Fear of Ghosts

and the further i get from the things that i care about
the less i care about how much further away i get…

whispers Robert Smith in my soul. Goosebumps cover my arms, legs, back and lower jaw. I start shivering and sweating profusely.

Ghostlike she stands in front of me, dressed in a white nightgown, faded flower embroidery just barely visible around the neckline. Her face is white as if too much powder or night-cream had been applied. Accusingly she lifts a finger and points at my heart.

I can’t move; my feet are rooted on the cold stone floor. I can feel the little imperfections through my socks as I shuffle to avoid her caustic gaze. The shoes that I had been so careful to remove slip out of my hand and clatter to the floor, a stark counterpoint to the malevolent silence.

The spell broken, she closes her eyes, opens her mouth and screams: You’ve been sleeping with that whore again, haven’t you! Get out, get out, get out, I never want to see you again!

This story has no comments.