On the other side, the little girl I'd buried—the one who learned to laugh while bleeding—reached out and pulled me through.
The door swung inward on its own, greeting me like an old wound that never healed. Inside, the furniture was draped in sheets that looked like ghost gowns. But that wasn't the worst part. Incident in a Ghost Land
They told me not to go back. Not to the house on Vermillion Street. But the dreams wouldn't stop—the same dream where I'm twelve again, and the floorboards creak like a whisper: "Come play." On the other side, the little girl I'd
I touched the mirror. My fingers went through. On the other side
We are the ghost.
So I returned.
The worst part was the mirror at the end of the hall.