Exploring

Though it had only been a few days now since he wound up at the doorstep of this mansion, Lysander was confident that something weird was going on. The house itself had a creepy vibe to it, the mysterious staff that he never saw and the fact that the only person that he had seen this entire time was the head maid Charlotte.

Charlotte had continued to be cold towards him and that was something that he had decided to accept. What could he do but try and see if he could win her over? His grandfather told him that he had to trust her and nothing else.

The rain was threatening to come back and this time he did not want to be caught out in the middle of it. Just trying to find a towel without getting glared at had been a challenge. Today, Lysander decided that he was going to explore the old house.

Whispering Pines was old from the architecture. The aged brick on the outside showed the pock marks where vines once climbed. The house was being maintained well but it looked like a losing battle to time. Maybe the weather had something to do with the way he felt but he was not sure. If anything, the house gave off a haunted vibe that would have been great if he was a horror writer. No, he was not. Lysander was trying to succeed as a writer in the fantasy and science fiction genres. Haunted houses were right up the alley of his best friend Lavender. She wanted to be a manga artist…which was weird since that was not quite popular in their country.

‘I got to invite her here one day. I think she’d really get a kick out of it.’

Right now though, with nothing else to do (as his email was still empty) he decided that he was going to look around.

Whispering Pines. How did his grandfather afford this place? It was four stories of fancy house, something that looked like it had been transplanted from England. The ivy, the fancy bushes, everything screamed as if it had been stolen from the Victorian era and planted here in the middle of nowhere. The nearest village was twenty minutes away.

The young man sat on the giant bed for a few more minutes trying to get up the courage to do what he had planned. There was only the South Wing.

‘Can’t get in trouble if there are signs, right?’

Why didn't he feel confident about that?

Standing and grabbing his phone, Lysander made the way to his door and pulled it open. For a split second, he thought he saw purple hair, but the hallway was empty.

‘God, I’m hallucinating again.’

Who knew what type of moss or fungus grew in the walls. Maybe black mold or something had infected his brain because the image that he saw in the reflection of his warped window glass was definitely somebody. He had told himself that it was just a really quick staff member…who could vanish in the hallway when he charged to find them?

'You're insane, Lysander.' he chided himself.

Stepping out into the hallway, Lysander looked both ways to see if somebody was there and Charlotte wasn't there to catch him.

Left or right. The hallway went in both directions and there were doors both ways. If he didn’t know better, he would have assumed he was in a hotel. Knowing going right led back to the large hall and downstairs, Lysander decided to go the opposite way. He had seen Charlotte go that way once so who knows what was down there. Maybe an inspiration for his novel?

He began to walk and the place was empty. His footsteps against the thread bare carpet was loud and each step he was sure someone (Charlotte) was going to jump out at him. After a few minutes and a few turns, Lysander started to relax. There was no one here. She was probably somewhere in the house working.

The thunder peeled through the house causing it to shake and Lysander let out a squeak that immediately embarrassed. He had missed the flash of lightening that had come from the only window at the far end of the path that he was walking. The house creaked and sounded like a giggle.

‘God, this house is so creepy.’

Lysander froze. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker—a flash of deep crimson darting through the dim hallway. His heart lurched. It wasn’t Charlotte’s dark uniform, that much was certain. No, this dress was a deep, velvety red, stark against the faded wallpaper and dim lighting of the corridor.

Without thinking, his feet were already moving. He dashed down the hall, the sound of his pounding footsteps echoing off the walls as the thunder growled in the distance. He could just make out the figure slipping into a room at the far end, the hem of the crimson dress vanishing around the corner.

His breath was ragged as he reached the doorway. Without hesitation, he pushed it open and stumbled inside, expecting to confront... something. But the room was barren—an old storage room, filled with dusty crates and forgotten furniture covered in sheets. It smelled of mildew and old wood, the air thick with dust particles swirling in the dim light from a high, small window.

There was nowhere to hide. No one could have slipped in here without him seeing them. Yet, there was no sign of the figure he had just chased.

Lysander’s pulse quickened. His palms were sweaty as he wiped them on his jeans. He turned slowly, eyes scanning the shadowy corners of the room. His skin prickled with the sensation of being watched. The walls seemed to lean in, and the air felt heavier, like the house itself was alive, holding its breath, waiting for something.

