Ethereal Dusk

Chapter 9

I'm so tired I could sleep for days. I sweep the shards of glass into the dustpan as my thoughts run away with themselves. What is actually wrong with me? What even happened just now?

I grumble to myself as I sweep up the last of the glass and walk the dustpan out into the kitchen, dumping it in the trash. As I look at my reflection in the dark window, my heart skips a beat. I don't even recognize myself right now. I continue to stare at whoever it is on the other side of that glass that stares back at me.

I can't look away.

She is me... but not exactly?

I hate you.

She stares back expressionless. She's almost frightening. I can't accept her. I want to break the window out with my fists and end her for good.

Her lips curl into a smile and I gasp as I take a step back and cover my mouth, her actions mimicking mine. I wave my hand back and forth and she does the same.

She is me.

"Yup it's bedtime," I chirp as I turn a heel and quickly walk back to my room.

I turn out all of the lights except for the small lamp that sits on my desk and wrap myself in my comforter. This is the only place I've wanted to be all day and now that I'm finally here, I'm unsettled.

Did I hallucinate that disembodied hand earlier? But Anthony heard all of the noises too. I don't know if it would be better to declare myself crazy, or to be actually haunted by a ghost. I don't know what twisted part of myself wanted to get off on the fear of the situation either.

Ugh I'm so weird.

My mind flashes back again and again over the events of the past two days. I feel like I'm living in some kind of haunted novel. I haven't had this much... excitement? Like... ever. I would say that it's like living in a fairytale, but this was far from what that was. Dear author, please give me a fucking break.

I fluff my pillow up a few times before stuffing a second pillow between my legs, and then two extra pillows behind my back. I liked to feel cradled like I was being held.

My eyes scan the room as I debate turning out the lights, a flashback of the disembodied hand scurrying across the floor haunts me.

It wasn't real.

"Please leave me alone for awhile," I plead out loud to whatever the hell haunts these halls.

The silence is answer enough for me to reach over and turn out the lamp. I let out a breath as my eyes flutter shut, exhaustion rippling through me as my body sinks further into the bed.

Into the nothing.

***

The next morning, or should I say afternoon, Pickle resurrects me from the dead by skidding across my body like he's in second place on the home stretch at the Olympics. It's about 2pm, and I feel quiet rested if I do say so myself. I sit on the edge of the bed as I wipe the sleep out of my eyes and run a hand through my wild hair.

"I should eat you for breakfast you little shit," I grumble as Pickle skids back into the room and pauses with his pupils dilated and ears tucked flat to his skull.

Suddenly a foggy memory sets in. Green predatory eyes look up at me through black lashes.

"Roslyn," a deep voice coos in an echo.

I rise off the bed and shake my head as I walk out into the kitchen to start my coffee. A dream? Maybe. But I don't necessarily remember having any dreams last night. Maybe the ghosts heard my plea.