thank you so much, George!” she exclaimed, almost bouncing on her toes. “You know I’m really hungry. Ely and I didn’t have any proper food today.”

Without waiting another second, Elena pulled out a low stool and sat down eagerly at the table. She opened the neatly packed containers one by one, her face glowing with excitement as steam rose invitingly from the warm dishes.

At the same moment, the female ghost glided forward without a sound. Her pale, translucent figure settled into the chair right beside Elena’s, her hollow eyes fixed blankly on the food. The air around her seemed to grow colder, and the flickering light from the kerosene lamp dimmed slightly in her presence.

George, smiling at Elena’s enthusiasm, moved to take the empty chair beside her—the very seat now occupied by the ghost. He was only a step away when Eloise’s heart jolted. She moved swiftly, placing herself between George and the chair with graceful urgency.

“Wait—” she said, gently touching his arm to stop him. “Sit here instead, George. It’s more comfortable.” She guided him toward the slightly sturdier stool on the other side of the table, her voice calm despite the racing of her pulse.

George looked mildly surprised but chuckled softly, accepting her direction without question. “Alright, if you insist.”

As he settled into the safer seat, Eloise stole a quick glance at the ghost. The spectral woman remained motionless in the chair, her emotionless face turned toward them, long hair drifting as though underwater. Eloise forced her expression to stay neutral, pretending she saw nothing at all, while inside her chest, unease twisted tightly with the fragile warmth of the moment.

Elena, oblivious to the tension, was already happily spooning rice onto her plate, the delicious scent and George’s comforting presence turning their tiny, struggling home into something that almost felt like safety—for tonight, at least.

 

Eloise’s heart raced as George moved toward the chair. She stepped forward quickly, her hand lightly pressing against his arm to stop him.

“Wait!” she said, a touch too urgently. “You’d better sit here instead.” She pointed to the sturdier wooden stool on the opposite side of the small bamboo table and gently guided him toward it with a careful push.

George blinked in surprise, his eyebrows lifting slightly, but he said nothing. He allowed her to steer him without protest, though a flicker of curiosity crossed his face as he glanced between the two seats.

“Ely, you’re so corny,” Elena muttered under her breath, pouting a little as she clutched her spoon. “Don’t you want George to sit next to me?”

Eloise forced a soft, apologetic smile. “It’s not like that, Elena. I just don’t want him to sit in that old chair. It’s very weak—one wrong move and it might suddenly break. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

Elena studied the rickety chair for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Oh… okay. That makes sense.”

Inside, Eloise’s chest tightened with guilt. She longed to tell her sister the truth—that a pale, emotionless female ghost was currently occupying that very chair—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Elena was already frightened enough by their mother’s absence and their empty home. Adding a ghost into the mix would only fill her young heart with more terror.

“That’s enough,” George said warmly, settling comfortably into the stool Eloise had offered. He unfolded the remaining containers, releasing another wave of fragrant steam. “The best thing now is that we eat before the food gets cold.”

They began their meal in the soft, golden glow of the kerosene lamp. Elena dug in with unrestrained joy, her cheeks puffing out as she took generous bites of rice topped with savory chicken and crisp fried fish. George ate more slowly, occasionally glancing at Eloise with quiet affection, clearly happy to see the two sisters enjoying the food he had brought.

All the while, the female ghost sat motionless in the forbidden chair, her translucent form eerily still. Her blank, hollow eyes stared directly at them—unblinking, unfeeling—her long dark hair drifting faintly in an invisible current. The temperature around the table seemed a few degrees colder, yet she made no move to interfere.

Eloise kept stealing cautious glances at the apparition while pretending to focus on her plate. She was surprised—almost stunned—by the ghost’s passivity. That very morning, she had feared the worst when the spirit appeared near George, half-expecting her to lash out violently, perhaps even seize the broom leaning against the wall and strike him. But tonight, the ghost simply watched. Silent. Inactive. A chilling but harmless observer in the corner of their fragile dinner.

Relief slowly loosened the knot in Eloise’s stomach, though she remained vigilant. As the warm food filled their bellies and gentle conversation flowed between George and Elena, she allowed herself a small, secret breath of gratitude. For now, at least, the ghost remained nothing more than a silent shadow in their midst.

