CHAPTER THREE
I made my way solemnly back to the closet, only to find Harry's books right in front of me. Closing my eyes, I flop down onto the beanbag and put my head in my hands.
Who knew being dead was so complicated? I always have to hide away from people who don't even know-or knew-I exist. People are so scared of me when I do nothing to them or try to physically harm them. To be honest, I'm more scared of them and what they can do to me than you would think.
Nothing makes sense anymore, and I don't know where I belong. I've tried to see if there are other spirits around, but it's hard to find some when I can't leave this stupid flat. But I suppose it's cool, because they probably wouldn't like me just like everyone else.
As I lie back, and pull my legs up into my chest, all I can think about is all the people I hurt when I didn't mean to. All of the times that I was just having fun, yet they weren't. The times I brought an innocent and optimistic boy to tears.
It's hard to sleep with so many thoughts in your head; sometimes it's hard to sleep with no thoughts in your head. I think mostly about Harry, and how he will feel after he sees the letter. Will he feel better knowing I didn't mean any of it? Or will he be even more scared?
As I finally go to sleep, a dream begins to play in my head. Although it shouldn't be called a dream, no, it was a nightmare.
It started from the point of my death, but instead of the nice man appearing, it was a raging man with the face of a monster and the horns of the devil. This man wasn't trying to help me in anyway. The only reason he was there was to hurt me and to haunt me.
The dream went downhill from there as he began to haunt me and torture others. Innocent people who didn't deserve any wrong were being victims of his harmfulness. He would taunt me and I could do nothing but watch.
Then, the man started to follow Harry around, and I watched in horror as he began to hurt him. The face Harry had made earlier was all around my head, but this time it wasn't because he didn't know what was going on. This time it was because he did and he was hurt by it.
When the man finally started to torture him, I woke up with a start, my heavy breathing becoming the only thing audible in the small closet. My eyes begin to go large, and I run out, the only thing worrying me being,
"Harry."
There he lay on the bed peacefully, nothing bothering him and no man torturing and hurting him. His breathing was normal, making his chest rise and fall at a normal pace, the exact opposite of my furious breaths.
I rub my eyes as a wave of relief falls over me. He is still asleep, he is still okay, and he is still in the flat. No one is out to hurt him-or us-and he is still safe.
Sleep is going to be hard to get tonight, I can already tell after having a nightmare like that. So instead of going back to the closet, I take some food out of the pantry and turn on the telly.
Willing myself not to change the channel since that will confuse Harry, I take a handful of crackers from the box and begin munching on them while watching the horrendous movie.
Although it is horrible and shouldn't be on the telly, it keeps my mind away from the even more terrible nightmare. I couldn't imagine any of that happening, and I hope the bad things that the man told me about weren't as bad that. It's weird because I've never had that problem for as long as I've been dead.
My eyes seemed to close on their own, like weights were tied to the ends, but I willed myself to keep them open. One reason being because of the nightmare I just had, and the other being potentially caught by Harry. Both extremely bad things.
