A Ghost Story

Angela Worthington stood at a second floor window of her home watching as the moving van maneuvered into position. As she’d feared, the house had sold. A man started directing the moving men as they brought in furniture and boxes. As he did so, two young men darted into the house.

“Do you think the ghost is really here?” the voice was the squeaky one of a young excited boy. Angela cringed.

“She died here,” a slightly deeper voice laughed. “I want the room she died in as my bedroom. Don’t be worried about seeing her, Chicken.” Angela moaned softly. He sounded unpleasant. She came face-to-face with a young, red haired at the door. She shrieked and vanished. He yelled, turned and ran.

Days later, Lennie Gray was still freaked out. First she’d been there and then she hadn’t. She was a ghost. His mom had done a lot of research on the Worthington family murder. It was the reason his ghost hunter father bought this house. Poisoned, Angela Worthington died in her bed, Mr. Worthington in the hospital. Carolyn Worthington was committed, dying in the insane asylum.

His father wanted to prove ghosts existed. His mother and brother didn’t believe in them. Ghosts terrified him. So of course she appeared to him. His father would avidly try to make him try to find her again. His mother would sigh. Mike would mock him.

Seeing her again, he raced down the hall away from her, charging up to the third floor to find she was already there. He veered away from her, hugging the wall. He edged along the wall, which vanished behind him. He fell, a sharp pain, and everything went black.

Angela peered out the broken window. Was he dead? No, he was alive, just unconscious. It was a good thing he’d snagged his shirt on that nail even though it wouldn’t hold. She bit her lip. His family wouldn’t know he was here.

Oh this wasn’t fair. She’d have to talk to one of the others. She couldn’t talk to strangers before she’d died. Now, when hardly anyone came to her house it was worse. She’d never forgive herself if he fell and died when she could have helped him.

She found the older brother watching TV. She could do this. She appeared in front of him. His jaw dropped.

“You,” he gasped.

“No time,” she said. “Your brother needs your help.”

“What?” Was he stupid?

“He fell out a third floor window,” she said. “Hurry, before his shirt tears. Only a ladder will reach him.”

“Dad!” he yelled. “Where’s Lennie?” She told him.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” Angela said, the next day. She could talk to these people.

“I’m OK,” Lennie said. “Thanks.”

“It was nothing,” she shrugged. “You ran from me.”

“I can’t believe,” he said. “I’m grateful to a ghost.”

“I never thought I’d talk to a living soul,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Glad to meet you,” Lennie said.

About pebblepup

I am not one who is comfortable talking about myself but here goes. I enjoy writing, family history, and reading. I decided to do this blog because I wanted to try something new. I decided to make it a weekly blog because I wasn't sure that I could keep up with a daily one, and monthly seemed like I was writing a magazine. I think I did ok with my choices. You'll notice that there are not a lot of graphics on my site. That's because there are graphics plastered everywhere on the Internet and those sites sometimes take forever to load. This blog is a place where you can kick back, relax and be ready to be amused. At least I hope I willbamuse you. This blog is on a variety of subjects from my ficitional cat agency, the FFL, which is monthly, to instructional blogs to editorials, which are my opinions only. I admit that I don't know everything and could be wrong -- I frequently am. Now, stop reading about me and read what I have to say!