My sister and I are never alone. We each have a guardian, but they are not from our world. At our cabin by the lake, my sister was running down the wooden stairs when she slipped. A heavy lantern on the wall, which should have struck her head, swung violently away as if pushed by an unseen hand. For a brief moment, I saw the shape of a young girl with dark hair standing on the step, and then she vanished.
Back in the city, a dog broke free from its leash and charged at me. Just before it reached me, a flowerpot fell from a high window ledge, landing right in front of the animal and startling it away. When I got to my room, the television, which was turned off, flickered to life. A single phrase scrolled across the dark screen over and over: ‘You are safe.’
Later, while I was washing my hands, the shower curtain moved without a breeze. Behind it stood a tall figure, its features unclear. It spoke in a low, calm voice, saying, ‘We are here.’ Then the curtain fell back into place, and the space was empty. I have not been harmed, but the young girl sometimes makes her presence known, her cold fingers brushing against my arm in the night.