Many things are needed to make up a home. They differ greatly from the things that make up a house. With a simple house, all you need is a touch of style and the ability to settle. In a home however you need something more than style, you need ghosts. Memories that fill the walls and seep out from beyond the wallpaper. The whispers that crypt up through the linoleum could drastically change the feeling of any place a person decided to stay.

Lorelai could feel everything that had ever haunted the home and she was ecstatic. Under all of the dead foliage and dust was truly the home she longed for more time in. The living room was warm and inviting a rust couch sat up against a wood-paneled wall. The mahogany leather was placed in the corner of the room lovingly. The sand-colored shag carpet reached everywhere but the kitchen which was complete with bright yellow cabinets and a lime green fridge. God was it good to be home.

Once Lorelai could put her bags down her mission to clean would begin, she knew if her grandmother were alive to see the house in such a state there would be absolute hell to pay. Now while it was a smaller than average home it still had layers. The cellar held all the dried herbs and flowers Ingrid would use for her teas and soups. The main floor held the living room and kitchen. Then upstairs was the bedroom and bathroom, a simple layout.

Lorelai let out a groan when she realized she would also have to clean the cellar, never being allowed to step a single pinky toe through the doorway the small girl developed a phobia of the room. Gathering the strength for at least a solid week of cleaning Lorelai walked over to the yellow plastic phone hanging on the wall. It was time to be responsible.

Dialing the most recent number she had committed to her memory Lorelai twirled the wire around her polished red fingernail.

“Sempre Enterprise, home of Oil of Sempre, how may I direct your call?” the lady on the phone seemed almost happy to be at work, which Lorelai took as a good sign considering she had already agreed to take the executive assistant positions she was offered.

“Hello yes, this is Lorelai Gardner calling for a Miss Banks?”

“Please hold.”

A firm click gave way to some soft jazz as Lorelai tapped her feet. Then before long, a satin-like voice spoke.

“Miss Banks speaking, is this Lorelai Gardner?”

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“Yes this is she, I just wanted to inform you I have relocated to the area and will be ready to start at my position within a week.”

“That is wonderful to hear, and I hope your relocation is going splendidly. Now I expect you to start next Tuesday morning, I’ll need your help with the preparations for the quarterly sales meeting.”

“That sounds more than appropriate Miss Banks, I have already faxed those spreadsheets to the office before the move, and I will get the binders together first thing Tuesday morning.”

“Please call me Cecilia, so formal. Think of yourself as a paid friend.” A deeply feminine laugh filled the phone. Lorelai swore if she inhaled any harder she could smell the cigarettes and coffee that radiated off the woman.

“I lo-...”

Cecilia Banks had hung up the line determining the end of the conversation, just as Lorelai was going to thank her for the job.

Hanging the phone up with a heavy hand it was time to turn to the task at hand, pumping some life back into this tiled kitchen floor. She could always count on her gran to have a closet full of cleaning supplies, so when she opened the kitchen closet the feeling of relief was more than welcome. It was nearly fully stocked with a few brooms and an unopened mop. Touching the mop Lorelai’s confusion grew.

With closer inspection of the colorful bottles, none of the seals were broken. Everything appeared full and unused. Who left all the new bottles and supplies if no one maintained the house?

Ripping the plastic off the mop and throwing the bucket in the sink Lorelai rolled up her sleeves. Near boiling, water and soap began to fill the container, and a thick white foam began to form a mass in the sink as she turned up the tunes on the radio above the sink.

If only she hadn't been mindlessly scrubbing the tiles. Maybe then she would have been paying attention to the window which had filled with steam. While the mess of red curls twirled to the rhythm of Brandy by Looking Glass she was mindless to the slow writing forming on the wall.

One drippy letter after another, first an S then a T, the invisible finger trailed on against the glass, A followed after and droplets of water from steak mimicked tears. I, then R followed by one final S. The message seemed to be forced out with great discomfort. STAIRS.

Lorelai walked out of the kitchen to let the floor dry and the message fade.