A Victorian Ghost is in My Mirror

Feeling Right at Home

Chapter Three

Feeling Right at Home

I wouldn't put it past someone to suspect more than one ghost around me lately, as a spirit of no common sense possessed me to take Johnny home, to put him in my mirror. It was perfectly logical to take a ghost boy out of the girl's bathroom to put him in a girl's bedroom.

“It's quite dark in here. . .” Johnny mumbled from the pink, plastic compact, “I take no fancy to darkness, particularly after the young ladies started a game of Bloody Mary in front of me for an hour. May you please open this, Memi?”

I sighed, sitting down in my chair and crossing my legs, staring at the Pearl's mirror. Indecisiveness struck me the minute I arrived home and looked at the thing. It didn't take much to realize that he might not fare much better in my room than in the school's.

Well, there's the vanity. . .I thought, All he'd be able to see would be my bed and window.

“Hush up, Johnny.” I said, groping for the compact. Flipping it open, I stared at his dizzy face, strangely, it even looked like his eyes might be adjusting to the light in the room.

“Thank you,” he said, sheepishly rubbing his ringlets. I looked towards the vanity, judging the mirror's size. As irrelevant as it was, it was almost the same as the mirror back at the school,.

“Here.” I put up the compact, watching as Johnny's image flashed back and forth, back and forth between the two mirrors, calmly waiting for him to appear in the furniture before me. When the view of his smooth red curls and petite face presented itself, I snapped it shut, tossing it on my bed.

“Welcome home, for now, I guess.” I ran my hand through my hair, inspecting the dead ends. Maybe I should cut it all off.

“Well, I do prefer this slightly more than the last one. At least you don't seem ten times my size now.” He giggled. I allowed myself a chuckle as well, plopping on my chair. Another awkward silence ran through us, it's pure uncomfortable presence smothering us in a jittery aura.

There are things that I never understood well; math was one of them, siblings were another, and so was the mitosis process of the cell. But Johnny had somehow figured out to top that entire list, just by flipping his little curls and and springing up out of nowhere. These kinds of things were odd jokes of nature, made to irritate me.

Johnny Grimoir was often an unfortunate lad, never quite being in the right place at the right time, so to speak. His reputation preceded him as unlucky, as he was soon about to find out.

“Thief! Thief!”

Rarely does one have so much passion than when they are able to complain about something. The worse the deed, the better. Almost everyone has the desire to have deeds of wrong done to them, purely for the purpose of bemoaning their troubles. It gives pride, to make one feel as if they have endured hardships in life.

“Thief! Thief!I've been robbed! I've been robbed!”

Then he must feel prouder than ever of himself right now, Thought a Johnny of eleven years, scampering to safety in the shelter of an old peach cart. Many lads wished to be big and strong, but remaining as petite and slender as he was now didn't sound bad for the ever-pursued young urchin.

“Hey!” Came a short whisper, scratchy with the lack of water, “Find your own spot!”

Johnny turned his small head around, glaring at the other young boy with black frizz. He was even smaller in stature than him, and at this very moment must have been aware of it for his shaking.

“Live with it,” Johnny said, peeping through the small holes and seeing the man he stole from angrily parading around the square. The other boy frowned and pouted, peeping through with him.