Translucent

Chapter 8: Ghostly Encounter

His face flashed in my dreams again.

This time, he didn't look at me in a disappointing and menacing way, more in a curious manner. His eyes studied me like I was an alien.

The breeze tickling my skin snapped me awake. He was here. He had been here the whole time. The temperature dropped followed by loud thuds of the books tipped off from the bookshelf. The framed pictures on the shelf flipped over, startling me. The wind couldn't possibly tip these sturdy objects now, could it?

The corner of my eyes caught a subtle movement of the fluttering curtain. I held my breath, vividly remembering I closed it before going to bed.

"Very funny." I challenged him. "I know you're here."

Before long, the room lights flickered. I shuddered as coldness crept into my skin and abruptly gathered my blanket like it could shield me from some foreign energy working its way around the room. Did this entity choose to communicate by controlling his environment?

My hand frantically searched for my bedside table drawer and absentmindedly closed around a torch as a weapon.

"So you saved me," I called out again. "Show yourself. I-I'm not scared."

This time, it worked. The lights stopped flickering, as though it was a sign–an answer.

The familiar gust of wind swept through the room, a little stronger than before, and accumulated at the center of the room. A mist appeared to gather, slowly materialising into a form of a young man with a frock coat and a top hat. As soon as his figure became solid and the mist ceased, the lighting became stable and the wind stopped. His silhouette stood in the dark side of the room–stiff and still.

"W-what do you want?" My voice was calmer this time but I trembled. "Come closer."

The figure obeyed and stepped into the side of the room that was partially bathed with the bedside lamp's light, while I was trying to get a hold of my own breath. His skin was so pale it nearly looked translucent–a contrast to the dimness of the room. He looked young, possibly in his early twenties. I could see where Lorelai and Phoebe were coming from: he really was handsome.

The young man was taller than me, lean yet slightly build. Not to mention he wore an outfit that was out of this time, as though he just stole a prop from a film set at the turn of the twentieth century. He almost could pass as an extra in the film Titanic rather than a corpse. He donned a white shirt, with the top collar unbuttoned, a walnut-colored tweed waistcoat, and all of those tucked covered with a thick brown wool frock coat reaching up to the back of his knees. He reluctantly took off his top hat, revealing more of his facial features; his short, ashy brown hair was thick and slightly unruly, jawline was defined.

But out of all, it was his eyes that locked me in place: piercing green with dark-purplish shade underneath his sockets that almost nearly resembled eyebags.

"Oh goodness." I gasped under my breath, captivated.

I got off my bed, holding the torch that was pointed at him tight to my chest. The young man moved closer as if it was his turn to examine me. His eyes scanned me from the head to toe.

"Why..." I began. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

"Leave." His voice was cold and his stare was brooding. Then he turned his back on me. "Your presence is not wanted here."

"Excuse me. I'd really love not to step into your business, but my stepdad has legally purchased this property. If you would like to discuss that, feel free to talk to him instead. I just live here."

"Are you not scared?"

"Scared of what?"

He abruptly turned his back around. "Scared of me, for God's sake!" I shuddered. Anger and frustration sparked through his eyes. "Why don't you run like others?"