Author's note: Feel free to fix any spelling/grammar mistakes you see. Also feel free to leave any constructive criticism on the talkpage.

Tears started forming in my eyes as I continued to look through some old photos in the dusty album in the attic. It's already been 6 months, but I still find comfort in looking through them. The memories, they seem all too clear as if they just happened. However, that is not the case.

Turning the pages slowly, every moment of my life seemed to flash before my eyes: My third birthday, our first dog, the junior prom. Every picture I found, she was in there. Always. The feeling of grief and remorse soon came over me, and I shut the book quickly, and my teardrops splashed up against the cover, like a wave against sand.

I sat there and I cried, for awhile actually. I can imagine her face, her warm embrace. A beautiful pale skin, flowing blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a smile that could light up a city. Her lips had just the right amount of mauve lipstick, and a small dash of blush on her cheeks.

I decided it would be best to leave the picture album out for tomorrow, in case I wanted to see it again. I climbed down the staircase and went to the kitchen to grab a can of beer, and a deli sandwich I had prepared earlier. As I approached the fridge, I had to stop and take in the sight. The magnets, the papers, the little "notes" that she would leave on the door.

I grabbed my sandwich, my beer, and headed into my room. I proceeded to open the door and a blast of cold air hit me. My goosebumps were popping up in full force. She always kept the room at 63 degrees, much to my dismay, however I always did that favor for her. It was the least I could do.

I turned up the heat (I usually kept it at 50 degrees while she was at work). I couldn't remember where the remote was, so I searched my room. After a few minutes of fierce searching I managed to salvage it at the bottom of the bedspread. After displaying a sigh of relief, I retired to the bed and took a few bites out of the sandwich, and managed to pop open my beer.

I had some odd feeling in my head, like I'm being called. I felt this way for several more minutes, before I decided to put the beer and sandwich down and take a nap.

I was awakened by a loud thump. It sounded like it came from above, so I only assumed it was the attic. I ignored this first sound, but then I heard the sound of pages flipping. Curious, I decided to get up and walk up the staircase into the attic. The picture book was lying on the ground, and one of the windows was open, the curtain blowing out. I went over and shut the window. Walking back, I noticed the book was turned to a blank page.

The Attic

Examining the page further proved to be of no use. Baffled, but non-interested, I closed the book, and put it back on one of the crates. I shut off the light, closed the door, and went back downstairs. My daughter would be home from school in about 45 minutes, so I might want to clean up a bit.

While I did the cleaning, I had the same feeling as before. I dropped one of the dishes I was cleaning on the ground, and it shattered into a hundred pieces. This snapped me out of my trance. I heard the sound of footsteps in the attic, which was impossible because I was home alone, both the windows and door were locked.

I decided to take a knife from the utensil drawer and my shotgun from it's case and walked up the steps to the attic. The door was still closed, and the footsteps got louder. I ran up, until I had my hand resting on the doorknob, trying to muster up the courage to go in there. I then did a SWAT team breach on the door by kicking it in, breaking the already loose doorhinge.

Nothing was there. Nothing moved. Nothing opened. Dead silence.

I shook my head in disbelief at the situation. First the picture book was moved, and now footsteps could be heard. I was hardly superstitious, but I did have my doubts. I was always skeptical of ghosts appearances, so I tried to come up with a logical explanation. I received a phone call, and I rushed down stairs to pick it up.

It was Katie, my daughter. She was going to sleep over at her friend Anna's house. Great. I was stuck at home by myself. I put the phone down, and went back into the fridge for the beer and sandwich, and took it up to my room, again. I turned the TV on and started watching. It must of been only 7 minutes before I drifted off into a deep sleep.

I woke up in a daze, my eyes adjusting to the light and I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but something felt... off-key. I heard music playing. I turned down the volume on the TV, only to hear the music, this time playing louder. The sound was muffled, so it wasn't coming from the room. I checked all the rooms in the house, and nothing was on. Not the radio in the kitchen, or the TV in the living room.

It then hit me, the attic. After the strange occurrences, this should be no surprise, however I still wanted to investigate, just on the off chance. I grabbed the knife, and the gun, and went up to the attic, the door was busted down still from the last time I did a breach. I went upstairs, and the music got louder. I looked around and saw that the old record player was playing the music. My eyes widened as I realized the music playing, was none other then our wedding song.

I cried. I cried for awhile. I sat upstairs in the attic, and cried for a good 2 hours, before I finally came to my senses. It's her. She's here. Not physically, but emotionally. All this stuff happening, it's not real. Sounds of what used to be, but now are wrapped up in a small book of photos. Memories.

I went through the picture book one last time, and stopped at the blank page, trying to figure out what was missing. I decided to go through from our first date, to meeting each other's parents, all the way up the wedding and honeymoon. That page. It was missing something. All of the sudden, my head shot up, an my heartbeat went off like a speedracer.

The letter. The letter she left on her deathbed. That's what she told me before she passed away, to read it, and then paste it in the empty page of the Memory book.

I ran upstairs, grabbed the note that was kept preserved in a special box and took it upstairs. I opened up the note, the scent of her perfume filled my nostrils and I was smiling. For the first time in months, I was smiling. And crying. I pasted the note inside the little slot, and read it aloud.

Dear Jack,
You're the love of my life.
Although we didn't get a chance to spend a lot of time together,
I appreciated the time we did.
Please stay strong for me, and for Katie.
I love you with all my heart.
Please take good care of Katie, I'll be watching you guys from Heaven.
Love, Gwen.

A massive grin grew across my face, as tears streamed down my eyes like a small creek. I closed up the book, and packed it away in the crate. Good memories came from looking at that book, that's why I called it "The Memory Book".

I think she would like that.

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