A Ghost Story

An Absurd Amount of Screaming

The night after Brendon and his father arrived, curiosity got the better of me. Spending the day up in the attic wasn't doing me any good, I realized, and I'd probably just overreacted.

Hopefully it was an overreaction.

Hopefully he couldn't see me. And, even worse, hopefully I wasn't losing my mind. Or losing what little I had left, anyway.

 I snuck out of the attic and into the dark hallway. It must've been a couple hours before midnight; I wasn't sure--after I died I sort of stopped keeping the exact time, and there weren't really any clocks around the house.

There were few windows in the long hallway--one at each end, both letting in silver shafts of moonlight. It provided just enough light to see by as I crept silently towards the guest rooms (I may be a ghost, but that doesn't mean I can see in the dark). "As soon as you see him, make sure he can't see you," I whispered to myself. "Then get out of there." That was my sucky, can't-hold-any-water plan--then again, you can't really blame me; I hadn't made a spy plan in over a year.

I hadn't seen a guy my own age for a over a year.

"I bet you're just curious," I scolded myself under my breath. "You just want to see another guy. A male. You just want to do this because you died as a hormone-crazy teenager, and now you're permanently that way. You'll probably end up spying on him when he takes showers. Oh my god, am I a pervert? I'm a total--"

I was interrupted by the sound of wolves howling outside. At the hollow, lonely sound, I flinched. If there was one thing that I was truly terrified of, it was the non-existent wolves that prowled around the house after night fell. As far as I could tell, no one else knew they were there; it was only me--the ghost.

The first time I heard a wolf howl, I crept beneath the covers of the bed in the attic to escape the wretched, sorrowful wailing. It wasn't like a normal wolf howl--this was something terrible and sad and forlorn; it sounded like the cry of someone who'd been caught outside Heaven's doors just as they closed.

The second night that I heard the wolves howling, I peered outside the dusty window, heart pounding (for some reason, all of my bodily functions kept on with the function-ing--even though I was dead). What I saw chilled me to the bone: wolves. At least a dozen of them. They were silvery-gray, with a strange tint to their fur that made it seem like it was glowing with a galaxy of constellations. Unnatural wolves, I thought--then a wolf seemed to notice my gaze, and it looked up at me. Its eyes were blue--like a human's.

Since that night, I've tried to avoid watching the wolves, even though that was nearly impossible--we were alike in a way. No one else could see us, except for us. Kind of poetic.

The door closest to me flew open, and I jumped backwards into the shadows. Out poked a black-haired head, peering out into the darkness. Brendon's head swiveled from left to right, as if searching for something. Someone? a voice whispered in my mind.

I shook off the thought as Brendon stepped out and walked briskly down to another room, closer to the main staircase, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. I followed him from a distance, curious--why did he look so worried?

Brendon hesitated outside the door that I had labeled as Mr. and Mrs. Treason's bedroom, before knocking. "Grandma?" he asked before peeping his head into the door. Some shuffling, then a bright, warm yellow light flickered on.

"What's going on, Brendon?" I heard Mrs. Treason's slightly groggy voice.

"I thought there weren't any wolves around here," Brendon asked with a touch of anxiousness.

The words conjured up a cold shiver that tingled up and down my spine. What the hell is up with that guy?

"Honey, there aren't any," worry began to color Mrs. Treason's voice. "Why do you ask? What's going on?"

"Isn't that the question of the year," I muttered to myself, before realizing my mistake as Brendon's head whipped around, again peering into the shadows where I was concealed. Tension flooded my veins as Brendon murmured goodnight to his grandparents and closed the door with a subtle click, still staring into the darkness.

Don't move don't breathe don't think don't do anything.

After what seemed like an eternity, Brendon sighed and rubbed his eyes as though trying to wipe away all of the insanity that this house held. I watched as he shuffled back down the hall towards his room. The door shut quietly behind him, sounding like a wasted opportunity.

"Don't go into that room," I ordered myself quietly. "Don't you dare go in there. Don't even think about it. Just go back upstairs."

I knew I shouldn't. I knew that something weird and mystical and supernatural was happening with that weirdo kid, and I knew that I should stay three-thousand-and-one miles away from it.

But nothing could stop me from padding quietly from my former hiding spot and down the hall, from slipping quietly through the walls of Brendon's room, and from coming to a stop right next to his bed. Already he was sleeping again. The stress must have worn him out.

Maybe it was stalker-like, but watching Brendon sleep was interesting. I didn't sleep much as a ghost (I normally dozed) and seeing another human being sleep was fascinating. His mouth was partly open, with one arm thrown carelessly in front of his face and the other framing the top of his black-haired head. With each breath in, there was a little bit of a sshh sound, like the ocean. I'd never heard anyone who snored like the tide.

He looked so peaceful. And alive. And so damn normal.

As I examined his features, I noticed a small, white scar that stretched from the lower part of his left cheek and almost all the way to his chin. It was hardly noticeable, blending into his already pale skin, but it struck up more questions inside of me. Where did this come from? I thought, reaching out to trace the pale flaw.

Imagine my shock when I realized that I was able to touch him.

Now imagine his shock when Brendon's eyes flew open to see a dead girl touching his face.

Neither one of us was prepared for the other's reaction.

I yelped and stumbled backwards, holding out my hands in submission, promising in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, "I'm not going to hurt you! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Brendon Treason, on the other hand, took the less rational reaction. He let out a nearly ear-splitting shriek--"What the HELL?!"--before scrambling backwards in an attempt to escape from the terror that was Amelia the teenage ghost. Instead he banged his head on the wall, and got tangled up in his bedsheets, before falling off the bed with a heavy thud.

There was a moment of complete, whole, and blessed silence.

Then: "Shit."

A/N

Heeyyyy!!

I have not updated in like forever. Like forever forever. And I am soooo sorry about that. Seriously.

I've been super busy right now, what with Christmas and Pre-AP English (let me tell you, the homework is NOT fun) but I've finally managed to fit in one chapter.

:) I hope you guys enjoy!!

~Pandy :)