I wake up feeling groggy and sore. My body aches from the way I was laying on my bed: twisted and contorted. I pull the book out from under my back.
I must have moved around a lot. I stand up and walk over to my dresser and pull out leggings a blue floral dress and a purple cardigan. I pull socks out of the drawer and walk into the bathroom.
As I flip on the light I almost jump halfway out of my skin. Tate is on the ground his back snapped backwards and his legs pulled underneath him. Blood is everywhere. I drop the socks and run to his side unable to control the rising sobs in my throat. I peel back his legs and straighten his body out but he still remains mangled and crippled. I wait a few seconds hoping he will rise up and straighten himself out but nothing happens. I start crying as I race out of my room and down the stairway.
"HELP, PLEASE HELP ME IT'S TATE!"
My dad appears down the hall to comfort me.
"It's alright vi we're all ghosts we can't die."
"No no this is different he's not waking up," I say as I lead my dad down the hallway towards Tate's lifeless body, but when we reach the bathroom there's nothing. No blood no Tate, absolutely silence.
"See he already got up vi it'll be ok tell me when you find him," he smiles warmly and walks out the door.
I walk back into the bathroom and swear under my breath. I know what I saw he was fucking right here. I slide down the wall and sit on the tiled floor.
"I scared you didn't I?" Tate asks calmly as he enters the bathroom and sits next to me.
"You ASSHOLE!" I can't control my anger and I storm past him needing fresh air and a cigarette, yet again I grab them off of my bookshelf on my way out of my room. I put one in my mouth and light it as I run down the stairs, stumbling many times. When I get outside the cigarette is already half gone and I walk over to the bright yellow roses reflecting sunlight in the petals. I inhale the smoke and breathe it out as if it were nothing. I think to myself that honestly no one could care less about me, not my parents, not Tate, especially not any other ghost in this damn house. The feeling of complete loneliness creeps across my mind. My whole body feels weighed down as my depression creeps in again. It's complete bullshit ghosts can still have illnesses like this. I don't remember a time when my depression wasn't so bad. Lately it's been worsening and I'm not surprised Tate causes me so much stress and pain. He killed those random kids on Halloween and he's so bipolar so how much more stressful can it get besides the fact I'm dead and a new family is moving into the house in a few days so we'll either have to kill them or scare them out and honestly I don't want anymore whiny assholes in this house so I prefer to scare them out. but that's not my decision to make so we'll jut have to see. I take the last drag off my cigarette and toss it to the ground as I walk inside ready to face Tate.
