Girl in the Picture …Finale …I Finally Meet My Ghost
conspired to help me find her...
― Paulo Coelho
How did I get into this mess? I was conducting a simple photoshoot of a Georgian house and a girl appeared in my photos.
She literally came out of nowhere and sent me a message—writing in Spenserian script no less, just to add to the drama.
And now I’m obsessing about this ghost girl who haunts the house and is now haunting me.
Lovely, just lovely…
But I might be able to get some insight into the mystery by checking the town’s library for the history of the house.
Turns out the librarian is more than helpful. She produces material from the vertical file—old newspaper articles about the house.
In an archived issue of The Mercury, I find a history of the house and its original occupants—the Enright family—and at the end of the article a picture of Elizabeth—the girl in my photo.
I photocopy the article and the picture. My heart burns within my chest.
I drive back to the house and sit inside the SUV in the drive—staring at the house—willing Elizabeth to appear.
She doesn’t show, so I get out and begin wandering again. There’s nothing but a light rain and gray trees in the distance.
In desperation I call out her name, but my voice seems muffled as if heard through cotton batten.
I grow hoarse from straining against the clotting fog and dampness.
Finally, defeated, I sink to the wet lawn and sob out my frustration.
I don’t know how long I remain there, but after a while, I look up and see her at the edge of a yellow grassy field, beckoning.
In an instant, I’m on my feet and hurrying after.
She pauses, allowing me to catch up, and then leads me further, towards a small grove of willows.
She points to a crumbling fieldstone wall and disappears.
I approach. The very spot where she pointed is a tangle of vines.
I begin pulling, tearing them away from the wall.
Then, I see it—a tall, thin limestone tablet, sticking out of the ground—a headstone.
It’s inscribed in Spenserian script – Elizabeth Enright 1835-1895 – Beloved And Not Forgotten.
I understand what she’s telling me.
I walk back to the SUV, soaked and totally dejected.
I don’t know what I expected to find, but what I did find, was bitter and heart breaking.
As I approach my vehicle, a golden retriever bounds out of the yellow field and begins running dizzying circles around me.
Despite my heavy heart, I have to laugh at its zany antics.
“Katie—stop it!”
I look up to see a blonde girl approaching, leash in hand. “I’m so sorry—she’s never done that before.”
I crouch down, patting Katie, who is now laughing—red tongue hanging out, bright, like the flame of a butane lighter.
I get to my feet and I look straight into the face of Elizabeth Enright.
I swoon, nearly faint, but she reaches out her arms and steadies me. I end up being hugged by her.
“I don’t usually meet men this way,” she smirks. “Are you all right? You look soaked to the skin.”
“I—I’m fine,” I stammer.
She puts out a hand.
“I’m Beth—and this saucy hussy is Katie.”
“I’m James Regal.” I shake her hand.
I smile, “By the way, I didn’t catch your last name.”
“It’s Enright—we own this house. Are you the photographer who arranged with Dad to take the pictures?”
“I am.”
“You picked a bad day for photos.”
“No, actually, I think it’s turning out pretty well,” I laugh.
She stares at me for a moment and then says, “Can I invite you in for a coffee? You must be chilled.”
“Coffee would be great.”
We start toward the house. Suddenly, she stops and looks at me.
“What?” I ask.
She turns her head to the side and squints at me through the drizzle.
“Nothing. I just felt I needed to formally say, Hello.”
“Hello, Beth,” I smile.