The Cold Balcony

I’ve always been sensitive to the other side. Since I was a kid, I’d feel cold spots, hear whispers in empty rooms, and sometimes I’d feel a gentle touch on my shoulder when no one was there. But I never saw anything, not until I was twenty and we moved into that townhouse on Marigold Lane.

The place was charming enough, a two-story building with a small backyard and a porch that creaked in the wind. My younger sister and I claimed the upstairs bedroom, which opened onto a small balcony through sliding glass doors. I loved it at first. It had a view of the neighborhood, and on clear nights, I could see the stars.

But from the very first night, something was off. My room, and only my room, was freezing. I’d wrap myself in blankets, but the cold seeped through, making my bones ache. The rest of the house was warm; the heating worked fine, and my mom would often complain about how stuffy it was downstairs. She blamed the sliding doors, so she bought thick, thermal curtains. It helped a little, but the chill lingered.

I’d come home from my late shifts at the diner, usually around 10:30 or 11, and I’d sit on my bed, phone pressed to my ear, talking to my boyfriend, Daniel. We’d talk about our day, make plans for the weekend, anything to feel normal. But every time, the cold would intensify, and I’d feel a presence, like someone standing just outside my line of sight.

One night, as I was talking to Daniel, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. On the balcony, there was a faint, shimmering shape. I turned, expecting it to be a reflection or a trick of the light, but it was there, a translucent figure of a woman, staring at me through the glass. I dropped my phone, my heart hammering.

‘Hello?’ I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. The figure didn’t move, but I felt a cold wave wash over me, and the phone in my hand went dead. Daniel’s voice vanished into static.

From that night on, I saw her more often. She’d appear on the balcony, sometimes inside the room, always silent, always watching. She seemed sad, not malicious, but her presence brought an unbearable cold. I tried to ignore her, but it was impossible. I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find her standing at the foot of my bed, her face a mask of sorrow.

I told my parents, but they thought it was my imagination. My sister made fun of me. Daniel, though, believed me. He’d felt the temperature drop when he visited, and once, he saw a shadow move behind me. He started doing research on the house.

Turns out, the previous owner, a woman named Elinor, had died on that balcony. She’d been waiting for her husband to return from war, but he never came home. She died of pneumonia, alone, in the cold. They said she was heartbroken.

That made me feel for her. She wasn’t a malevolent spirit; she was just lost. So one night, I opened the door to the balcony. The cold hit me like a wall, but I stepped out, ‘Elinor? I know you’re here. I’m sorry you’re suffering. But you can move on. He’s gone. You have to let go.’

For a moment, nothing. Then, the air warmed. I felt a soft, cold breeze pass through me, and I heard a faint, grateful sigh. The figure began to fade, and as she disappeared, the temperature in the room rose to normal. I closed the door, and for the first time in months, my room felt warm.

I never saw her again, but that experience taught me something. The dead, they’re not always trying to scare us. Sometimes, they just want to be heard. And sometimes, they need the living to help them cross over. I still feel the occasional cold spot, but now, instead of fear, I feel a sense of purpose. I’m ready to listen.

But sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t opened the door. What if I had just shut the curtains and ignored her? Would she still be here, haunting the balcony, waiting for someone else to come along? And what if that someone else isn’t as understanding as me? What if they try to cast her out, or worse, ignore her, letting her cold grow until it consumes the entire house?

I don’t know. But I know that the cold on that balcony, it wasn’t just a draft. It was a presence, and I’m glad I was able to give her peace. And if you ever move into a house with a cold spot, think twice before dismissing it. You never know what might be waiting for you, and what you might unleash if you ignore it too long.