Little Girl Lost

F3 cycle 11 submission:
Prompt: Themed Word List – Unearthly, Concealed, Attic, Shiver
Genre: Ghost Story
Word Count: 1,600 words or less (total word count 1,586)
Deadline: Wednesday, December 22nd, 2010 4:30 pm EST

Christmas eve, 1983

   Alison had wandered away from the older children, her rowdy cousins and the bossy, bullying twins from up the road. She trudged down the hill away from the house, past the old barn where Uncle James kept the tractor that he'd promised to take her for a ride on in the summer, with her hands shoved into the pockets of her hand-me-down coat. She'd forgotten her mittens. It had been snowing for days, according to her aunts Evie and Ginny, but when she'd arrived at the farm with her mom and dad it had been raining, and everything froze overnight, leaving the snow with a thin layer of ice that made a crunching sound with each step she took through the field.

   Everything was very still, and the playful cries and whoops of the others sounded like they were miles away. Alison walked without paying much attention to what direction she was going in, mesmerized by the way her breath vaporized in the cold morning air. She heard a slight noise like a cough, causing her to startle. Just her luck to have one of the boys follow her, she thought. She'd probably end up being "it" again. She was the smallest, and the slowest, and was always "it". She heard the sound again, this time from her left, and changed direction, heading down the hill toward the back of the property. She'd never walked all the way back before, and the cold seeping into her boots suddenly made her shiver.

   As she approached a little gate concealed in a small stand of snow blanketed pine trees she realized that she probably wasn't supposed to be wandering around alone and felt some apprehension about being so far away from the house, which made her nervous. The little gate was attached to a low stone fence, which surrounded an area that she thought might be a garden. There was even a bench in the center, and some overgrown brambles that in the warmer months would bloom with heirloom roses. The garden looked like no one had been there for a while, except that she could see some small footprints in the snow.

   Maybe it was someone her own age to play with, which made her forget her apprehension. She opened the gate, which protested slightly with squeaky hinges, and walked around looking at the funny stones set here and there in the garden. She noticed that the footprints went up to one of the stones toward the back, and there they stopped. She knelt down to brush away some snow from in front of it, and could make out only the name "Abigail", and some numbers that didn't make a lot of sense to her. Suddenly she heard the sound of footsteps behind her and the complaint of the antique hinges as the iron gate was opened, then her aunt Ginny's voice calling her name and that it was time to go inside for cocoa, and Alison found herself running out of the odd little garden, through the pines and stumbling up the hill as fast as she could run.

   By the time she got to the clearing that led to the farmhouse yard, her lungs burned and her pants were soaked from trudging through the deeper snow that had gathered at the bottom of the hill. Aunt Ginny was standing at the back door watching for her, and immediately ordered her into dry clothes. It was only once Alison was seated at the table with her hands wrapped around a mug of cocoa, breathing in the sweet steam, that she dared to ask the question. "Who is Abigail?" she whispered, afraid of the trouble she was probably causing herself, but unable to contain her curiosity. "Hmm?" her aunt murmured, her back turned as she dried some dishes. "Abigail", Alison repeated, a little too loudly. "Abigail who? Is that one of those skinny girls from the Gustaffson's?" Ginny obviously wouldn't be able to help solve the mystery. But Evie had walked into the kitchen, and gave them both an inquiring look.

   "What are you guys conspiring about in here?" Evie asked. Alison dipped her face closer to her mug and shook her head, sure now that she'd make a mistake by bringing it up. She really didn't want to admit she'd wandered away by herself. Her aunt Ginny spoke up. "Ali was asking about someone named Abigail. Does that ring any bells for you?" Alison's older aunt thought a moment and left the room. When she came back, she was holding what looked to Alison like the oldest book ever made. The leather binding was cracked with age, and when Evie opened the cover Alison wrinkled her nose up at the smell of dusty paper. Evie turned to the first page, which was a piece of yellowed vellum, covered in lines and elegant cursive writing. "This is our family tree.", her aunt told her, pointing to their family's name in large script across the top of the page.

   Evie traced her finger along the various lines and tightly drawn names. "Here. Abigail. Born 1875. Died 1883. She was my grandpa's younger sister. She was the only girl." Alison thought about it for a minute, and was suddenly sad. Her aunt looked at the little girl's face, knotted in concern. "Where did you hear about Abigail, Alison?" Alison knew she'd have to tell the truth. So she did. And as she told her aunts about her walk that morning, her aunt filled in the brief history of Abigail, who, according to family history, had died on the night before Christmas a hundred years prior. What Alison didn't tell them, however, was anything about the footprints or the sound of footsteps in snow when there was no one else there, or a child coughing in the woods that had lead her to an unadorned grave marker.

   That night friends and neighbors stopped by for food and drinks, and to exchange gifts with the family, and in all of the excitement and activity Alison forgot all about that morning. By the time she was hustled off to bed by her mother, anticipating the surprises that the next morning would bring, she was exhausted. She awoke sometime that night to thoughts of a sick little girl who never got to open presents on Christmas day. She went to the little dormer window in the attic bedroom she was sharing with her cousins Amy and Kathleen who were both sound asleep. There was a light snow falling and Alison realized that it must be very late. Her mother had reminded her before tucking her in at bedtime that they had a long drive home tomorrow afternoon, so she closed the curtain and slipped back into bed.

Christmas eve, 2008

   The saws and hammers had been making an unearthly racket all week, so it was a nice break from all the noise when the crew had been given Christmas off. Alison was looking forward to when the renovation of the house would be finished and they could complete the move-in. It wasn't much fun living out of a double-wide parked in the back yard while the updates were being made. They were supposed to have been done with the kitchen already, but, of course, were typically behind schedule. "What a way to spend Christmas Eve", Alison sighed as she surveyed the unfinished demolition.

  When she'd been left the house by her aunt and uncle, Alison had seriously considered selling the place. She didn't really have the time or the resources to devote to taking the project on. And although she'd spent time here as a child, she didn't think she was all that attached to it, until that summer, when she'd driven up to check it out, and seen the wildflowers blooming in the meadow and the daylillys lining the gravel driveway. It brought back memories. She could make it work, she decided. So she'd sold her place in the suburbs and moved out to the old house just before Thanksgiving.

   Tired of staring at construction debris, Alison decided to take a walk. She'd never really had time to wander the back end of the property, which spanned a few acres and had become overgrown from neglect as her aunt Ginny and uncle James had gotten older. It had been an unusually mild winter, and the layer of soft snow on the ground was only a few inches deep. The walk to the family grave site took less time than she'd remembered. Everything looked the same, other than some of the stones leaning slightly more than before. She opened the gate, which offered some resistance, and she made a mental note to have the hinges greased. She sat on the bench for a while, waiting. Finally, she made up her mind, and reached into her coat.

   The doll had not been easy to find, and had taken a bite out of the renovation budget, but Alison had been determined. The night before she had carefully tied a bow around the package, and the paper crinkled as she set it next to the stone marker that bore her great-great aunt's name. She smiled to herself. She'd made a secret promise all those years before, and now she was keeping it. "Merry Christmas, Abigail" she whispered, and as she closed the gate behind her and headed back to the house she thought she heard the faint sound of a little girl's laughter.