Shattering

"A ghost is someone who hasn’t made it—in other words, who died, and they don’t know they’re dead." - Sylvia Browne

It was something quite hard, staring down at her, her eyes wide and her mouth morphed into a silent scream. She still wore the long white evening gown and the fancy jewelry from the party. But something was different. The fine lines and of laughter that such a short time ago had been etched into her face now were gone. What replaced them was a fear, a strong, gripping fear that made me tremble. I hugged the blanket that I was grasping in my little fist tighter, trying to breathe in the last scents of her and her kisses before they were gone.

My breath became ragged but I didn't cry out. I simply toddled stiffly over and faced the white shape that appeared in front of me. It hissed like a wild animal, and even in the pale, colorless apparation I felt my mother's spirit. Caught and clenched in the grasp of this creature. The features of it were defined and worn and fierce. I looked it right in its cold, dead eyes and and screamed "Get out!"

Then I collapsed onto the floor beside my mother, trembling but not crying, the feeling of helplessness slowly taking over what strength I still had. That's where I fell asleep, the chatter and demonic howls that floated above us, bit by bit, taking me away.