 

Eloise set down the last empty container, the warm glow of the kerosene lamp casting soft golden light across their faces. The simple meal had left a comforting fullness in their stomachs, yet a new wave of unease stirred inside her as the night deepened outside their thin walls. She glanced at George, who was helping Elena wipe her hands with a clean cloth.

“George… are you really sure you want to sleep here with us tonight?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. There was hesitation in her tone, a mix of gratitude and lingering doubt.

“Of course,” George replied without hesitation, his voice steady and reassuring. “I already asked permission from my mother, and she agreed right away.”

Before Eloise could respond, she felt the gentle warmth of his hand enveloping hers. His fingers were strong yet tender, a silent acknowledgment of the worries he knew weighed on her heart—especially what his prominent family might think of their son staying overnight in such a humble, struggling home.

“I told you not to worry about my family,” he continued softly, leaning a little closer. “They understand your situation completely. In fact, my mother wants to take both of you in. She’s been asking about you two for weeks.”

“Oh, no… please don’t,” Eloise said quickly, shaking her head as a flush of embarrassment rose to her cheeks. She tried to pull her hand back, but George held it gently. “It’s already embarrassing enough that you help us like this. Your kindness is more than enough. I really appreciate everything, but we can’t impose on your family any further.”

George smiled with quiet patience, the kind of understanding that came from someone older and more worldly. At five years her senior, he had always carried a calm maturity that made Eloise feel seen and protected. They had only been together for two years, yet in that time he had proven his sincerity again and again—never pressuring her, never making her feel lesser because of their different circumstances. It was this very kindness, this steady understanding, that had made her fall so deeply for him.

“There you are again,” he said with a light chuckle, squeezing her hand affectionately. “Don’t be shy. How many times must I tell you? You and Elena are already my family. That’s how I see it, and that’s how my parents see it too.”

Eloise looked down at their joined hands, her heart swelling with a bittersweet mix of love and vulnerability. In the soft lamplight, with Elena yawning sleepily beside them and the night pressing gently against the shutters,

George’s presence felt like a rare anchor in their uncertain world. For the first time in many hours, the heavy burden on her shoulders felt just a little lighter.

Yet even as warmth bloomed in her chest, she remained quietly aware of the pale, motionless female ghost still lingering in the corner of the room—watching them with those empty, unblinking eyes.

Eloise paused while folding the empty food containers, the soft rustle of paper filling the quiet hut. The kerosene lamp flickered gently between them, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. George’s question came out of nowhere, catching her completely off guard.

“Ahm… wait,” he said, his voice lowering thoughtfully. “I remember what you told me before—that you have a third eye. Until now… have you seen anything unusual?”

Eloise froze, her hands stilling mid-motion. A jolt of surprise ran through her. She hadn’t expected him to bring up the subject tonight, especially not so directly.

“Huh? Why are you asking that?” she replied, her voice a mix of shock and nervousness.

George studied her face carefully, his expression gentle but serious.

“I’ve just noticed you’ve been making these… weird little movements sometimes. Like you’re reacting to something I can’t see. It’s been on my mind.”

Eloise let out a slow breath. Her ability had never been a secret between them. Before she had agreed to become his girlfriend two years ago, she had been completely honest with him about her gift—the ability to see spirits that most people could not.

 George had accepted it then, just as he had accepted her difficult circumstances. Honesty had always been the foundation of their relationship.

She glanced briefly toward the corner of the room before meeting his eyes again.

“Actually… yes,” she admitted softly. “There is a soul that has been approaching me. At first, she only appeared in my dreams. But now she shows herself while I’m awake. And right now… she is standing right next to you.”

The moment the words left her lips, George jolted upright in his chair with a sharp intake of breath. The wooden legs scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed back, his eyes widening in alarm.

Though he tried to hide it, a visible chill ran through him. He couldn’t see the ghost, but the knowledge that something invisible was so close made his skin crawl.

“Hey…” he said, forcing a nervous laugh as he scanned the empty air around him. “Are you kidding me? Or trying to scare me?”

