The Yellow Sticker

I never believed in anything I couldn’t see or touch. That’s why, when my cousin Mira and I moved into the old farmhouse on Birch Road, I laughed off the weird feel of the place. I was a single mom to my five-year-old, Lily, and we were both thrilled to have a real house with a huge yard and a porch swing. Mira had found the place for a steal, and we’d spent the summer painting the walls and scrubbing the floors until it felt like our own.

But then the yellow sticker appeared. It was stuck to the inside of the medicine cabinet in our bathroom, the one I used every morning. A simple white circle with a bright yellow smiley face drawn in marker, and underneath it, the words: ‘You are not alone.’ I figured it was left by the previous owners or maybe a bored contractor. I peeled it off and threw it away.

The next morning, it was back, in the same spot, as if it had never been removed. I showed Mira, and she shrugged, ‘Maybe Lily stuck it there?’ But Lily couldn’t reach the back of the cabinet, and she was drawing rainbows, not smiley faces. I peeled it off again, and that night I locked the bathroom door from the inside, out of spite.

When I opened the door the next morning, the sticker was on the mirror, directly over my reflection’s mouth. I felt a chill run down my spine, but I told myself it was a prank. Mira and I were the only ones with keys, and I knew she wouldn’t do something like that.

I started sleeping with the light on. I’d lie in bed, listening to the creaks and groans of the old house, and I’d hear something else: a soft, rhythmic tapping, like fingernails on glass, coming from the window. I’d rush to look, but there was nothing there, just the moonlit yard.

Then Lily began talking to the house. She’d sit in her room, staring at a corner, and giggle. ‘What are you looking at, sweetie?’ I’d ask. ‘The lady,’ she said. ‘She’s funny.’ My blood ran cold. I demanded she describe the lady, but she just said, ‘She has yellow eyes, like the sticker.’

That night, I called Mira. I told her about the sticker and Lily’s talk. Mira was quiet for a long time, then she said, ‘I didn’t tell you this, but the realtor mentioned that the previous owner had a daughter. She died here, in the house. It was in the news.’ I hung up, my heart pounding.

I couldn’t sleep. I wandered through the house, feeling a presence in every room. I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and I saw the yellow smiley face drawn on the refrigerator door in marker. I grabbed a rag and scrubbed it off, but as I scrubbed, the smiley face seemed to smile wider, and I heard a soft giggle behind me.

I spun around, but no one was there. I ran to Lily’s room and found her lying in her bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. ‘Mommy,’ she whispered, ‘the lady is in the wall. She’s scratching.’

I yanked her out of bed, grabbed my keys, and drove to a motel. I didn’t even take a change of clothes. I called Mira from the motel and told her we were never going back. She said she was sorry, that she had a feeling something was off, and she’d sell the house, we’d find somewhere else.

The next morning, I went to the motel’s bathroom to brush my teeth. The medicine cabinet was empty, except for a single piece of paper, folded into a smiley face. I opened it, and inside, written in red ink, were the words: ‘I’ll see you at home.’

I haven’t stopped running since. We’re in a new apartment now, but that night, as I tucked Lily into bed, she looked at the window and said, ‘The lady is outside, Mommy. She says she’s coming in.’ And I saw it: a yellow smiley face, pressed against the glass, smiling at us.

I still don’t believe in ghosts. But I’m not sure what else to call the thing that follows us, that leaves its yellow mark everywhere we go. And I’m terrified that one day, Lily will smile back.