I'm afraid it is!
I know I should be sitting down and REALLY focused on my own writing, but I felt a tiny bit guilty for not doing more Writing Missions, so this morning I sneak onto Michelle Zink's website (when I was meant to be working! And I was... kinda...) and looked up this week's writing challenge. This week was one I HAD to do. In this week's task, Michelle revealed a tiny nugget from her upcoming novel "Guardian of the Gate" (a book I am going to get) and she wanted us to take the paragraph and turn it into something new within 30 Minutes. Yeah, I was at work. So, I gave myself till the end of the working day to write something and, wherever I ended, I would just upload it.
I'm not going to tell you what Michelle gave us to work with (you have to click on the following link to find out - http://michellezinkbooks.wordpress.com/2010/06/24/thursday-night-write-guardian-of-the-gate-clue/), but this is what I made of it. And I was surprised with myself because I found myself, near the end, not liking my main character. He seemed so arrogant that it bothered me. But, I like the story. Maybe, one day, I might go back to it...
Until then, enjoy!
For as long as I could remember, I have always been able to see them. The ghosts that are trapped here, wanting desprately to move on to “The Other Side” (I don’t believe in that “Go into the Light” crap). And ghosts that refuse. Point blank. Some out of stubbornness. Some out of fear. But most stay because they want to. It’s fun to stay and watch. They’re not ready to go. Not just yet.
And then there are those that aren’t ghosts at all. The Frighteners, as I call them. They’re made from bad energy, from what I can guess. Bad energy, evil energy. They want to be human, or as close to human as they can. Expenience human emotions. They’re the reason people get depression or have horrible thoughts. It’s frightening to walk down the road and see them close to someone, and knowing that I could help. Or try to. But I can’t. I can’t do anything.
Cos I’m a freak. A weirdo. An oddity. The curiousity. And those are the kind names people have called me. Hence why I rarely talk about my ability.
It was because I was standing in a field that I was a little afraid. The field’s openness was terrifying, though the sun shined brightly, turning gold the wild grass and swaying wheat that stretches in every direction. For all its beauty, the field left me no place to hide. If a Frightener came, I would have to run. And I tend to fall down when I run. I tend to fall down A LOT.
I sighed. The ghost had changed its mind. It wouldn’t surprise me. It’s not like I’ve met a ghost who hasn’t changed his or her mind, or worry if they are making the right decision.
It was too humid to wonder why the ghost had changed his or her mind. Plus, I had to get back and finish those English Literature assignments. I couldn’t fail with these assignments. If I didn’t get a decent mark, I basically flunked my class. I couldn’t flunk this class.
So, I turned to leave. And jumped as the ghost stood there, a little too close for comfort.
Ghosts blink. That’s why he was so close to me. Ghosts don’t walk or float up to you. Some do, but that’s a tiny percentage of the ghost populous. The attention seeking kind. The rest of them Blink. Well, I call it blinking. One moment, no one is there. The next, Bam! There they are. Most people think it’s a trick. They blink and they see the ghost without realising it. I know that they are ghosts. Ghosts don’t have auras like humans do.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” He took a step back, releasing he was in my personal space. “Are you alright?”
“I – I’m fine.” I lied. I rammed my hands into my pockets. When I lie, my fingers tend to twitch. “Just give me moment to catch my breath.”
“Okay,” the ghost smiled and fell silent. He seemed pleased that I came, as if he feared that I won’t. that I would change my mind.
He doesn’t know me very well.
“Okay,” I said after a moment, taking my hands out of my pockets and flexing my fingers. “So, I’m here.”
“Yeah, sorry.” He looked my age, wearing clothes that were about five, maybe six, years out of fashion. “I can only talk here.”
“Why here?” I questioned.
“Because I can’t leave the field. I’m stuck here.”
Well, that was new and unexpected.
From what I had been told by my Grandmother (who had the gift too – it “supposed” to have missed a generation with my mother. But I don’t believe my mum. As the song goes, “Deny, Deny, Deny”), ghosts don’t haunt one place. They can come and go as they please. Most haunt places that mean something to them – a house, a garden, a public garden. I saw one haunt one of the London Underground stations. Also, I have never come across a ghost that haunts a graveyard, much to everyone’s surprise. And I should know – I live oppisite a graveyard. It’s one of the few places I can go without hearing, seeing or sensing a ghost. It’s a place I can turn my brain off from the ghost frequency.
But to be stuck in one place…
“So, you can’t leave this field?” I said, slowly, trying to get my brain round the idea. “But you’ve been trying to contact me.” It came out as a question.
“Little things. But mostly when you slept. That seems to be the easiest way.”
Ah, he’s one of those ghosts…
Some ghosts, not very many, have the horrible knack to send messages and ideas into dreams. It’s very rare. One or two of them can even enter your dreams, which is kinda freaky to say the least. It has only ever happened to me once, when I was sixteen and having a fairly steamy dream involving myself and two other people (one of them was the member of the oppisite sex) when a ghost appeared, stared over us and started screaming at me, telling how dirty and wrong it was. How preverted it was. Ever since then, if I have one of those dreams, I change it to something extremely dull incase a ghost walks in. Like tofu.