Something of a Ghost Story...

[Meeka]

I wrote this one a million years ago, or so it seems. No, I wrote this two years ago, after my English teacher told us to write a story that is under two-hundred and fifty words... so this is what happened.

He comes every night. He who haunts her bedroom window, the drapes that cover that window and even her dreams. She lies in bed every night, her eyes wide and yet unseeing. She tells herself that she is too old, way too old to still believe in something as petty as a ghost story. She tosses and turns, seeking a relief, hoping to find some comfort in her sleep. Her heavy eyelids flutter closed, knowing that she can not withstand another sleepless night. Not another night, tossing and turning in bed, wondering how many more hours until dawn.

Wondering how much longer she would have to count the penetrating beating of her heart. Wondering how much longer she would have to lie awake, alone and helpless. She sat up. There it was! There it was again! The soft, dull knocking against her window. An ice cold shudder ran lengthwise up her spine and she stiffened, adrenaline pumping. There it was. She could see the hand against her window. He was there, demanding entry. No, no, not tonight. Not tonight. Anytime but tonight. The tears fell steadily down her soft features. In a trance she stood up, her bare feet carrying her across the cold, linoleum floor. Her protests would fall on deaf ears, her begging unheard. Awake, alone and helpless.