The Gray House by the Lake

The Gray House by the Lake
No, I am not moving!” I shouted above my eight-year-old cousin. “I will not move!”
My aunt, named Ari, frowned. “But we’re not moving. Just visiting an old cottage. Calm down.”
When I was around six, my mother died of a very bad cancer. My father left long ago, and no one had any contact with him. And that left my only other relative: Arianna Mahellena and her eight-year-old daughter Louise Mahellena. They “adopted me.” Ha. Funny. I never liked Ari and her beach ball of a daughter, who sings the only song she knows. God, that gets annoying!
Louise is undisturbed: “Yey! We’re moving, moving, moving, mo-oving!”
I yanked Louise over to me and placed my hand over her mouth. I glare at Ari. “Where are we…visiting?”
Ari freezes, Louise follows. “I…erm…we’re going to a boat house by a deserted lake. I, uh, don’t know the name.”
Gr-reat, I felt like saying. Do you know how to get there? The address, state, LAKE?! I decide to ask, “Do you know how to get there?”
Louise wiggles free and skips away. She comes back with a box of Cheez-its. She’s humming again!
Ari answers, “Yes.”
I nod. “When do we leave?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
I calm myself—I shall not explode, I promise. I exhale a large gust of air. “I guess I’ll go and pack.” I hum a stupid tune to keep me calm. Quickly I turn on my CD player and TV.
An hour later I’ve fallen asleep.

Morning is a blur: Ari running around like a mad woman, Louise throwing Smart Start cereal into plastic bags, and me getting ready.
They continue to make too much racket—enough I wouldn’t try to sleep even if I could.
Quickly I pull on my Capri’s, my T-shirt, and sneakers. I grab some clothes and fold them into my suitcase. I didn’t care anymore—we were leaving, and I somehow couldn’t wait.
Coming downstairs with a suitcase in your wake isn’t easy. It nearly knocks me down as I round the tiny corner in the stairs. I carefully place my suitcase beside the door.
I head back into the kitchen to glance at the weather report: sixty-five degrees and rain. Ah, rain. Suddenly, everything slips away as I become tuned to the rain.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, it taps. I continue to listen until I am called to Earth again.
“Wake up, Annabelle,” I hear Ari calling from the kitchen. Too soon I’m back, and my doubts are too.
A torrent of questions comes flowing, “So we’re leaving now? Where are we going? How are we getting there?”
Ari is putting some food into crate-like boxes. “Yes. La Push, Washington. Car.”
Louise comes bounding downstairs with a Dora the Explorer suitcase. “Reading, Mommy!” she shouts.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Ari says before shoving me into the rain.

Green tree. Green bush. Green trunk. Green grass…Everything is green! We’re heading through La Push towards our destination.
I groan inwardly as the cabin comes into view. It sits on the rocky ledge of a beach. A small path leads down towards a deserted beach. A small boat bobs silently in the shadows of the drop-off cliff. I look down off the ledge. The water bellow is black, and it fades to gray as the shallows approach. A mist is coming to settle its cold fingers over the lake. The sky seems brooding as black clouds complete to overtake the gloomy grays of the sky. I glare at the trees. They’re white…lifeless.
I notice the ghostliness of this lake, and a sudden chill skitters up my spin. Nothing looks very alive…
Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I see a figure rise from the lake. Her skin looks stark white, her hair a bleached blonde—white. Her eyes look gray and lifeless (like everything else), and she walks gracefully. But I only see those penetrating eyes that narrow as she sees the car in the front of the cabin.
My heart has chilled, I can feel it. She doesn’t seem to care that it’s a lifeless day out.
But I have one question:
Why does she look like a ghost?

Louise is at the kitchen table, singing, “I made a new friend today!”
How could she make a friend? There’s no one out here. Except that girl…
“What’s her name?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
“Mena. She’s really kind of transparent looking. Really ghostly. Oh, look! Here she comes now!” Louise is up and out the door, yelling, “Mena! Mena! Mena, come see my cousin!”
Mena…
An odd name for Washington. It sounds Spanish to me…
I eye the window and see Mena being dragged into our house. I can now inspect her ponytail hair and fading bathing suit.
“What are you staring at?” she snaps at me. She has razors in her voice. Mena frightens me.
I notice her beautiful face is cruel. Her eyes are sharp, her cheekbones set just right. Her lips are set in a cruel sneer.
“What. Are. You. Looking. At.” Those razors are grinding my nerves. I am frozen—I feel as though I’m falling…
My cheek suddenly burns, and I’m back. Mena has slapped me. “Hey! What’d ya do that for?” my cousin shouts.
Mena’s razors disappear. “Hi, my name is Mena. I thought you were fainting. Terribly sorry.”
But I can see the ice in her eyes. She lies. I wince. “No problem.
Louise skips to the cupboard, and Mena leans into my ear. “Staring is rude,” she says, sharp razors echoing in my brain.
I turn away and grasp the counter. Why is this girl so strange? The razor voice, the cruel-pretty face, and the ghostly look.
“What is your name?” I ask.
“Mena.”
I wince. Why does the razor-voice cause me…pain? “No, your full name.”
“Willmena Kimp.”
My eyes are suddenly watery. I know that name. It was in the papers everywhere not but two years ago, when a girl had drowned in this very lake…
GIRL DROWNS
IN LAKE! WILLMENA
KIMP NEVER FOUND!
I suddenly understand the cruel razor-sharp voice, cruel-pretty face, and the hatred.
She’s a ghost…
The lifelessness of the lake is photographed on the wall. A young girl is behind a tree. She hosts no color. Mena…
“You’re dead…” I whisper.
But Mena is no longer there. I see her slip in the lake through the window. Her eyes catch mine and she winks. Then she’s gone.
And the world goes black.