He turned his head left and right, squinting into the dimly lit corners of the hut, searching for any sign of the presence Eloise described. But to ordinary human eyes, the world remained untouched by such negative elements.

The ghost stood exactly where Eloise had indicated—motionless beside his chair, her pale, translucent figure bathed in an unnatural coldness. Her long dark hair drifted slowly, and her blank, emotionless eyes stared directly at George’s face, mere inches away.

Eloise remained calm on the surface, though her heart beat faster. She watched her boyfriend’s futile search, knowing he would see nothing no matter how hard he looked. The female spirit had not moved or reacted to the revelation. She simply hovered there, silent and unblinking, an eerie observer in their midst.

“I’m not joking,” Eloise said quietly, reaching out to gently touch George’s arm and steady him. “She’s been following us since this morning. But so far… she hasn’t done anything to harm us.”

George swallowed hard, still glancing nervously over his shoulder. The warm, comforting atmosphere of their shared dinner had suddenly thickened with unease, and the night outside their small hut felt darker and heavier than before.

Eloise looked directly into George’s eyes, her expression solemn in the flickering amber light of the kerosene lamp.

“I’m telling you the truth,” she said seriously, her voice low but steady. “You know I would never joke about something like this.”

George wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his upper arms as though a sudden draft had slipped through the cracks in the walls. In truth, the air had grown noticeably colder near the spot where the ghost stood.

He had once tried to dismiss such stories as mere superstition, but Eloise’s quiet honesty over the years had dismantled his doubts one by one. He could no longer pretend these things were impossible.

“Heck…” he muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a bit scary. But… what does her face look like, anyway?”

Eloise hesitated, searching his face carefully. “Are you sure you want to know?”

The question hung between them. She needed him to understand the weight of what he was asking. Seeing spirits had become part of her daily reality, but describing them often planted nightmares in the minds of those who could not see.

She worried the image would linger in George’s thoughts long after the lamp was extinguished, robbing him of peaceful sleep.

“Of course!” George insisted, though his posture had grown more rigid.

Eloise remained quiet for a long moment, her fingers twisting together in her lap. Even after years of living with her gift, she still found it difficult to speak of these things aloud—especially to someone she loved.

For her, the sight of ghosts had become almost ordinary, a hidden layer of the world most people never noticed. Yet her faith in God, the Creator who held both the living and the dead in His hands, gave her strength to face them without despair.

“Don’t,” she finally whispered, her voice shaky with reluctance. “It’s better if you don’t know. I’m sure the image won’t leave your mind once you hear it.”

She glanced involuntarily toward the ghost, who remained exactly where she had been—standing silently beside George’s chair. The female spirit’s face was unnaturally pale, almost grayish, with sunken cheeks and eyes that were completely black, like two empty voids.

Her lips were slightly parted in a perpetual, silent exhale, and faint dark veins traced across her forehead and neck. The sight was haunting, the kind that clung to memory like damp rot.

Eloise turned back to George, her expression pleading.

“Some things are better left unseen… even in words.”

The small hut felt smaller than ever. Elena had already curled up on her thin mattress in the corner, breathing softly in early sleep, unaware of the heavy conversation.

Outside, the night pressed against the shutters, while inside, the invisible presence continued to watch them with its cold, emotionless gaze. George swallowed hard, the earlier warmth of their shared meal now overshadowed by a lingering chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

Eloise offered him a small, grateful smile in the dim lamplight.

“It’s a deception, but I’ll respect your decision,” George said gently. “Just promise me one thing—if that soul ever stops being harmless, if it starts to threaten you or Elena, you tell me immediately. I know a doctor in the city who understands these matters. He’s helped others with… gifts like yours.”

“Okay,” Eloise whispered, relief softening her shoulders. “Thank you.”

George nodded, then leaned forward slightly, his expression turning more serious. The warm meal and earlier lightness had faded, leaving only the weight of their reality.

“So… what are you planning to do now, without your parents here?”

At twenty years old, Eloise felt the question settle heavily on her chest. She stared at the flickering flame for a long moment, the responsibility for her little sister pressing down like an invisible hand.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she admitted quietly. “But I have to start somewhere. Tomorrow I’ll go around to the neighbors and ask if anyone needs an assistant—for cleaning, cooking, washing clothes, anything. I’m willing to take whatever work I can find. As long as Elena has food and a safe place to sleep, I’ll do what I must.”

