Winner "The Stairs" by Zach Wheeler

 

It was nearly 3 am, and the moonlight hit the form of a grand staircase. There was just enough light to see the polished dark rail, the wood was filled with deep carvings of vines and leaves. Through the spindles, you could barely make out the floral print of the carpet that covered the stairs. These old stairs curved into the parlour of the Salvation Army Glenbrook Lodge. Only five more minutes until 3 am I wonder if I will see her.

But before I continue, let’s go back a few days.

My grandmother moved to Glenbrook Lodge two years ago. For a fifteen year old teen there is not much to do there; it wasn’t my favourite place to go. It was Saturday afternoon when my grandmother suggested that we walk down to the old section of Glenbrook. I pushed her chair down a long institutional hallway until we came to a large sitting room. This room was different that the rest of the building. It was an old home. The walls were paneled, not brick like the rest of the building. The furnishings however, belonged in a museum, they were old and musty. The biggest feature in the room, however, was a grand mahogany staircase.

Nanda, that’s what I call my grandmother, asked if I had heard the story of the Sunset ghost. Well that may pass some time, so I turned off my phone.

She went on with the most amazing story, “Years ago, this old Victorian Manor was a shelter for unwed mothers and their children, called the Sunset lodge. In those days, it was a great shame for families to have a child born out of wed lock; so many young women were forced to this shelter run by the Salvation Army. Many of the mothers who came here reluctantly gave their children up for adoption.

“It was just before the outbreak of the Second World War, that a young teen named Mary arrived with her little girl. She had refused to give up her little girl, and her parents sent her away to fend for herself. Mary’s little toddler brought so much laughter to the home. She loved to play follow the leader with the staff and hide in the laundry baskets.”

“It was during their stay, that tragedy struck and filled this place with sadness. This little girl crawled out of her bed in the middle of the night to explore her new surroundings. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the stillness of the night was shattered by the little girl’s scream. As everyone came running, they were struck with horror by the lifeless body of the little girl at the bottom of the stairs. She had put on her favouite red satin dress and her special Sunday black paten shoes, and in the darkness of the night tumbled down these terrible stairs. Ever since that night, at 3am, it is said that you can still see the form of a little girl dressed in red, with black shoes at the top of the staircase.”

“If you don’t believe me, Nanda said, “You can ask the staff. None of them come down here at night.”

I don’t believe in ghosts, so I can’t really explain why I ended up sneaking back into the Glenbrook and making my way down to the old parlour and the staircase. I sat in an old armchair over in the corner of the room, my grandmother was right; there was not another person to be seen. Only 5 more minutes until 3am, and I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Then from the corner of my eye, I saw some movement. It wasn’t a ghost, but the bent figure of an old lady. It was Ms. Temple, the old lady who stayed in the room next to my grandmother. She never said much, just rocked back and forth in her chair humming. Nanda said she never had any visitors, and as far as she knew had no family. Her entire life, she worked at the Glenbrook and now lived here since her retirement.

Just as the clock chimed three, Ms. Temple sat at the bottom of the stair, smiled and stretched her arms out, and said “Come here my precious little girl.” Then, there she was. A small ghostly figure dressed in red with black paten shoes. She slowly drifted into the arms of Ms Temple for a just few moments and before she was gone.

Not many days after that, they found Ms. Temple dead at the bottom of those same stairs. No one knew how she got there. Her obituary read, Mrs. Mary Temple predeceased by her one precious little girl. They are finally together again.”