My Short Stories

Dancing With A Ghost

The first time we met was the best day of my life. It was the beginning of everything; the day I finally began to live. It was like it was the day I was born. Like my birthday.

       I was waiting for the number twenty-nine bus just outside my house. My house was perfect. It was the one with the yellow bricks, a rose garden and a picket fence. It was like I belonged to a fairytale-house, just waiting for my happy ending.

       I saw him approaching, his cute boyish walk standing out and making me stare. He grinned when our eyes locked and I felt my heart flutter inside of me. I had never felt that way before. I couldn't even describe it.

       "All right?" he smiled, his cute English accent ringing in my ears. There was no other way to describe it. Just cute.

       I felt myself blush. I was never good at talking to boys. I never  knew what to say that would make me sound cool. So I never said anything.

       He kept talking though, completely oblivious. He seemed to be waiting for the bus too. He talked about being new to the country and needing someone to show him around. It may have been an invitation but I just stayed quiet and smiled timidly, trying to ignore his hand brushing mine and making my stomach explode with butterflies. I know, it was pathetic that I was falling for a guy I barely knew. But there was something different about  him.

       The bus came and I was about to get on when he spun me around suddenly by the shoulder.

       "How long do I have to hint around before you offer to show me around?"

       Of course, I just stared at him, speechless.

       "I'll see you here at eight; yeah? I'm Will."

       Then he turned around and walked off. He wasn't waiting for the bus after all; just talking to me.

       It was the start of everything.

       After that first date we were inseperable; literally, joined at the hip. We'd walk around holding hands and all our friends whistled and joke and winked and smiled at us because they knew we were meant to be together. We'd talk and talk all day, dance with no music playing. It was the simple things that made our relationship so perfect.

       But that's the thing. Perfect. It's such a strong word. Suddenly, it felt too strong for me. Here I was, the girl out of a fairytale getting her happy ending. And I freaked out. It went to my head. It was too much pressure.

       All he did was propose. It was the right thing to do. It made sense. It would be stupid not to admit that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

       It was amazing. He had cooked me dinner at home. Spaghetti bolognese. We were sitting down, laughing at everything we said, smiling at each other like fools, completely comfortable and busy just looking into each other's eyes.

       Then I heard a soft, tinkling noise. I looked around, confused, as my kitten padded up to me on her soft paws. There was a ring attached to her collar, making the tinkling noise. I whipped my head up, shock on my face, to see Will kneeling in front of me.

       "It's  perfect," he whispered.

       Perfect. The word seemed to be echoing in my head. I wanted it to get out. I just wanted time to stop. I could hear the voices in my head chanting that one word over and over again. It was making me crazy. Crazy. That word started repeatig itself now, the voices crescendoing until I could think of nothing else.

       "I'm not crazy!" I screamed, and I grabbed the candlestick on the table and flung it around me.

       And then there was silence. The voices went away. All I could hear was my breathing. Nothing from Will. He was lying on the floor, blood spilling on the white tiles under his head. I screamed.

       I picked up the telephone.

It's two months later. I'm sitting on the wall, waiting for the number twenty-nine bus. I see him approaching, his cute boyish walk making me stare. He doesn't say anything this time, just takes my hand and dances with me. Even when there's no music playing.

---Will---

I can see her now, dancing by herself at the bus stop in front of her house. It makes my heart hurt, watching her go crazy, watching her make this all up in her head.

       Yes, we went out. Yes, I proposed. Yes, she went crazy and whacked me with a candlestick.

       No, I didn't get better. She killed me instantly. I know what she thinks though. She thinks I'm there, dancing with her. I'd do anything to dance with her again, her smooth hands fitting into mine. I'd do anything to hold her, to feel her slender body again.

       I wonder if she knows anything real now. I wonder if she knows that all the neighbors look at her in sadness and keep the children away since she got out of the institution. I wonder if she even knows she was in an institution. Or if it's just me and her in that head of her's.

       She was perfect. She's gone crazy. But no one tells her, just leaves her alone in that fairytale-house of hers to think she has her happy ending. Let her think that I got better. Let her think I am still alive. Let her thing that right now she's not dancing with a ghost.