When I say there was a trapdoor, I meant there was a trapdoor. It was boarded up now. Marci face contorted into one of anger and pain, and with a cry she started to claw at the floorboards.
In the span of the two years that I had known her, I had never seen Marci look so determined
"Marci, stop!" I cried, "Stop!"
But Marci had slipped into a state of madness, from which even I couldn't bring her back from. Suddenly there was a creaking sound, and I looked up to see that there was a crack on the ceiling which was growing. There was no time to think. I pushed Marci out of the way and we rolled onto the floor and out of the way moments before the ceiling crashed. Come to think of it, I suppose that the house probably hadn't cared for properly which was why the middle bit of the ceiling gave way, and an assortment of books, trunks clothes and other things had rained down on the spot that Marci had been a second ago, and would still have been, had I not pushed her out of the way.
Marci looked at the monumental mess wild eyed.
"Thanks," she said softly.
"Pleasure," I said " Now we should really get out of here"
" Yeah," she said getting up, and walking to the window "Let's go."
I walked over to where Marci was standing. She climbed onto the window, and jumped. To my surprise she landed softly in a balcony below. She motioned to me to jump . I looked over my shoulder. The door was blocked.
"Looks like this is the only way out" I sighed to myself, closed my eyes and jumped. When I felt solid ground below my feet again, I opened them.
From there we dropped down to the ground, as it was a low balcony, and walked back the path in silence. I was leading, while Marci walked a few steps behind me. Then, I spotted a man walking towards us. I froze. He was a tall figure, but slouched badly, in one hand was a suitcase. It was Hugo Pietdricho
Surprisingly, Marci walked on. So did Hugo Pietdricho, until they were standing face to face. Hugo Pietdricho handed her a box tucked under his arm. Then he smiled and walked past, into the house.
I caught up with Marci. She had opened the box. Inside was a sparkly red dress, and wrapped in it, a portrait of a girl wearing the dress. I would have said it was Marabelle, except that it wasn't. Under waves of copper hair, a face smiled out. It was Marci's.
She looked at me sheepishly. " Ghosts tend to get homesick too."
And for the first time that night, I didn't roll my eyes.