a florist's guide to playing with ouija boards | ghorror

1 ❀ roses

I leaned against the counter top, humming as I made sure every little thing that inhabited the counter was perfectly straight and precisely in line with the way it usually was. It was around closing time- my favourite time of the day.

I do love my job; don't get me wrong. What I don't like is having to deal with irritating teens or young adults who automatically assume I know exactly what they want as they step through the doors of this little flower shop.

Most of the elderly folk that wander in always know what they're looking for, and rarely need my help. It seems like gardening is quite the hobby for old folk; that's cute, I suppose.

Dexter was stalking around, sniffing the plants and rubbing up against the pots that contained those plants. He was partial to the roses, but I was wary of letting him close to them. He's like a child to me. That, and the last thing I want is a cat full of thorns.

I glanced out the window at the peachy sky outside. Sundown is always later in the summers. I like to find happiness in the little things in life- it's all I've really got to appreciate.

The quiet scuffling of broom bristles against the wooden floor of the shop caused me to snap back into reality, the image of the sunset fading from my mind as I glanced over at Ryan, who was sweeping the floor at the moment.

He's younger than me by a few years; I'm guessing that he's fresh out of high school, so I was quick in hiring him. I remember how difficult it was for me to find a job after I dropped out of college, and I suppose I see myself in him, in a way.

He's the quiet type, but he's got emerald eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. It's a shame to think about how in the future he'll probably be a stressed out and exhausted adult, as most tend to be. Oh, well. Such is life, I suppose. It's a vicious cycle, and there's no way to preserve happiness, the way I see it.

I try not to think about it, though. Ryan is the perfect employee. He rarely speaks, but when he does, we have some pretty in depth conversations. He's got a lot to say, but he thinks too quick to get it all out unless anyone has the time to listen. I like to think I'm a good listener; I find it's the easiest way to get someone to feel wanted.

Poor Ryan never seems to smile, though. Understandably so, given I don't think he's got the best of home lives. He'll come in every week with new bruises, but he never seems to care. He focuses on his work, and does what he can to make other people happy.

He gets here earlier than I ask, and he stays later than he needs to. Every day after work, he walks out to the curb and just.. sits. Cigarette in hand and a frown on his face. Sometimes I wonder when he really goes home- I don't blame him for wanting to avoid it.

I've told him numerous times that he's always welcome to the guest bedroom upstairs, but he always turns the offer down, claiming he doesn't want to be any trouble.

But truthfully, how much trouble could a sweetheart like him cause? I've never heard a bad thing about him.

I have, however, heard a few things about his family through the grapevine. Supposedly his mother passed away a long time ago, leaving he and his sister alone with their alcoholic father. I assume his little sister is the only reason he ever goes home.

Regardless, someone once said that they figured Ryan's father only ever hit him because of one tiny thing that should never matter to a parent; Ryan's gay. So am I; maybe that's why we get along so well- because we can relate to each other. It's platonic, of course; Ryan's got a boyfriend.

Chris is a few years older than me, and as far as I know, he works at a tattoo shop. I can see why he and Ryan would be interested in each other.

"You need anything before you head out, Ry?" I asked gently. I had a bit of a soft spot for Ryan. From the moment I had hired him, I did. He was just.. too kind for his own good. It's well and good to be nice, but unfortunately enough, those are the ones that get walked on most of all. I couldn't bear to see that happen to Ryan.

"Nope.." He softly replied, vanishing briefly down the hallway to tuck the broom back into the supply closet and grab his hoodie, slipping it on as he walked back to the main room, petting Dexter lightly. "Are you busy tomorrow night?" He asked me shyly.

I tucked some hair behind my ears. "No," I shrugged. "Why..?" I added curiously.

He bit his lip lightly, fiddling with his fingers. "One of Chris's friends got a ouija board. We're gonna play it.. I know you're not into ghosts 'n stuff, but it's gonna be Halloween, and I don't
like the idea of you spending the best holiday ever all alone." He said.

Hearing that he thought about me actually somewhat surprised me. But, Ryan's a sweet kid- like I've stated. If he really wants me to go, I'm not going to decline.

"So..?" Ryan spoke up.

I smiled slightly. "Sure.." I agreed.

He actually smiled a bit. "Awesome. Pick you up at eleven..?" He said. I chuckled softly. "Sure. See you then.." I stated. Ryan smiled brightly, waving as he slipped out of the building, the bell above the door jingling upon his departure.

I sighed softly, glancing at Dexter. "Well," I said. "Looks like I'm going to play with an ouija board tomorrow." I stated.