Stop Hitting the Books
I turned the pages of the faded book carefully. It wasn't just the crumbling edges that made me cautious -- the illustrations of ghosts and spirits were as bold and clear as ever.
"Signs of a ghost-sighting," I read softly to myself, glancing up every now and then to make sure no one else in the library was watching. "Unexpected chills. Faded images of people in old-fashioned dress. Materialization through walls."
The words made me shiver.
"The library will be closing in fifteen minutes," a pleasant voice said over the intercom. "Please bring your books up front for checkout."
I closed the book and stared at the cover for a moment. No, I finally decided, it was too frightening to bring home. Better to leave the spiritual realm on the library shelf.
Curled up under my three thick comforters, I lazily flipped through the channels after dinner that night. As usual, the cable channels were void of any decent entertainment. Suddenly, my entire body began to shiver. My mother was outside, kneeling over her gardening.
"Mom, could you hit the heat for me?" I called.
She turned around and wiped her forehead off on her wrist, frowning into the cool darkness of the house. "How can you be cold? It's an oven out here!"
She was right -- it was summer. Why was I cold?
I once saw a billboard on the side of the road with big block letters, an advertisement for some insurance company. The message that flashed across my mind looked exactly the same, but it said, "I'm watching you." I shook my head violently to get rid of the message, and when I blinked, it was gone.
Spooked and shivering, I flipped off the TV and made to get up and turn the heat on myself. That's when I saw the reflection. I could barely make out the woman's wrinkled face.
Slowly, I turned around. An elderly lady stood in my living room, hovering an inch above the floor. She was dressed in a dingy red cloak, the sort worn by spies in bad fantasy movies, and her withered, hooked fingers were trembling. Her head lifted, and she stared through me; a wailing sound filled my ears.
I fell backwards off the couch, clasping my head in both hands, my eyes staring at the ceiling. A ghost. I'd seen a ghost.
No more trips to the occult section for me.
