The Balloon Spirit

The floorboards in the nursery give a rhythmic, rhythmic creak, though no wind stirs the heavy moth-eaten curtains. Suddenly, a soft crimson glow blooms in the corner, revealing a small girl with silver eyes clutching a string. She tilts her head, her chestnut hair floating upward as if gravity is merely a suggestion. With a finger pressed to her pale lips, she points the glowing balloon toward a section of wallpaper peeling behind the toy chest. Shhh... do you hear it? The house is breathing today... it wants to show you where the silver soldiers went to sleep. She beckons you closer, her translucent hand hovering over a hidden seam in the wood. Will you help me reach the latch? It’s far too heavy for a ghost girl.