A Ghost Story

We Go from Bad to Extremely Bad

The only plus in the entire situation was that I could touch him.

Yes, Brendon may have been passed out cold on the floor, and he may have just let out a shriek loud enough to split an elephant's eardrums, but at least I could lift him back into bed before anyone came to see if anything was wrong.

Well, I could sort of lift him. Becoming a ghost had sort of immortalized my body, so none of my muscles had really deteriorated, but then again, I hadn't had a lot of muscle when I was alive.

As quickly and as quietly as I could, I rushed over to where he had bumped his head, pressing two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Thump, thump, went the reassuring drum, and I sighed in relief, before slipping my arms through his armpits, tugging him upward and back towards his bed. "Jesus," I grunted under my breath as I dragged the unconscious mystery boy back up onto the old mattress--he wasn't exactly a lightweight kid. He moaned quietly, as though he was attempting to wake up but something was stopping him from doing so. Probably that possible-concussion he has.

As I shoved his legs under the heavy blanket (it was chilly in the room) and tried to re-position his body into a somewhat comfortable and normal-looking resting state, facing away from the door, I marveled at the fact that I could shove him back into the bed. I wasn't exactly a corporeal being--so how could I even make physical contact? Maybe he's a ghost. Maybe he's a different breed of ghost that can escape their houses and touch and talk to other people and who can also touch and talk to other ghosts. Maybe he just died right now, and his dead body is crammed into a closet somewhere in the house, murdered by a thief, a robber--

"Brendon? You alright?" I jumped at the voice, whipping around guiltily and squinting through the darkness to see Mr. Treason the Younger peering into his son's bedroom. My not-working-heart pounded erratically before I realized that he, unlike his son, couldn't see me. I relaxed momentarily, before realizing that the man was waiting for an answer from Brendon. Brendon, who was passed out and had a bump on his head the size of Manhatten.

Double crap.

Thank goodness I'd made him so that his body was facing away from the door. "Brendon?" Mr. Treason asked again, this time in a slightly more worried tone. Panicking, I scrambled for options, hurrying around to the other side of the bed to look at his face. He didn't look exactly peaceful--just tired and confused and asleep.

Hoping that he could hear me, I whispered frantically. "Brendon. Brendon, you need to wake up."  No response. I risked a look at Mr. Treason--I didn't have a lot of time before he came in and saw the massive welt on his head. "Brendon," I said, louder. "Brendon."

An idea popped into my head, and I grabbed it in desperation. I grasped his shoulder and his upper leg and shook his body a little, partly to wake him up and partly to make him look like he was shifting in response to his father's attempts to initiate conversation. I felt slightly ridiculous, and a little bit like I was invading his privacy, but I was desperate and hopefully I could apologize later.

"BRENDON. WAKE UP." I yelled in his ear, shaking him a little more harshly--enough to evict a half-awake, irritated groan.

I glanced at Mr. Treason and watched the tension in his face unravel a little. "I thought I heard you shout...is there anything wrong?"

I swatted Brendon's face and received another aggravated moan in response.

"Alright, alright," Mr. Treason held his hands up and backed out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. "Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Sleep well."

Mr. Treason's footsteps faded down the hall, and I sat back on my knees, wondering what the heck to do next. Should I leave again, and pretend that it never happened? Let Brendon think that it was all just a dream, just a bad feeling? He would never find out about me, and I would vow to stay away from him and let him lead a normal life.

But he'll never forget about the dream that felt so real he could've sworn that it touched his face, a little voice whispered in my mind. He'll always be curious, some part of him will always believe that there was a phantom girl in the old house. Do you really think that he's the sort of guy who would give up on his instincts? He'll keep searching for answers.

I could walk away from him--or I could reveal myself to him. Either way, I was being selfish. I would be taking a part of his life away from him no matter what I did.

I sighed. I stood up, took one more long look at Brendon's face, before walking out of the room. I made my way down to the kitchen in the dark, hoping that no one was up for a midnight snack. When I confirmed there was no one in the shadows of the room, I tip-toed to the freezer and pulled out the ice cube tray, wrapping up a few of the cubes in a clean rag I found in a nearby drawer. I concentrated, holding it as tightly as I could, knowing that it would slide straight through my fingers if I lost my focus for even a second.

Fiercely focusing on the makeshift ice pack in my hands, I crept back up to Brendon's room, noticing that he was beginning to moan quietly, probably from the agonizing headache that he had right then. "It'll be alright," I said quietly while I positioned the ice pack beneath the back of his head--half speaking to Brendon, half to myself. Then, entirely to Brendon: "Please don't freak when you wake up."

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A/N

Ahaha. Remember that time, two weeks ago, when I said I would be back?? For realsies (term used ironically)?? Unfortunately, completely unbeknownst to me, a world of darkness and homework was ready to descend on me from above. Oh, joy.

But! I managed to finish this chapter for all y'all (In-Text A/N: I'd like to let you know that I say 'y'all' because it's fun, not because I'm from a Southern state. There was some confusion on that a few days ago ;) Not that I have anything against saying 'y'all'. I just don't usually incorporate it into my normal, day-to-day vocabulary) and I hope you like it! I don't know exactly where I'm going to go with this story, unfortunately, which is partly the reason for slow updates and this weak plot. My apologies.

Another thing: okay, this is gonna get a little deep, but a person in my school passed away recently. I didn't know him personally, although a lot of people did. It made me think about how he probably had so much to say to all these people. He probably still had so much left in his life he wanted to do, he probably had a lot of unresolved problems. And it kind of struck a note in me: Life is short.

Yeah, not the most original thought, but it still made me rethink my perspective a bit. Like, if there's something you want to say, please say it. If there's something you want to do, do it. Don't just wait--start acting. PLEASE. And if any of you have anything you need to talk about, any problems, any sort of heavy weight on your chest that you need to get off, I'm here, if you'd like to say something. I'm always glad to talk. :)

Anyways, I hope you're all doing alright! Be happy, please :)

Sorry for the long inspirational message. But seriously, I love you guys. Thank you so much for reading! :)

~Panda