She sighed deeply, the sound carrying the exhaustion of someone far older than her years. Their parents had deliberately distanced themselves from all relatives, choosing a quiet, anonymous life in this modest neighborhood.

There was no one to turn to, no safety net, only the two of them against the world. The thought of leaving Elena alone even for a few hours each day twisted something painful inside Eloise, yet she saw no other path.

George reached over and gently squeezed her hand again, his touch warm and steady. He said nothing more, but his presence alone offered a quiet comfort.

Later that night, once the dishes were cleared and the kerosene lamp turned low, they prepared for sleep. Eloise and Elena settled into their parents’ modest room, sharing the thin but familiar mattress on the wooden floor.

George took the smaller room that belonged to the sisters, arranging a simple mat and blanket with quiet acceptance.

Eloise lay down beside her sister, pulling the old quilt over them both. The day’s accumulated fears and efforts pressed upon her like stones—hunger, worry, the constant presence of the ghost, and the heavy uncertainty of tomorrow. Her body felt leaden with fatigue, every muscle aching from tension she had carried since dusk.

As Elena’s soft, even breathing filled the quiet room, Eloise closed her eyes. Sleep came swiftly, pulling her under with surprising gentleness. For the first time in many hours, her mind grew still, and the weight on her chest eased into the dark comfort of rest.

 Outside, the night deepened, while in the corner of the room, the pale female ghost remained—silent, watchful, and unmoving—as the small household finally surrendered to sleep.

Eloise’s eyes snapped open—or at least she thought they did—but the world around her had dissolved into chaos.

A deafening scream tore through the darkness, followed by a violent roar like a hurricane tearing through trees. The sound slammed into her ears with such force that she feared her eardrums would burst.

She clapped her hands over her ears, gasping, but the wind only grew stronger, whipping her hair wildly and stinging her skin with invisible needles.

She twisted her head left and right in panic, then again and again, desperately trying to orient herself. Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, as if weighted by stone. She strained against them, forcing her eyes open wider.

Gradually, the thunderous wind began to recede, fading into a distant howl. In its place rose a new sound—a woman’s voice, raw and broken with sobbing.

“Help me… please… help me…”

The voice echoed from every direction at once. Eloise stumbled forward through thick undergrowth, her bare feet sinking into damp, moss-covered earth.

She had no idea how she had arrived here. Towering trees pressed in on all sides, their gnarled branches forming a suffocating canopy that blocked out the sky. The dense jungle reeked of rot and wet soil, and an unnatural chill clung to the air.

This place felt impossibly far from any civilization—like the edge of the world, where light and hope came to die.

“I’m here!” the woman cried again, her voice sharper now. “Come here… come to me!”

Through the twisted vines and shadows, Eloise saw her—a woman dressed in flowing white, standing in a small clearing just ahead. Her figure glowed faintly, pale and ethereal.

Eloise’s heart leaped with desperate hope. If she could just reach the woman, she could escape this nightmare.

“Wait for me!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “I want to get out of here—I’m scared!”

She broke into a run, legs pumping hard against the uneven ground. Roots snaked across her path, threatening to trip her.

Low-hanging branches scratched at her arms and face, but she pushed forward, lungs burning. No matter how fast she ran, the woman in white remained the same distance away, as if the jungle itself were stretching between them.

“Come closer…” the woman pleaded, her voice trembling with sorrow. “I need your help. Please… lift me out of this terrifying place.”

Eloise poured every ounce of strength into her legs, chest heaving, sweat mixing with the tears streaming down her face. She could think of nothing else—only reaching that pale figure and escaping the suffocating darkness.

“Oh Lord, please help me!” she screamed as she ran, her prayer raw and desperate.

Then the ground vanished beneath her feet.

For one terrifying heartbeat, her body was weightless, suspended in empty air. The jungle disappeared. Only a yawning black precipice remained below her—an endless drop into nothingness.

“Aaahhh—!”

Eloise’s scream tore from her throat as she plummeted into the abyss, the cold wind rushing past her, swallowing her whole.