Drib Drabs (boyxboy) (girlxgirl)

Spirit Snatcher

I was six years old when I made my first ghost.

My family was living in a small house, near a small town at the time. As spirit faeries, we were barely managing to tread above the ever-present poverty line.

It turns out; there’s not much money in magic.

On the upside, we had fantastic neighbours. They were the kind of people who enjoyed tie-dying and shopping in organic food stores. If you asked anybody who they were, you would simply receive a non-committal grunt and “bunch of hippies,” in reply.

Since the Evans were the local crazies, we – as the community’s resident weirdoes – were glad to live beside the only people who were considered as strange as us.

Their whole family was beautiful. Even at that age, I could tell that Whisper was pretty. She was their youngest daughter – although still two years older than me.

Monday through Sunday we would play outside in her mother’s garden. Harmony Evans adored flowers, and her daughter was no different.

I was always delighted and astonished that Whisper treated me as if I were normal, even though all the other kids made fun of my gloves, my height and my family. She was kind and funny – I never understood why her classmates ostracized her. I considered myself lucky to be her friend.

It was springtime, the smell of budding plants mingling with the distinct scent of freshly mown grass. The sun poured her heat onto our skin, and the kind of bird-song filled silence, that usually prevails in the summer, lingered in the hazy air.

I was particularly happy that day, because I had decided to be rebellious by not wearing my gloves.

The constant cloth-restriction on my fingers was uncomfortable – especially when it was warm. I had risked severe punishment from my father by removing them, but it was worth it for how light and free my hands felt – nimble and loose instead of thick and clumsy.

“Theo! Look, it’s a primrose!”

I glanced up from the miniature fort I was constructing with twigs. Whisper was proudly holding up a butter-coloured flower, an expression of euphoria dancing across her tanned features, making her grey-green eyes sparkle in the sunlight.

“Cool!”

Clearly, I was not overly articulate as a child.

“Want to put it on top of my tepee?” I asked, pointing to the small bundle of sticks protruding from the dirt to my left.

She nodded and skipped happily through the flowers, heading in my direction, extending her arm to hand me the pocket-sized piece of sunshine.

Her warm fingers grazed my earth-smeared palm.