Shlee Vincent

This is a ghost story…

Which doesn’t have a title yet. And it is indeed unfinished. However, I promised a glimpse, and here it is!

“Tessa, Are you all right?”

She latched onto her friend and pointed toward the corner of the classroom that she assumed that the ghost had run.

“Honestly,” she started. “I don’t believe in ghosts. But this one was right there!!”

She picked up her camera and showed him the photograph – perfectly framed and eye contact. His eyes were pleading, their blue color almost shining in his obvious paleness.

“Badass,” he whispered.

“Can we go?” she asked.

He frowned at her. “We could, but why would we want to?” He started walking around.

“Shit,” she muttered and clung to his left arm aiming the bright blue key chain flashlight. Beyond the classroom, there was a kitchen and two smaller rooms. They peered into each room and perused the damage. The photographers instinct took over and despite the possible danger, Tessa crept into the dusty kitchen and snapped a few shots. Her right sleeve was getting crusty with the blood from her intrusion cut and it was getting tough to move her arm.

“So what do you think that was?” Lucas asked. “Think it was a ghost?”

She shivered again, “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

“Then what’s your explanation?” he asked, coolly. He turned around and walked into one of the smaller back rooms, ducking through the small door.

She had no idea. “It’s probably my mind playing tricks on me.”

“I saw it, too!” he called from the other room. “And I’m not inside your head.”

He was right. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she was almost convinced that she had just seen a ghost.

She trekked to what looked like the remnants of a refrigerator, dodging sharp counter corners and stepping in ash, leaves and fallen roof shingles. When she looked up, she saw the gnarled, skeleton branches of a dead tree. Turning her eyes to the kitchen, she saw movement by the window. It was slow, wave-like, but it was a movement. She peered closer, moving closer to the fridge and trying to be as quiet as possible.

Lucas was in the other room, exploring and occasionally sneezing thanks to the mildew. The walls were wallpapered with toy cars and trains and airplanes and in the ash there were broken cribs.

“Oh, man,” he said quietly, raising his hand to his mouth.

Tessa knew something had been in the room. The previous night’s wind had died and it wouldn’t have reached the room anyway. She looked high and low trying to find the source. When she turned around, she spotted something on the cupboard.

She argued with herself on whether she should call Lucas over, after all, he was there and she didn’t want to be alone if there was a ghost in the house. It was probably a raccoon, but she didn’t want to get bitten either.

“Here, little raccoon!” she whispered, clutching onto her camera as if it were a weapon.

Lucas had pulled out a small notebook. In the dim light, he was able to see enough to make a quick sketch of the room. When drawing, he was oblivious to everything else around him.

There, on one of the high cupboards, she spotted the source of her movement. It was a little girl, sitting cross-legged and eyeballing Tessa. She had brown hair, braided into pigtails, and big coke-bottle glasses perched on her little nose.

“Hi there,” she started. “My name’s Tessa Mitchell. I’m just here to take some pictures.”