A Ghost Story

Toast for Ghosts

My prayers were not answered.

To be honest, it was surprising how fast Brendon was able to wake up-especially after that big thunk his head made when he hit the wall, and then the floor. Even if it was a tired, delirious wake-up.

"Graamma?" Brendon moaned groggily.

"Close, but no cigar," I muttered, drawing away from his face with the ice pack.

"What time is..." His eyes opened wide, so fast that it was almost comical. He scrambled for something to hang onto, something to defend himself with. "What the HELL-"

"Yeah, been there, done that," I interrupted him, waving a hand in front of his face. He stared at it in terrified awe, probably wondering what I was doing sitting on the edge of his bed. His mouth gaped, seemingly unable to form words-or any coherent thoughts for that matter.

Never having had to explain my metaphysical existence to another human being before, I was at a bit of a loss at what to do in this situation. So I just let him do the talking.

"Wha...you...you're...how can-" He was at a loss for words, and I couldn't really p him.

"Uh..." Apparently I was having the same problem. Then again, I hadn't had anyone look at me in over a year. And...it felt good. It was strange, familiar-like looking at a picture of yourself in elementary school, or revisiting someplace you'd only seen when you were a kid, and all of the memories were flooding back to you. And being able to look back at Brendon, being able to have him watch me looking at him; it was amazing.

Perhaps it was amazing for me, but it was terrifying to Brendon, I realized. You utter idiot, someone scolded me inside my head. He's probably having a mental breakdown-at least have a little mercy! Tell him something. You're the one with the most information at this point.

"Um." I tried. No, that wasn't going to work. "Hi."

Brendon's petrified, dark eyes stared back.

Idiot. "Okay, okay, hold on a second," I took a deep breath. "You're probably freaking out right now. The cause is me, and let me tell you, I am honestly so sorry about that. I didn't mean to scare you-I'm-I-uh-" I hadn't spoken this much to a person before. My hands were shaking. Another deep breath, take another deep breath. "Sorry. I'm just...a little out of practice at this. Okay. First off, I don't want to hurt you, or anything like that. I'm not a demonic spirit or anything like that"-I waved my arms around a little to represent general spookiness-"I'm normal. Well, as normal as you can get when you're a ghost. But the point is, I'm not a bad ghost-I'm just a ghost looking for a little information. I've only got a few questions, like the obvious, which are probably pretty similar to yours, like, well, why can you see me? What am I doing here?" I paused. "That's what I've got so far. Anything you'd like to say?" I winced, hoping I hadn't been too blunt.

Brendon said nothing, but it was obvious he was calming down a little. His chest had stopped heaving, and he'd stopped searching for a weapon. But his eyes-they still gazed at me in fear, in horror. Unnatural. I will always be unnatural.

"You're a ghost?" his voice was hoarse, shaky, but he was speaking.

I nodded twice.

"And this, this isn't-" He pointed vaguely around him. "-a game show, or something?"

I almost laughed at that. I wish. "No, no it's not."

Brendon nodded a few times, shifting his gaze to the wrinkled sheets around him, fiddling with the fabric. He was purposely taking deep breaths, and was staring at the bedsheets like they were the only thing attaching him to reality. Seconds passed, but they felt like hours.