Ghosted (completed)

Night of the Living Dead Boy

I'd encountered thousands of ghosts in the last ten years, but never did I confront one I had the disadvantage of knowing outside of Gran. I had always considered what I'd do if Mom were to make an appearance out of the blue one day, sitting on the creaky old, chipped park bench overlooking the pond in the middle of Evergreen Park. I often veered off my usual route home whenever Kingston wasn't available to chauffeur me around. Sitting on the bench made me feel closer to the woman I'd never gotten the chance to meet; that had lost the battle for her life only minutes after I'd arrived in this world. Dad had boxed up close to every photo of Mom over the years as a way to cope with the loss on his own, but he still kept a large canvas over the couch. It was the two of them at Evergreen, my very pregnant mother leaning into the bench with one of her hands resting on the protruding stomach clothed with a red sweater, and Dad was touching his hand over hers, staring down at her lovingly. I learned a long time ago that I only saw souls that were lost and had something tying them here, and maybe that's why there had always been a hope I'd see my mom; maybe meeting me and being able to see the woman I'd become was her unfinished business. Unfortunately the theory had proved to be no more than just a thought.

The cold, brisk air that usually radiated through my body at the appearance of a ghost had intensified to a point that I was physically shivering as I stared at Oliver at the foot of my bed. With the shock was a heavy feeling of sympathy while I took in his just as petrified expression. His eyes had always been the blue of a clear sky, so piercing and striking that they'd paralyze anyone where they stood. But now there was a film over them, hazing them over in a grayish brown color.

"Oliver." I repeated, hugging my legs against my chest. His eyes left his hand, currently fading in and out like an old TV that couldn't catch a signal.

Oliver St. James had always just been there my entire life. At the top of the social ladder since first grade when he flashed his new game system and everyone flocked to him like bees to honey. From there he rose in popularity, and the fact that with his aging came a great physique and a gorgeous face helped his case. For his older brother Axel, popularity had come just as easily, but he'd wanted nothing to do with it. The opposite of Oliver in every way possible, Axel had always been a quiet fly on the wall, but had this arrogance and piercing gaze that was extremely off putting and sent most of his admirers after his younger brother.

"You're dead." I wasn't quite sure if I was saying it to inform him or as a way to force the reality of the situation that he really was, in fact, a ghost, into my thick skull.

"I know." I nearly fell off the side of my bed at his soft spoken words.

What the actual hell? Since when can ghosts talk?

"I know I'm dead." He continued, oblivious to my current state of shock. "I just don't know how I, uh, died. Or why I'm here. I don't even know who you are."

Somehow that comment hurt more than it should have. I wasn't popular, but I wasn't not popular either. I knew close to everyone, but kept them all at a distance, as I refused to allow anyone into my life in fear they'd find out about what goes on behind my closed doors.

"I. . . my name is Ophelia." I finally managed to recollect myself, but suddenly felt like a stranger in my own bed and crossed the room to my computer desk, putting a good distance between myself and the golden boy. "Ophelia Coleman. But everyone calls me Fai."

If the name stirred any recognition in him he didn't allow it to show. Instead he rubbed his neck slowly and whispered, "Why can you see me? I. . . I tried to talk to Axe before I wound up here somehow, he was oblivious to my presence. Went about working on his car like I wasn't there."