“This is insane,” he muttered, his voice trembling as he fought the rising panic. “I’m the one in charge here. I own this house!”

Desperation surged in him. He needed to assert control over whatever this was. He swallowed hard and, raising his voice, shouted into the stillness, “I’m in charge of this place! Show yourself!”

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant rumble of thunder and the creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet. Then, like a whisper through the walls, a soft, almost timid voice broke the silence.

"I-I'm sorry for startling you."

Lysander whipped around, his breath catching in his throat. The figure from the hallway… was floating through the wall.

It was a girl. She was clad in a maid’s outfit, but not like Charlotte's—this one was an eerie shade of crimson, trimmed in black, and seemed to shimmer faintly as if it weren’t entirely real. Her feet hovered inches above the ground, but where her body should have met the floor, it faded into nothingness. The lower half of her form was misty, ethereal. Purple hair, long and slightly unkempt, framed her pale face, and her wide, dark eyes were filled with a nervous kind of apology.

She floated closer, her movements almost weightless, and then, with a small, hesitant curtsy, she murmured, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lysander’s mind raced, struggling to process what he was seeing. Ghosts. She was… a ghost. He had never believed in such things, but here she was, as plain as day—or rather, as plain as dusk in this forsaken house. His legs felt weak, his stomach knotted with fear and disbelief.

The ghost girl glanced up at him shyly, her dark eyes flicking nervously to his, then away again. "I… I shouldn’t have let you see me. I just—" she hesitated, looking more embarrassed than anything else. "I’ll go if you want me to."

Lysander opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. His mind was too busy catching up with reality: *The house isn’t just creepy. It’s haunted.*

Lysander’s breath caught in his throat, but he forced himself to stand a little straighter, trying to steady the trembling in his hands. There was no way he was going to lose it in front of a ghost. A *ghost*—a part of his brain screamed again—but he pushed that aside, taking a slow, deliberate breath.

“Uh… I’m Lysander,” he managed to say, his voice slightly hoarse. “Lysander Culfre.”

The ghost girl’s face lit up immediately, her dark eyes brightening with excitement before she quickly composed herself, trying to appear demure. She glanced away and folded her hands neatly in front of her, though her feet still floated slightly off the ground.

“Oh, I know!” she said, and then winced, her expression softening back into one of modesty. “I mean, of course, I know who you are, Mr. Culfre. Everyone here does.”

Lysander blinked, caught off guard by how normal the conversation was starting to feel. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still trying to comprehend the fact that he was chatting with a floating, translucent maid. “Everyone?”

She nodded quickly, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her crimson apron. “Yes, yes. I’m Lucy. Lucy Smith. I work here… with my sisters. We’re… um, housemaids.” She glanced up at him, clearly trying to appear as calm as possible, though there was still a glimmer of excitement in her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe she was talking to him.

Lysander’s mind spun at the idea of ghost maids living and working in Whispering Pines. His throat felt dry, and he fumbled for something to say, but before he could ask another question, Lucy’s expression suddenly shifted. Panic flashed across her face, and her hands flew to her mouth as if she had just remembered something terrible.

“I—oh no! I shouldn’t be here!” she whispered, her eyes widening in alarm.

“What—what’s wrong?” Lysander asked, his voice shaky as he tried to catch up to her sudden fear. “What are you worried about?”

But Lucy didn’t answer. She darted toward the wall, her form blurring as she charged through it like a gust of wind. Within seconds, she was gone, leaving nothing but an eerie silence behind.

Lysander stood there, staring at the spot where she had disappeared, his heart hammering in his chest. Ghosts. Maids. *Sisters?* He shook his head, still trying to grasp the strangeness of the encounter. Just as he took a step forward, thinking maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, the door behind him creaked open.

He whipped around, only to find Charlotte standing in the doorway, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, arms crossed over her pristine uniform. Her gaze swept over him, then the room, as if searching for something—or someone.

“What,” she began slowly, her tone icy, “are you doing in here?”

