Hello. My name is Rosalind Harper. At least, that's my first and middle name. My last name is confidential information, for the purpose of this book, of course.

I decided to move into the house, which I will call the Old Farmhouse, with the intent to discover within the aged walls the inspiration for my first full-length novel. I'm not sure what I ever saw in the wallpaper that curled up at the edges, the old-fashioned radiators in almost every room, the mysterious stains on the ceilings and floors.

I spent a total of three months living inside that house, and despite being a rather skeptical person, found myself face-to-face with supernatural forces unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. The house was built in the 1790's, a few years after the Revolution had been fought and won. I met a total of twenty different ghosts, ranging in age from young to old, natural deaths to violent ones, and all of them remained there, inside the house, growing bored as the years marched on, and their lives didn't. They never aged, never hungered, trapped inside that house.

I promised to go on and tell their stories. These are all of the ones I collected, plus more that I heard about from the ones I spoke to.

Without further ado, these are their stories.

Betty was the first ghost I ever met, and doubtlessly the most headstrong. She was certainly pretty, not that she didn't know it.

She had long, brown curls, which she said her mother set in curlers every night so she would look like a little doll every morning. Appearance was important to her mother, she told me. Her hair was always tied up in a pretty green ribbon that matched her eyes, and freckles dotted her cheeks. Her face was thin, but it made her all the prettier, and her dress went down just past her knees, and it was all made of white lace, with a green satin ribbon around the waist that matched the one in her hair. The top was one of those drooping triangle ruffly things, and the sleeves were puffed out and loose and ended in cuffs. She wore stockings and boots with little heels, though she couldn't have been older than ten, perhaps eleven.

I told her about this book, before I left. How I'd written her story inside, and everyone else's. She asked me, as a final favor, to omit the story of her death from this chapter. She was perhaps the only one in the house who didn't want her story to be told.

I will grant her her wish, take her secret to my own grave. She also wished to include a few words of her own.

Hello. This is Betty, Rosie's friend. Rosie and I had great fun while she lived here, and I hope she'll come back soon so we can have more fun.

She even made my old room look like it used to. She's very nice and it would also be nice if you read her book and told all your friends it was really good so they'll read it too.

My mother would be furious with my penmanship. It's atrocious. Hopefully, you can read it.

Sincerely,

EAF