I’m not the most emotionally stable man by any means. I was raised by my father who was a distant, short tempered man. I didn’t grow up with any family around and I wasn’t allowed friends over. I didn’t even have friends outside the house because I was homeschooled and didn’t know what a computer was until I moved out. Truly ninety nine percent of my life was spent on my fathers property before I turned eighteen. Not only that but the only thing my father would ever tell me about my mother was that she abandoned us shortly after I was born. Knowing what I know now, I doubt she left. I hired a private investigator to find her, spent more money than I care to admit and there’s no record of her after her supposed run away from her responsibilities as a mother. I suppose I should explain why I don’t believe she went anywhere of her own free will.
You see I had an imaginary friend growing up. I had always thought I made her up out of a deep desire to have a connection with anybody. I only ever saw her in the attic and when I asked why she couldn’t come play with me she said this was her home. Truly I more talked at her rather than have any real conversation. I’m not sure she had much language skills though sometimes she’d try to talk to me a little. I never questioned anything about her existence after the day I brought her up to my father.
He was the one who told me she was an imaginary friend. Being naive and sheltered with nobody to ask but my dad I believed him. She meant a lot to me and she seemed happy to see me when I climbed up those stairs…oh how I wish I had known she was real…how I wished I’d helped her. Even when I was out of the house it was common among people that children had imaginary friends. When I was twenty eight my fathers house burned down with him inside. He slept through the fire and thats when it was discovered, the woman in the attic. The real…once living woman.
Turns out she had been abducted when she was only three years old which would account for the poor language skills. They didn’t know if my father had her the entire time but he had at least had her since I was eight. I hadn’t had any interest in the attic before then. I of course didn’t know her age but she looked like a girl in her early teens, maybe thirteen or fourteen. The police confirmed what I thought. She was only five years older than I was, or would of been had she still been living today.
I can barely look at myself which I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist about. They’ve told me countless times it isn’t my fault but after I left, how could I have continued to be such a moron, how could I have left her there to suffer alone with him. They have me on a few different kinds of pills which I thought were actually helping, if even a little but her ghost came to me about a month ago.
She still can’t talk much. I’d say she has the speaking skills of a five year old at best. I wanted to ignore her, feeling I was going crazy but I had wronged her once…a few days after her arrival at my home I could ignore her no longer. How could I betray her a second time? It’s nice having her around, honestly I’m so fucked up from being so isolated and having the kind of father I did I can’t keep any friends. I don’t want her to leave but when I saw a news report about a woman named Abigail Holfoldings who helped a police investigation through talking to spirits I decided I wouldn’t fall into the trap I was imagining her again, no, I needed to talk to this woman and maybe actually help Viola this time.