Lysander opened his mouth, still too rattled to form a coherent excuse. “I—uh…”

Charlotte’s expression grew even more suspicious as she stepped into the room, her eyes scanning every shadow. She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unconvinced. “I assume you're not trying to sneak into the southern wing after I expressly told you not to?”

"No, no," Lysander said quickly deciding not to say anything about Lucy. "I was just exploring and thought to check some doors. You did say the southern wing is posted and I haven't seen any signs yet."

Charlotte's eyes narrowed but she stepped back.

"Lunch will be ready. I suggest you return to the dinning room until it's done."

The young man knew that wasn't actually a suggestion.

"Sure, sure. No problem."

Lysander followed the head maid back through the hallways making sure not to turn around or act suspicious. He could feel the eyes of Lucy on him and he wasn't going to give her away.

***

Lysander shuffled back to the dining room, his mind still reeling from the encounter with Lucy. The room was bathed in a warm, amber glow from the hanging chandelier, and the smell of freshly cooked food filled the air. The table was set with a hearty meal: a perfectly cooked steak, crispy hashbrowns, tender green beans, and a tall glass of juice.

He took a seat, his hands trembling slightly as he picked up his fork. His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and unease. Ghost maids, disappearing acts, and a room full of secrets—everything felt surreal. As he cut into the steak, the sizzle and aroma were a welcome distraction, grounding him in the moment. He chewed thoughtfully, the flavors sharp and comforting against the backdrop of his chaotic thoughts.

Charlotte’s voice cut through his reverie as she entered the room, “I need to attend to some chores off the property,” she said, her tone clipped but polite. “You’re to remain in your room, go outside, or stay in the library. I hope you understand.”

Lysander looked up, his mouth full of steak. He swallowed quickly, trying to process her words. “Yes, of course,” he replied, though his voice betrayed his lingering confusion. He was desperate for some clarity, but Charlotte’s demeanor left little room for questions.

Charlotte’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, as if searching for any sign of defiance. When she found none, she gave a curt nod and turned on her heel, her footsteps echoing down the hallway as she departed.

Lysander watched her go, feeling a pang of frustration. The rules were clear, but they did little to ease his curiosity about the house. He sighed, returning to his meal. The steak was juicy, the hashbrowns perfectly crispy, and the green beans cooked just right. The food was comforting, but it did little to settle his mind.

He ate slowly, trying to focus on the meal rather than the strange events of the day. Each bite was a momentary escape from the mysteries that surrounded him. But even as he tried to enjoy the food, his mind kept wandering back to Lucy and her sudden panic. What had she been afraid of? Why had she disappeared so abruptly?

The sound of his fork clinking against the plate brought him back to the present. He glanced at the glass of juice, noticing it was now empty. He sighed. He wished he knew where the juice was kept.

“I guess I'll go find the juice then,” he muttered to himself, pushing the chair back to stand up.

To his surprise, the air in front of him shimmered slightly, and before he could react, Lucy’s translucent figure materialized by the doorway. Her expression was a mix of curiosity and apprehension, her dark eyes reflecting the soft light from the window.

“I...I can get it for you, sir?” she asked, her voice a gentle murmur that seemed to dance with a hint of excitement.

Lysander started, though his surprise was more subdued than before. He managed a smile, feeling a bit more at ease with her presence now that he was less disoriented. “Oh, Lucy, it’s you.”

Lucy’s face brightened, and she floated closer, her form drifting gracefully across the floor. “I can bring you some more, if you’d like,” she offered eagerly, her hands clasped together as if the task were a great honor.

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Lysander replied. He watched as Lucy turned and floated back toward the kitchen, her feet barely touching the ground. Her departure was almost too quick to follow, a blur of white and crimson.

In less than a minute, Lucy was back, a fresh glass of juice in hand. She floated over to him, carefully placing the glass on the nearby table. “Here you go,” she said cheerfully. “Is there anything else you need?”

Lysander took the glass with a grateful smile. “This is perfect, thank you. But if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind if you stayed a little while.”

Lucy’s eyes sparkled with a mix of relief and pleasure. “Oh, I’d love to! I don’t get to talk to many people—well, living people—very often.”

