The Cold Draft

My move into Marcus’s house in the foothills of the Cascade Range had been an exercise in optimism. The place was a sprawling, wood-paneled affair, a relic from the ’70s with a sunken living room and a stone fireplace that dominated the main wall. I’d been there for two months, and the only strange thing I’d noticed was how drafty the hallways were, even with the heat on. It was a constant chill that seemed to cling to the baseboards, a sensation I chalked up to the house’s age and the pine trees pressing against the windows.

I was cleaning the kitchen one afternoon, wiping down the counter, when a flicker of movement snagged my vision. It came from the living room, past Marcus who was sprawled on the couch with a book. It was a small figure, child-sized, darting from the doorway to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. It wore something white, flowing behind it like a cape or a towel, and I had the distinct impression of playful haste. I dropped the sponge and called out, ‘Marcus, did you see that?’ He glanced up, eyebrows furrowed. ‘See what?’ I described it, but he shook his head. ‘Probably a shadow from a passing car.’ But it was the middle of the day, and the driveway faced the other way.

Over the next few weeks, the presence became an almost daily thing. I’d be reading in the den and feel a sudden drop in temperature, the air growing thick and cold around me. Sometimes I’d hear a faint rustling, like tumbling fabric, just at the edge of my hearing. And always, from the corner of my eye, I’d catch a glimpse of that white figure slipping through doorways, always heading somewhere else. Marcus admitted that he’d felt the strange coldness too, and sometimes he’d see something in the hall, a shape that vanished when he turned to look. We joked about it being a ghost, but the laughter never quite reached our eyes.

One night, after Marcus had gone to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I decided to work out in the exercise room, which was a converted bedroom at the end of the hall. I turned on the TV for background noise, left the door cracked, and walked back to the kitchen for a glass of water. As I returned, I saw the faint blue glow of the television reflecting off the opposite wall of the hallway. I pushed the door open, expecting the screen to be alight, but the room was dark. The TV was off, and the only sound was the hum of the house settling. I reached for the switch, and as the light flooded the room, I saw it.

There, in the corner, stood the figure from my glimpses. It was a child, maybe six or seven, but it wasn’t wearing a cape. It was wearing a white, old-fashioned nightgown, and it was dripping wet, leaving a puddle on the hardwood floor. Its face was pale and indistinct, but its eyes were dark pits, and it was staring at me. I screamed, but no sound came out. I couldn’t move, my legs felt rooted to the floor. The child took a step forward, and its feet made a squelching sound. It opened its mouth, and a stream of water poured out, along with a faint gurgling. I scrambled backward, tripping over a dumbbell, and landed hard. When I looked up, the room was empty. But the puddle remained, slowly spreading across the floor.

I didn’t sleep that night. I told Marcus in the morning, and he looked pale. He told me that the house had a history before his family bought it. There was a well on the property, decades ago, and a child had fallen in during a storm. They never found the body. The well had been capped and covered, but Marcus had always felt a connection to that child, especially near the hall where I’d seen the figure. He confessed that he’d wake up some nights with a chill, and once he’d seen a wet footprint on the bathroom floor even though the shower was dry.

Now, I can’t shake the feeling that the house is watching me, that the cold draft is someone’s breath, and that at any moment, I’ll turn a corner and see that white-gowned figure, not as a blur but staring back at me. And I’m terrified that when I do, it won’t disappear. It will reach out a gray hand, and I’ll follow it down, down into the dark where the water waits.