by Andrea Drew
Dad got up and got dressed, obviously resigning himself to the fact that there was no more sleep to be had this night. He picked me up and carried me back to bed in the top bunk. My sister as usual was obliviously unconscious in the bunk below.
We had a nice long chat about how dead people ‘aren't really there, we just think they are.’
This was enough to introvert me for a good twenty minutes before I finally nodded off.
Of course, the next morning I forgot all about it. At the breakfast table, Mum obliquely referred to it as she was dishing out breakfast onto a plate I barely registered existed, and I shrugged her comments off with an ‘I don't know neither do I care’ type gesture.
I vividly recall being up late at night and sneaking halfway down the stairs a few nights later as I was so wickedly prone to do, only to hear dad talking to mum about how he was sure the last person to live there was an old woman and maybe they could find out more about it?
Little did they know.