A Word in the Breeze

Just Cursed

"I'm leaving," Acacia said.

It took guts to say it out loud. She'd lived in the castle for so long, she had started to feel comfortable even in its blatant discomfort. She stood at the base of the staircase, gazed up at it, and sighed...

It was a tall, grey, rickety castle, old from want of repair, the wind whistling through its many broken windows and fallen ceilings. Moss grew along the walls, unknown and unidentifiable rodents scampered in the dungeons. It was huge, it was uncared for, and it gave every single impression of being haunted.

That is because it was haunted.

Acacia was a dear friend of the ghost who haunted it. She couldn't really imagine her life without him. He was the only person she could remember having ever had a conversation with.

Their first conversation, though hazy in her memory, had been something like this:

"Who is it? There, in that shadow? I can see you. Believe me, you have more to fear of me than I have of you."

There had been a shift as the darkness reassembled itself to form the shape of a translucent figure – a young man, rather fat, with a frown that wasn't the least bit scary. The late Sir Balthazar was the ghost of a knight who had died of heart disease and was so disappointed that he hadn't died in battle that he'd come back to haunt the cooks. After all the cooks had died too, he had pretty much lost the hang of haunting, until this young girl had walked in.

"Who dares trespass on the castle of Balthazaaaaar?!" roared the ghost.

Acacia looked him up and down, crossed her arms and said, "I'm Acacia, if you must know. I am an incredibly dangerous person and I need somewhere to stay."

Balthazar pouted. "And I am a ghost, the imprint of a soul too restless to go into the beyond! Cowerrrrr, brief mortal, before my –"

"I'm not a mortal, actually. I'm immortal, and new to it, in fact. I was only turned immortal this morning, and I've just been cursed along with it. Honestly, it's been a roller-coaster of a day, and I really need somewhere to kick back and relax... somewhere out of the way, and hidden."

The ghost stared at her.

"What curse?" he said cautiously.

She looked around the dark room. "Is that potted plant real?"

"Yes, I've been letting the sunlight fall on it every day in fact and ..."

Acacia touched a leaf. At once it began to blacken, and the blackness spread along the veins and stems and other leaves – until there was a heap of ash mixed with the soil. She dusted off her hand and smirked.

"The touch of death," she whispered.

Balthazar was speechless, a fine quality in a ghost.

"So shall we discuss rent?"

He liked her attitude: straight to business. "Over what period of time?" he asked with a smile.

"A hundred years."

And it had been decided. Acacia set up her life in one of the lower rooms overlooking the secret waterfall – the one that had been enchanted long ago by the king who once lived there to hide the castle from view – and Balthazar became her close companion.

They sometimes sat and laughed about that first meeting, about how dangerous he'd tried to appear in front of her, and how she'd downplayed her own situation.

"Just cursed, that's what you'd said," the ghostwould tease. "Just a minor inconvenience, I'll sort it out by midday!"

And Acacia would laugh, a dark and self deprecating laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. It was the most human sound she could ever make, and Balthazar enjoyed hearing it, even if she never explained the whole story.

He also particularly enjoyed spooking out unsuspecting humans when he went out on excursions in the outside world, and sometimes he would bring one home. Acacia enjoyed meeting these scared little humans and would often talk them through their insanity. Some were killed by accident, by the touch of death. All of the rest eventually died out of fear.

It was a dismal existence, Acacia knew, and she knew Balthazar noticed it, too. He said that it was admittedly strange, a human living the way she was, but he never asked direct questions. Perhaps, in a way, he was afraid of her, of what she could do. Perhaps he didn't want to make her angry. In any case, Acacia never revealed the rest of her plan.

But there was a plan.

One hundred years later, Acacia stood at the gate.

"I'm leaving," she said.

"What?" Balthazar hadn't been counting the days. It had been so much fun having company in the castle, he'd almost forgotten about her time limit.

"The hundred years are up, Balthazar. It's been splendid, but I must leave you now."

His lip began to tremble.

"But I've been having the time of my life (excuse the metaphor) these past hundred years. You gave me so much purpose. I felt like I was a young ghost again!"

"And I've enjoyed my time with you, Balthazar."

"I thought we really had something special here, you know? A partnership: I create the storm, and you get rid of the pesky bats? I bring the victims, you terrify them to death?"

She said nothing. Balthazar sighed.

"Well, if you must go, all I'll say is this. You're a terrifying monster, Acacia, and it was a pleasure to haunt this castle with you."

Acacia nodded.

"I'm pleased to have come here, Balthazar. You really made the curse feel like it wasn't so bad after all." She looked up at the waterfall. "But I'm afraid we all have to make the choice between what is routine and what can bring you true happiness, right?"

The ghost frowned at her, a frown that wasn't the least bit scary.

"I wouldn't know anything about true happiness..." he began.

"No. You wouldn't."

She gave him a sad smile and walked away. Balthazar moved respectfully aside.

"...but I do know that once you give in to routine, you're deader than a ghost," he said to himself, watching her form disappearing across the lawn, and the waterfall that led to the outside world.

He wondered how long he should wait before following her.

Five... four... three... two...

He flew like a wind through the gates and past the water.

And the castle was emptied for the first time in a hundred years.