Sarah started at the sound. She held her breath, straining to hear more. She was uneasy, almost scared. She was alone in the house; everyone had gone. But, she could feel someone. There seemed to be voices that were just beyond her hearing. But that was impossible. She had checked every wardrobe, under the beds, even the cellar. Nothing. And besides, she rationalized; no one came out this far into the country. But she was still edgy.
She moved the curtain, peering out at the empty fields for the third time. It was cold, barren and dreary. The fog that had rolled in over night was now so thick she could barely see beyond the yard and into the field. Her eye caught a movement in the fog. There was a stirring--in the fog--of the fog. It was hard to determine which. The waves of mist billowed gently across the field. She looked up but did not see any movement in the trees. If there was no wind, then how was the fog moving?
When she looked back down, a gray shape sliced its way through the fog right at the edge of the field. She stared. She had never seen a marsh hawk so close. She watched it fly away, the white rump glowing before being swallowed up. The fog swirled around in the bird’s wake, and then closed in again.
Sarah slumped against the wall. “I should be doing something,” she thought. “Why did I come in here?” She had been oddly distracted since the summer. If she could only figure out what was wrong, maybe she could get on with her work—-not feel so anxious. Not feel so worn out. She looked out the window for a few moments. What is wrong with me? She got up and glided out the door.
Nina stared out at the swirling fog. Her aunt had disappeared, again. She shivered, there was something creepy about this house, she could feel it. She loved coming to the country and relished the few days she could spend with her aunt. But this time was different some how.
She was tidying the kitchen after lunch when she noticed an old gold ring on the window ledge above the sink. Looking around guiltily, she picked it up and turned it over. It was not her aunt's. It was too small. She slipped it on her pinkie. Who did this belong to, she wondered? She was peering at the inside of the ring, trying to see if there was an inscription, when her aunt came up behind her. She blushed and hurriedly put it back on the ledge.
“Ah,” said her aunt, “I see you have found Sarah’s ring. I've been hoping she will think to look here one day.
Noticing the girl’s blank look, she said, “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?
Well, there is one here, you know.
Her name is Sarah.
And is she searching for her wedding ring.”