For the next ten minutes, Lucy flitted back and forth from the kitchen, her movements swift and almost imperceptible. Each time she returned, she brought something new: a plate of delicate pastries, an extra serving of hashbrowns, and even a small dish of fruit. She seemed to take delight in her tasks, and Lysander couldn’t help but be charmed by her enthusiasm.

“Do you know,” Lucy chattered as she placed a fresh dessert on the table, “we have quite the variety of sweets in the kitchen. I’m glad to see someone enjoying them. It’s not often we get to share them outside of our little group.”

Lysander chuckled, taking a bite of one of the pastries. "It's good."

The conversation flowed easily, and for the first time that day, Lysander felt a sense of normalcy amidst the strangeness. Lucy’s cheerful demeanor and willingness to engage provided a welcome distraction from the unsettling aspects of the house. He made sure to avoid asking how the young woman became a ghost as even in his addled brain, he knew that would be a sensitive subject.

As he finished the last of his dessert and sipped the final bit of juice, Lysander looked at Lucy with genuine appreciation. “Thank you for everything, Lucy. It’s been nice talking to you. You’ve made this evening much more pleasant.”

Lucy’s face lit up with a bright smile. “I’m glad to hear that. It was lovely to spend time with you, too. If you ever need anything, just let me know. I’ll be around.”

As Lucy prepared to leave, Lysander found himself more curious than ever. He watched Lucy float towards the door, her translucent form almost blending into the shadows.

“Lucy,” he called out before she could fully exit, “are there others like you here? I mean, besides ghosts, are there other kinds of people?”

Lucy paused, turning back to him with a thoughtful expression. “Yes,” she said softly. “Whispering Pines is home to many different people.”

Lysander’s eyes widened in intrigue. “People? Like what?”

Lucy hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing how much to reveal. “It’s not really something I can explain easily,” she said slowly. “Whispering Pines is a refuge, a sanctuary for those who need a place to hide. Sometimes, that means beings from all kinds of backgrounds and... pursuasians.”

Lysander’s excitement grew. “So, it’s like a hidden world within our own? A place for those who don’t fit in elsewhere?”

Lucy nodded, her expression a mix of seriousness and a touch of sadness. “Exactly. Many come here seeking shelter from various kinds of trouble or danger. It’s not always easy for them to find a place where they belong.”

A myriad of questions formed in Lysander’s mind. “Can you introduce me to someone else? I’d love to learn more about the kinds of beings that live here.”

Lucy’s eyes widened slightly, and she bit her lip, her usual cheerfulness giving way to a hint of apprehension. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Some of the others—well, they’re not as... open as I am. It could be risky. There is a reason that Miss Charlotte has such strict rules.”

Lysander’s heart raced at the thought of meeting more supernatural beings. “Please, Lucy. I promise I won’t freak out or do anything to harm anyone. I just want to understand more about this place and its inhabitants.”

Lucy seemed to wrestle with her thoughts, her gaze flickering between apprehension and reluctant agreement. After a long moment, she sighed and nodded. “Alright. I’ll take you to meet someone. But you have to promise me, Lysander—no sudden movements, no shouting, and definitely no harm. .”

Lysander’s face lit up with excitement. “I promise. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Lucy seemed to relax slightly, her tension easing as she floated closer to him. “Alright then. Let me clean up the dishes.”

***

The dense forest on the property of Whispering Pines gradually gave way to a more open area as Lucy guided Lysander down the paths and across the estate grounds. The tall, verdant trees thinned out, revealing a dilapidated barn that seemed almost swallowed by the encroaching wilderness. Its weathered wood and sagging roof hinted at years of neglect, and Lysander could see the structure leaning precariously to one side.

"The person who lives here is the most open about newcomers. She should be okay with you but she's very skittish. Don't expect her to approach you,” Lucy said, her tone carrying a mix of trepidation and caution. She floated ahead, her form shimmering faintly in the sunlight.

Lysander looked around, his curiosity piqued. “Is this the west lake Charlotte warned me about?”

Lucy shook her head, her expression softening slightly. “No, this is the east lake. The west lake is that way,” she said gesturing in a direction.

