Behind her, a group of women whispered, stealing glances in her direction. Anne caught a piece of their conversation.
"Another young wife. Another funeral soon.''
She turned sharply, but no one met her gaze. The market carried on as if nothing had happened, the villagers pretending not to see her, or not to hear.
But she heard it.
That night, she lay still beneath her blanket, her eyes locked on the far corner of the room.
The woman was there again.
Closer.
Last week, she had lingered near the wardrobe, her hallow eyes glowing inn the moonlight. Three nights ago, she stood at the foot of the bed, her tattered dress rustling in an unfelt breeze. Now, she was half way across the room, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor.
Anne's pulse pounded in her throat. She wanted to scream. To run.
But fear kept her frozen.
"Ian,'' she whispered, her voice shaking. She reached to her husband, fingers brushing his shoulder. "Ian, please—''
He stirred, his eye lids fluttering open. And for a brief moment, something flickered in his gaze—not fear, not confusion.
Something darker.
Something like guilt.
Then it was gone.
"You're dreaming again, he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He didn't turn to look at the figure. He didn't even glance in its direction.
Anne's stomach twisted. "I'm not dreaming,'' she said, gripping his arm tighter. "she's right there—look at her!''.
Ian signed. He turned to face her. Anne, he said softly, "there's nothing there.''
But he never did meet her eyes.
He never did.
A floorboard creaked
Anne's breath caught.
The woman has taken another step forward.
Closer.
She was so close now that Anne could see the frayed edges of her dress. The scent of damped earth and something faintly rotten filled the room.
Ian didn't react. He simply pulled Anne against his chest, wrapping his arm around her.
"Sleep,'' he murmured into her hair. "You're safe.''
But Anne didn't feel safe.
She felt the woman's eyes on her.
Unblinking. Watching.
And worse of all—she felt a creeping certainty that Ian wasn't lying to protect ''her''.
He was lying to protect "himself''
Three nights had passed since the ghost had nearly reached the bed, still, Ian refused to talk about it.
Determined to find answers, Anne searched the house whenever Ian was away.
Nothing.
Nothing about a woman. Nothing about ghosts.
By the fifth day, exhaustion weighed her down like a heavy blanket. She hadn't slept in days. "Maybe I'm going crazy,'' she thought, pressing her hands to her forehead.
The ghost's visits were lasting longer, becoming clearer.
Last night, Anne woke to the icy touch of fingers against her cheek—only to find the room empty. Ian slept soundly beside her.
Then, on the sixth night, as she sat alone in the parlor, a sound made her jump.
Someone had slipped a note under the front door.
Anne's breath caught as she unfolded the scrap of paper.
"Go and see Wonka before it is too late.''
The name meant nothing to her.
"Too late for what.?''
That night, as she lay awake, listening for whispers in the dark, she thought about how she ended up here.
Her life has been filled with suffering.
When will she ever catch a break?
Anne's childhood home has never been warm.
Anne's mother passed away during child birth, and her father passed away three years later in a car accident. After that, she was sent to live in an orphanage where feeding and clothing was a major problem. The caretakers would make them work several hours without proper food to satisfy their hunger.
When she grew a bit older, she run away from the orphanage to look for her uncle, her father's younger brother. She thought at least they were family and they would treat her right.
She arrived at the gate of her uncle so late at night and knocked several times for the gate to be unlocked to her but no one came. She had to spend the night there folding herself into her arms to warm herself against the cold air.
When morning came, Edna, her cousin was the one who walked out of the gate to sweep. She found Anne sleeping at the front of the gate looking very dirty and smelly with rusted cloths on. She immediately covered her nose and dashed inside to inform her parents.
"What is that girl doing her'', Edna's mother said sharply to the hearing of her husband who suddenly woke up from his sleep.
"Send her away, we don't need her here.''
Seconds later, a loud knock was heard again, this time, Anne was able to come able to come in because Edna forgot to lock the gate.
''Aunty, Uncle, good morning, Anne greeted.
''Good morning'', they both responded trying to sound kind and welcoming.
''Uncle, Anne started with tears streaming down her eyes, I was wondering if I could stay here with you and your family, the orphanage is treating me badly.
''And who said we are going to take you in and treat you better, her aunt's voice interrupting her sharply? We are also struggling with a lot of things, we can't take you in, it will be best if you could return to where you came from.''
Anne realizing even if she was to return back, she wouldn't be accepted back in, she decided to plead with her aunt and uncle. "I wouldn't be much trouble please, please take me in, I beg of you, please, with tears streaming down her face to her chest. I would help with anything, house chores, help you to the market please. I just want to be educated and have a shelter over my head, please aunty.''
Edna moved towards her parents signaling them to follow her to the bedroom cause she wanted to talk to them, seizing the opportunity to give Anne a very disgusted look as she wasn't human.
"Mum, Dad, I know you don't want her but have you thought of the great help she can be of us here? She could do things in the house without you mum having to move a muscle and besides, I'm tired of doing things around the house myself. Please take her in, please?'' She pleaded with her parents.
"You make sense any way, fine we would accept her in then. Arh, this my daughter, you are wise. That's why you are mine. Go, go tell her to come in. She wants to stay here right?, Fine, we would make her stay a pleasant one then.
Her cousin, Edna, just a year older, was the favorite, obviously. Even though her mum claimed money was tight, Edna got everything she wanted. Anne, however wore Edna's old clothes.
She woke before dawn to fetch water. She scrubbed floors until her knees ached, peeled potatoes until her hands were sore and endured all her aunt'''''useless girl,'' her aunt would snap. ''We feed you, educate you, clothe you, and this is how you repay us?''
Edna, lounging with a book she never read, would smirk. ''Maybe she's just a stupid girl Mama.''
Anne learned to stay quiet. To shrink. To disappear.
So when her uncle called her into the dim parlor one evening, she brace herself for another punishment.
Instead he said, "You're getting married''.