A Short Ghost Story
By Willow Taylor
I wanted it to be real you know. I wanted to know, to have proof. I didn't want to just believe. How cool I thought, if I could see ghosts, that would make me - special I guess, someone who was different than other people. Haven't you ever wanted that? To be something special? To have something - anything - that would set you apart from other people? I tried - I really tried to see them. I went where they were supposed to be, I closed my eyes, I slowed my breathing, I tried to see them - all I ever got was a chill.
I tried, I really did. But then I heard that babies born with cauls over their heads had magic powers. That they saw things that were beyond this world. And I heard my grandmother had been born with one. She showed it to me, she'd kept it in a box. But she said it wasn't a good thing, and that I should be happy. She died the next week. I asked for the box. Inside the caul was brittle, it crumbled when I picked it up, turning to a clinging dust that covered my hands. I licked it off. It didn't taste like anything, really. Just dry and dusty, it stuck in the back of my throat, so I drank a lot of water, and went to bed. That night I saw a ghost, she was standing at the foot of my bed and gazed at me sadly. I would have thought it was a dream, but she was still there when I woke up.
I didn't realize how many ghosts there were. I didn't know they were all around us. I didn't know how they moved. But now I know.
And now, now I can see them.
And I do.
All the time.
And they can see me.
They're all around. I'm sorry.
design ©2001 by Cindy Rosenthal
A Short Ghost Story ©2003 by Willow Taylor
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