I screamed at the sight of the specter. My parents called back to me. They were too calm. It was almost mocking.
This had become habitual, this sight. I screamed again, louder this time. My eyes locked with the horrible gaze of the apparition. Fear crept into my cry. It petrified me. The sight of the ghost locked me in place. I wanted to call again, but the sound was stuck in my throat. I know not why the specter haunted me, nor where it was from. It approached, taunting, deliberate, floating on nothing as if the wind and air passed through it to a beyond unknown, unaffected, and ignored.
It did not ignore me. I saw malice on the frozen orbs of light that watched me. Eyes colder than any winter, colder than any calculated trauma they wished to inflict upon me with their gaze.
It approached, eyes closer, malice closer, and my throat opened out if instinct, outpouring a final hopeless yawp.
"What is it!" called my father as he entered to room. I could not speak. My last exhalation was my ultimate. There was no reserve of oxygen within me to speak again.
Father turned to see what held my vision affixed at a singular spot. He looked stark at the specter, and it remained unseen. The ethereal creature looked at me in a knowing, mocking way. Fading away before my eyes, magic unseen by my father.
"What is it?" he said, calmer this time, but still I could not respond. The monster was disappearing but its eyes, orbs afloat in the air, remained. Watching. Keeping me in my place. "Please stop yelling if there is nothing in here," said father, shaking his head in annoyed disbelief as he left the room. He had used a cutesy voice. He did not know what I saw. I stared as the apparition, old, clothed in long rags and anger, still disappeared. I sighed as my father and the specter which haunted me both left my sight.
I was alone in the room once more. Alone, knowing that it was watching me from whatever beyond that there was. I did not think there was another life after this one, but in that I was apparently wrong. This creature, this specter beyond imagination, is a creation of such that may prove the existence of a spirit living beyond this world. It may be something else entirely.
I know not why it haunts our home, but I felt its presence the moment we moved here. My parents did not, of course. They are always moving, always focused on the meaningless tasks of life that keep us "afloat," as they put it. They work too hard and rest too little and they leave this home for so long in the middle of the day to go to their jobs and come home unable to focus on their lives. Unable to focus on me. They do not listen. They do not care. They love me, but that differs from caring. That is not exclusive of listening. I tell them of my days here, alone, alone with the apparition, the haunting of our home, of the evil in this place, and they think nothing of it. I worry about what the monster wishes to do with them. It knows that I can see it. I see the intelligence in those yellow-blue eyes, so cold as they float a part of the visage that watches me. A part of and separate, though, those eyes are the soul of the thing. I know it. It knows me.
That is the terrifying part. I see the intelligent knowing of those eyes as they look at me. I am afraid to sleep, though I am not afraid of the dark. No part of me wishes for a nightlight or a candle or any such comfort. I wish for safety, for me and my family. But the ghost will not abide that, it seems.
I must act if my parents do not.
Salt and silver.
That is what the stories say, is it not?
I head to the kitchen and begin preparing. Father be damned. If I am to save him, I am to ignore him and his rules. He wishes I did not spend time in here. "It’s for your safety," he says.
This is for the family's safety. I begin with the silverware. We do not have fine China, and I struggle to open the silverware drawer and acquire what weapons I hope contain a modicum of silver. I don't believe finery is a part of a life barely afloat, but I can hope.
I hear a noise from the bedroom, but think nothing of it. A quiet call for me, checking in and ensuring I am not doing what I am doing. Salt is next and salt is easier. It is on the table. I spill over the shaker, opening it upon the counter. This will be ready for them to use. Ready for me when the apparition appears next.
Another sound from the bedroom.
A cry?
I rush in to see that my preparation was for naught. The specter has appeared again, though not just to me this time.
My parents finally know my fear.
They cry to me and they cry to nothing. I see the apparition’s gaze locked with that of my father.
There is nothing he can do.
The specter approaches.
I hoped and helped too late.
There is nothing I can do. I cannot use the weapons I have tried to prepare.
I watch in horror for only a moment before I run to what modicum of safety I can find.
I cannot help.
I am but a cat.
Thanks for giving that story a read! First photo by Lennart Wittstock. 2nd by myself (lil dude inspired this story). If you want to support my work, give a sub or a pledge below, join the discussion in the comments, and share with your friends!
Love ya,
Max
"Please stop yelling if there is nothing in here," Donald Trump!