I Am the White Lady

It was an old house to start with, long before the family came to make the house a home. They brought laughter to empty halls and music to the air. They bright color to the gardens and hung pictures on the walls. They had no idea they weren’t alone.

The woman was in the attic. The kitchen. The bathroom. The garden. The hallway. She was especially in the mirror in the family room, smiling at the children as they played. Her dress was white.

The adults saw her rarely but they felt her often. Cold spots where there should be none, a bit of a breeze. It was the children who saw her, who spoke of her. She was their nice lady in white.

She was in their pictures. An older woman in a white dress with a smile on her face. She stood behind the children. They could see the background through her, but here she was. Their protective lady in white.

As the children got older, they began to wonder about the kindly woman they were seeing less and less. Was she nothing more than a figment? Their imaginary lady in white?

A century before, a kindly woman lived with husband and children and watched over them all. And when the Spanish Flu claimed her, she continued to watch over them as their guardian lady in white.

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