Some people swore that the house was haunted. Mainly because the woman who lived at 21 Dexter had not been seen for at least a year. It was speculated that Sarah, who lived at 18 Dexter, was the last to catch a glimpse of her as she was dusting her burgundy living room curtains. It was the gold floral pattern that had caught Sarah's eye as it glimmered in the setting sun that day. She was the perfect source for the afternoon gossip shared by the neighboring ladies during their stroller walks and play dates. But this story isn’t even about her. This is a story about Elouise, who was never gossiped about, simply because no one knew anything about her. Each morning as her neighbors kissed their husbands goodbye and waived to their children boarding the school bus, Elouise looked on from her living room window, but no one ever noticed her. One Thursday morning, Elouise was watching as her neighbors went about their daily routines, when her heart skipped a beat as she saw Sarah climbing up the stairs to her front door. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a visitor. She heard a knock and a timid, “Hello?” as the door swung open itself.
“Hello?” Sarah repeated. “Mrs…” Sarah glanced down at the mail. “Mrs. Adams, it’s Sarah McCallister from down the street…”
“Yes?” Mrs. Adams whispered from the living room.
“I have some of your mail that was delivered to my house, and I just wanted to make sure that you…uh, that you got it.”
Sarah turned the corner from the hallway, leaving the front door open behind her, to see Mrs. Adams sitting in a faded velvet chair. The living room was exactly as she had expected, dark and dusty with the smell of mothballs lingering in the air. However, she was surprised by her neat appearance and the way her silver bun shined in the light escaping from between the curtains, as it rested gently on her head. Sarah walked hesitantly towards Mrs. Adams, but when she saw the vulnerable, frail woman sitting alone in the corner of her musty living room, she stopped shaking and reached out her hand with a sympathetic smile. Mrs. Adams glanced up at Sarah with grateful eyes. A sudden gust of wind blew in to the house from the front door.
“Elouise,” she called out towards the curtains, “why don’t you dust those while you’re just standing there. They are absolutely filthy!”
The curtains shook from the breeze, leaving tiny pieces of dust to dance among the beams of light that scattered the room. The glimmer of the gold specks caught Sarah’s eye. She glanced down at the mail, still in her hand. Mrs. Margaret Adams, 21 Dexter Street. A second gust of wind slammed the door shut. Sarah jumped. “Who’s...Elouise?” she asked as she looked towards the burgundy curtains. Nothing was ever the same again after that.
