Member-only story
The Wilt of the Rose
Hauntings happened all the time.
When had it happened? The ghost appeared as if he were a flesh-and-blood entity at first, incorporeal but then filling out with vibrant colors that made her think of rainbows and kaleidoscopes. It was so strange, like living in a dream made half-real.
“Are you going to haunt me?” she asked. But the ghost simply stood there, looking at her with electric eyes, till she could feel her heart thrumming in her ears. Every moment made it so that she could feel the rush of blood to her skin, every bloom of meaning in the fragments of moments.
“No,” the specter said, watching her as if he were afraid of her. “I think rather you’re the one haunting me.”
But she simply laughed. “Oh no. I wouldn’t do such a thing. I know better than to tangle with spirits.”
To her surprise, the ghost also laughed. It was a hearty laugh — so warm for something that should have been so cold in retrospect — but the spirit simply shook his head. “Are you sure? Because I’ve heard your call. For years, it feels.”
“I don’t know about that,” she admitted. “Is this like a Christmas Carol thing? Are you going to spirit me away to show me what my life would be like if I hadn’t been born or some nonsense?”
