Wolves and ghosts

Chapter 23 - My child, my treasure

My oldest memory was of... rain, pain, and blood.

My body growing colder by the minute, my mind going blank. The hole in my stomach pouring blood.

My oldest memory is of the day I died.

I don't know who I was before that, what I did, or who killed me. I just know I was betrayed.

At first, I wandered trying to figure out who I was, who killed me, who should I avenge against, but after a hundred years it just felt pointless.

After that it would be random decisions. Whatever I felt like doing. I would just see a person and it would be out of triviality whether or not I would haunt them or help them.

I killed some, I saved some, I made some go crazy.

The decision was completely arbitrary but again, after a couple thousand years I got bored.

I traveled from country to country until I ended in America. It was a change of pace that I desperately needed.

There, in a house I completely ended by coincidence I met another ghost, it was not the first ghost I met, but it was the first I met haunting a house with good intentions.

She was interesting, so I decided to stay with her, for no reason other than to kill time.

We started a friendship out of convenience, she was lonely, and I was bored. I spent 30 years in that house, scaring families away, simply having my idea of fun. Amelie didn't like that, she liked to be around kids, but I honestly hated it.

For me, children were always annoying.

Then, a couple came, young, with a 10-year-old boy. The woman was pregnant, her swollen belly made it obvious.

More children...

I wasn't trill by the fact more children were going to be here, Amelie, on the other hand, was excited.

Months passed, I didn't haunt them, the reason? A bet I lost to Amelie.

At the time I didn't know, but not haunting them was the best decision I've ever made.

The woman started her labor, she had her child in that very house due to a thunderstorm. I've seen many things, but that was my first time witnessing a birth.

I vaguely remembered that people said giving birth was 'magical' and 'beautiful', but it was literally shit. Shit, blood, and screams everywhere.

Amelie was happy, I was angry.

Surprisingly, the child didn't cry. It worried the mother and the father, but the EMT said the baby was healthy.

Months passed and instead of crying the child would just calmly look around. At times I thought she was making eye contact with me, but that couldn't be, I brushed it off as my imagination.

From time to time, she would cry as if in pain, holding her chest and letting small silent tears roll down her chubby cheeks, but no one ever knew why.

The only thing I would notice is that she cried when things around her died, I noticed she cried when a baby bird fell from the tree, dying in the process.

Honestly that annoyed me, such a weak baby to cry for others.

She started talking when she was around 3 years old. The first words she said were directed, not at her parents, but at us.

"Hewooo" she said. She frowned at her own voice, as if sounding childish made her uncomfortable.

"So cute...!!! She's trying to say hello to us!!" Amelie's happy voice annoyed me.