I originally wrote Just a Ghost on November 17th, 2019. It popped up in my memories on social media recently, and I thought readers might be intrigued to read one of the very first stories I wrote. Here you go:
I wake her up at night, not meaning to. I just want to spend a little more time with her. You see, I am but just a ghost, and she is but a little girl. I sit in the rocking chair while she sleeps each night. I try to be quiet, but the thing is, even when you are dead, you take a piece of yourself with you, and the piece I was given was my smoker’s lungs, cough, and all. Sounds like it would be a gift getting to take a piece with you, but it’s a curse for me. Others get to visit their family at night without worry of being noticed. I, on the other hand, almost always wake the little girl up.
It’s 2:30 AM, and she is sleeping. I want so bad to touch her, to rock her in the chair where I sit. I think back on when I would tell her stories of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She laughed then; when she would see me, she now cries if she notices me. I left the world before I wanted to go, but I guess it was my time. I only had 3 years with her before my passing. So each night as the house sleeps, I slip into her room into this rocking chair until dawn or until I wake her up. My little June Bug she was, now she is five and a light sleeper it seems. I figured her parents, my son, and daughter-in-law would have gotten rid of this chair by now, but June must like it because it’s still in the corner of her room.
Sitting in the rocking chair, just watching sleep, she breathes in and out slowly without difficulty. I start to get a tickle in my throat, and I try to keep from making too much noise. She starts to rustle a bit, turning over in the bed. I’ll have to leave soon, even though I want to stay with her. Her little lips start to quiver as her eyes begin to open. I try to remain very still, but I start to cough, and she starts to cry. Staring at me, still crying, but this time she extends her hands out for me to pick her up, as I reach to grab her, the door opens, and I have to disappear.
This was the first time she ever reached out to me. I want to cry. I want to hold her. I want to tell her I love her, but I can’t because I am just a ghost.
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