The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

53. Blizzard

"Of course, she is."
Uncle looks down, before pointing a finger at the room in the far left side of the corridor. It has the number eight on it. Squinting my eyes, I move a few feet further while footsteps become faint behind me. A voice resounds from behind,
“But someone else isn't.”

Huh?

I look behind, and Uncle's gone.

Wrangling my head about, I'm only able to see his brown coat disappearing into the far end of the corner.

Uncle always was a bit of a weirdo... like me...

Some heavy breaths heave my chest up and down, as a sigh escapes from me.

There are a few seats nearby that are attached to the walls. I am about to sit on one of them, but then a door clicks open from behind me.

A woman with shoulder length grey hair comes out. Her head is drooped and arms are folded in front of her, while wrinkles embellish her features. She somehow still looks beautiful in her knee-length blue dress.

She puts a hand behind her neck and her ocean-blue eyes widen at me. She looks at me up and down, while I have a sudden urge to press a hand at the back of my neck as well.

“L-Lindsey…”

I slowly nod at her, just as her spindly arms wrap around my person. A grunt almost escapes from me.

Try understandin’.

Gellert’s voice calms down my sudden repulse, but I still can’t force my arms from their limp position.

She releases me after a few seconds and caresses my cheek.
“Do you need some tea? Or maybe coffee? You seem cold, honey. In my day, they used to make real jackets. Not like these jackets that protect from the cold as much as a swimsuit.”

I rub her knuckles with my thumb and pull her hands down.
“Thank you, but I’m always as cold as a blizzard.”

Her eyes fall for a few moments, but then she gestures at the seat attached next to the wall. I sit without a second thought with her settling down next to me. I keep looking down at my enclasped palms.

“You look so much like your father, dear. But you still have Jenny’s eyes.”

I look up and find the same ocean blue eyes gazing back at me with a lambent warmth.

“I know, Mrs Rosen,” I say without any other word tumbling in my head.

I mentally slap my forehead.

She ignores my calling her Mrs Rosen and says,
“I wouldn’t have recognised you if you didn’t have those blue eyes. You know, my own mother had them too.
Though, I’m afraid, blue eyes are not so uncommon as they were in my days.

“Your grandfather always said that he adored mine and Jenny’s eyes. He said that they’re warm, even though being icy-blue. When Jenny was born, she had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen in a baby…”

She keeps telling me tales and tales of Richard Rosen and Mum with a childlike glow emanating from her.

I don’t have the heart to stop her from doing so.

“Anyways, enough about me; how’re Dylan and Giselle? I hope they’re good. I haven’t seen either of them in seven years…”

“You all didn’t exactly end your relations on civil terms, Mrs Rosen…”

Little too blunt, mate.

I mentally shrug at my subconscious.

She brings her nails near her mouth and says, “I know…”