As they approached the barn, Lysander noticed the expanse of the lake shimmering in the distance, its waters reflecting the sun that was partial hidden behind clouds. It seemed peaceful, if a bit forlorn, surrounded by reeds and overgrown grass. He followed Lucy inside, his steps echoing softly in the quiet evening air.

The interior of the barn was as he’d expected—an assortment of abandoned tools, broken crates, and long-forgotten equipment scattered across the floor. Dust motes danced lazily in the shafts of light streaming through the gaps in the wooden walls. The rafters above sagged ominously, and the whole space felt heavy with the weight of years of neglect.

Lucy floated in gracefully, her movements almost ethereal against the backdrop of decay. “Please, wait here,” she instructed, gliding deeper into the barn. Lysander stood in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimmer light. He could hear the creaking of old wood and the occasional drip of water from a leaky roof.

A tinkling, almost musical voice broke the silence. “Lucy, Lucy, what have you done? Bringing strangers to my home, oh, you’re a bad, bad, girl.”

The voice was soft and childlike, filled with a repetitive rhythm that seemed oddly comforting despite its reprimanding tone. Lysander looked up, straining to see where the voice had come from.

In the dim light filtering through the rafters, he made out the figure of a woman perched gracefully on a beam. Her wings were large and moth-like, resembling the delicate and intricate patterns of a moth’s wings. They shimmered with muted tones of brown, tan, and gold, their edges slightly frayed. Her appearance was strikingly beautiful, with deep, reflective brown eyes that seemed to hold a world of emotion. Her hair, a cascade of tousled, dusty brown and gray, framed her face with a wild, rustic charm.

“Hello, Vesper,” Lucy said softly, her voice carrying a note of gentleness as if talking to a child. “I'm sorry to bother you before evening but this is Lysander Culfre. He's the new owner of our home.”

Vesper’s gaze shifted to Lysander, her eyes softening as she took in his presence. She fluttered her wings slightly, settling more comfortably on the beam. “Grandpa is not coming home?” Her voice was filled with sadness.

"No, dear. He's not," Lucy said gently.

Lysander looked over to Lucy having still remained on the threshold and the girl nodded.

"Vesper was very attached to your grandfather. When he died, she took it very hard."

"You're...you're grandson...the grandson?" Vesper chirped from her spot in the rafters.

"I am," Lysander said risking to take a step in. He saw Lucy suck in a breath that she didn't need but Vesper did not move. She simply canted her head to the side.

"Slowly," Lucy mouthed.

There was a flutter of wings and the moth girl glided down and, to his shock, perched on him. Her feet snuggled into his hips and her hands on his shoulder. She was light, he barely could feel her as her wings vibrated. Probably keeping her full weight off of him. If anything, the move was moth like.

Vesper canted her head to the other side and leaned forward, her soft, fluffy gray antenna's dancing across his face and hair.

"He smells...he smells..nice. Nice."

"Umm...Thanks?"

"Can I keep...keep him?" Vesper asked turning her wide eyes to Lucy.

"No, dear," Lucy responded floating over and gently stroking the unruly hair. "He needs to stay in the house with Miss Charlotte."

"But I like...like him. He's friendly and he smiles...smile. He doesn't have mean." Vesper responded. Lysander felt her toes dig into his hips and her hands tighten on his shoulders. He was sure that the girl was getting ready to carry him away into the rafters.

"Vesper, lovely Vesper," Lucy cooed now gently stroking her arms. "What would Miss Charlotte say?"

"I'm a bad girl."

"No, she'd remind you that people should be allowed to go where they want."

"I'm lonely. No one visits."

"You don't want anyone to visit."

"Still...they should visit me."

Lysander could make out the frustration in Lucy's eyes but she never let it enter her movement or voice.

"Vesper..."

"You could always visit me?" Lysander interrupted. "I think I could get the window open at the main house. That way you can feel safe."

"Oh!"

She released him and her wings shot her back up into the rafters, vanishing into the gloom.

"Did I say something wrong?" He asked surprised.

"No. She just doesn't like going outside, " Lucy explained. "She'll sometimes flutter around the barn in the moonlight and munch on her flowers but most of the time we have to bring the clothes to her."

"Clothes?"

"She's a moth."

"Oh."

"Let's leave her be for now."

Slowly, the two backed out and made their way back to the house.