Allen sat at the rickety dinning room table, tapping his pen on a pad of paper impatiently as he looked at his watch.
"Thirty more seconds and I leave," he said, running a hand through his graying brown hair.
He let his gray eyes scan the dingy kitchen which was in desperate need of a cleaning when he heard the back door of the kitchen open and close quietly, the hinges squealing.
A young woman, about fifteen came in and smiled apologetically.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Jamison," she said, her voice breathy as she quietly pulled the chair opposite out from the table and sat down. "I know this isn't the ritziest place to do an interview, but if you remember, I don't have much of a choice but to meet here."
Allen nodded and looked her over. She was thin and wispy, as if she hadn't had a good meal in days, her skin was pale and pastey, her hair a dull black curtain which was half caught up in a clip. The only thing, he found vivid about this girl were her eyes. They were blue, sad, and so bright they could have been glowing.
"Its fine. So, you said on the phone you had something you thought would make the article I'm writing more interesting. I've got your basic information that you gave me, but now… I want to know more," he said, pulling the cap of the pin off with his teeth and sitting back waiting for her to speak.
She nodded, and leaned on the table, drawing intricate designs with her slender, willow branch finger.
"Like I said, he's always there, and he wants my sister, Amelia too," She glanced up and around at the shadows in the kitchen. "He won't leave me alone, he keeps chasing me, he keeps trying to kill me… he says that if he can't have me he'll have my sister, even though she doesn't live here any more."
"Who is he?" asked Allen, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. He always loved this, the thrill, the chills, but this one would be his most interesting interview ever.
"His name was Jason Mc Neil," she started slowly, her glowing eyes looking up at him shyly, her voice shaking slightly.
She paused and glanced over her shoulder as there was a sound of something thumping against the wall, looking as if she was about to bolt from the table. Allen looked up and smiled as comfortingly as he could reaching over and patting her small hand.
"It's okay. You said he wouldn't come if someone was here didn't you?" he said, making a note on his pad.
"Normally…" she said faintly, sitting back down, but not calming down.
She took another silent breath and continued, " His name was Jason Mc Neil, and the first time I became aware of him was when me and my sister were eight years old. Stacy and I would play here when mother wanted us out of the house to entertain, or when there was nothing else to do. This house was our favorite place to be, though she's probably forgotten about it.
"Anyway, we would feel the normal breeze of cold when he entered a room, when he was angry it would become uncomfortably hot. We knew when he was here and he knew when we were here and for a long while we lived in harmony. We would greet him and ask permission to be there and he would slam those drawers over there," she pointed behind him, "to signal that it was alright, and we would go along on our merry ways."
Allen nodded, "So, when did things change? What made it so dangerous to come here?" He watched her face change again, become fearful, then sad, then scared by turn.
"When we found out what he died of, and who he had been in life," she said looking straight at him.
Her eyes were so uncanny. Allen nodded, urging her to go on, his heart skipping beats, giving him a lighter than air feeling that he got when he got excited. He loved this… he loved his job. "Please, tell me more… I promise you'll be alright."
She smiled again, chuckling slightly, "A noble gesture of you, but nothing more. Anyway, me and Stacy had found his name when we were doing a report on the city's history for school. Jason Mc Neil had been a mass murderer back in the 1880s. He had killed twelve girls around our age, and had lived and buried the bodies here. By today's standards he'd be a sexual predator, and would be put in jail with others of his kind, but he was hung, here in the house, up on the second floor. And that's where he stayed. The rope is still up there, though it is nothing but fine fibers, you can go up and look at it if you want. I'm not allowed in that room."
She went quiet again, apparently waiting for him to ask her another question. Allen was scribbling restlessly on his pad, apparently taking down word from word what she had just said, muttering to himself as he did.
He finally looked up and smiled slightly at her, "I never knew this area had such a bloody history. Quite interesting really, is there anything else you want to tell me?"
She shook her head and stood silently, the rip in her black tee-shirt now visible as she moved, "No, I believe you might have enough to write your story and keep people interested."
Allen stood as well, suddenly grave and reached out his hand to touch her face lightly, "Is there anything I can do for you? I know you've put yourself in danger doing this for me. Why not let me help you escape this place?"
She chuckled, her breathless voice sounding even more insubstantial than before, and her blue eyes glowing even more vividly.
"Thank you," she said as she moved back to the door she had entered in. "But I made a promise to Stacy to wait for her here… but, could you could do me one favor."
Allen nodded, "Anything."
"Tell Stacy to be happy and live long, I want to see her again, but not too soon," with that her voice faded into silence.
Allen stood there staring at the spot where she had been standing, his mouth pulled in a bewildered little smile as he looked down at the notes he had taken.
Her name had been Amelia, she had died at age seventeen from a mysterious stab wound.
He had just interviewed a ghost about another ghost.
'Surely,' he thought as he quickly gathered his things and half ran out of the door, ' there is some sort of law about that.'
Amelia watched him from the second floor window as he left, jumping in his beat up black pick up truck and sighed turning back to the swirling mass of evil emotion that was Jason Mc Neil.
She would be stuck in the loop of her own death, but at least now, people, especially Stacy, would know the truth about the house, and the past it held for ever more.