The Zombie Specter (a SHTM background)

Prologue

Taxis...cars all shapes and sizes roaming up and down the streets, sometimes those streets crowded with people going to work or to an important meeting. The sound of sirens blaring, people bustling, and horns honking. You might consider this a busy atmosphere. Some might call this simplistic for city life- but for me, it was a living hell.

I was born and raised in the city, and I HATED the city with a passion. Since my childhood, I have sworn a vow to never resort to city life ever again, to live alone, remotely, in a quiet place, with no bustling streets, no cars, no loud noises. Just the chirping of birds and crickets as I stare off into the distance. I had wanted to resort to cabin life, and unfortunately, it was not all it was cracked up to be. From that lifestyle, I sealed my fate and forced me to meet my untimely demise.

My name is Robert Willoughby, but I am also called the Floating Ghost from Beastcraft or Beastcraft Ghost. Others may call me the Screamium Zombie Ghost, but that is not me. There are specific key differences between me and the Scremium model. For instance, that ghost just has a tattered shroud, like a white polo or work suit, while the Beastcraft one (me) wears a stained, tattered nightgown that ends at about near my chest level. And yes, at one point, I had feet, OKAY? I'm not that insane.

So you, the living, may be asking...

"How did such a caring yet simple man end up in this situation?"

"Why are you a ghost? Were you condemned to be one or felt as if you were compelled to be one?"

Or, most commonly, some may ask...

"If you lived remotely, how could you have died? Was it of old age? If not, what WAS it?"

I find the living as incapable of handling the truth. However, in a situation like this, some spirits have no choice but to keep quiet. Many ghost hunters have tried to contact me inside of my cabin for decades, but to no avail. Sure, I have shown some signs of my soul still stirring amongst the living realm. For  instance, I flickered the lighting on and off, moved or misplaced certain objects around the cabin with no explanation, or let out a few hollow groans.

But if I had the courage, even to tell my real story to those hunters, they would never believe me... or at least I think they would not. Hunters mainly go to haunted abodes for the thrill, and there are few, scarcely, that DO physically want to help. But even if they did, it is too late for me. I met my demise, and now I have to suffer with that incapable decision for the rest of my (after)life. The better way to communicate it would be through writing. In this way, the public would understand that it was written by a soul who is already deceased and fully empathize with me. They cannot help, but if I reach a living soul, maybe even move or touch it in a way that interferes with their life, my task is complete.

This is the story of me... Robert Willoughby...the Floating Ghost, the Beastcraft Ghost, whatever you please. Just know that the author (me) is deceased, and then you will fully understand my plea. My birth, my life, my death, my afterlife, all in one single novel. Whichever mortal prepares his or herself to read this novel and empathize with my plight, I am eternally grateful for.

One final thing before we move on...

If this novel reaches a living soul, old or young, male or female, bad or good, and changes their life for the better, or if my journey can inspire them to live a more stress-free, leisurely and fulfilling life, I, in turn, will feel a sense of belonging and fulfillment. My life was a rocky one, and from my own experience, it did not start off in the best way. But if the tracks I had made later in life can inspire someone to live remotely or anything else, I encourage you to do that, just be aware of the potential dangers, because I didn't. Now look at me...

With all of that out of the way, this is my journey, from birth to where I am at this current moment. I hope you all learn something from my life experiences and incorporate it into your own lives.

Here goes nothing...