Ghost - Phan (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 4 - It Fell

Dan's POV

I learned that ghosts don't sleep, either. I was sitting on Phil's bed, just watching him rest and not in any way feeling tired. Great.

He slept quietly. I wondered if he had dreamed or if his mind was blank. Either way gave me a reason to worry.

Finally, even though he went to sleep in the afternoon, it was dark when he woke up. He stirred very subtly, then all at once. He stood up. I followed, trailing like a child.

"Maybe you should shower," I said kindly. "Take care of yourself, Phil."

Talking to myself gave me the only hope that I was still real. I would talk directly to Phil, but it was also simply to myself. It felt silly, but it worked enough.

Phil walked past the bathroom, leaving himself unclean and hair splayed in every messy direction. He walked into the kitchen. I was hoping he'd eat something, but he didn't go for food. He just grabbed a glass and filled it with water and tiredly set the glass on the counter.

I stepped closer to him. I tried to put my hand on his shoulder. I could feel him, but he couldn't feel me. His eyes were looking around nervously. I wanted to calm him, and to tell him that everything was okay.

Slowly, I let my ghostly arms snake around his neck and hug him. I felt his warmth and liveliness. He was real. I was not. He didn't know I was there. I cried without tears on his shoulder until he moved. As he did, I stumbled as I lost my balance, my arm flicking around and hitting the glass he left on the counter.

It fell. The glass broke. Water spilled all over the floor.

It fell.

Both Phil and I stared at the glass. I can move things? I can! I can still affect the living world! Why couldn't I type on the computer, but I'm able to move a glass off the counter? There were so many mysteries of being undead. Maybe I couldn't affect electronics, but physical items? It was too much to think about at that moment.

"Sorry," I said by reaction, even though he couldn't hear me.

Phil's mouth hung slightly open, unsure of how the glass had fallen. He shook his head "No," and filled another to take back to his room, leaving the broken bits of glass on the floor. I stepped around them and watched him scurry back into his bed, but then I returned to the kitchen. I crouched down and attempted to pick up a piece of glass. My hand went through it, and I was unable to move it again. How was that possible? Then again, how was anything possible now?

I felt my back pocket. I still had my phone. I looked up "can ghosts move things in the living world," to see if it really was me who moved the glass or if it was a fluke. Of course, I got a ton of fake responses, but one stood out more accurately than the rest.

Apparently, if this is true, what happened it called "spiritual energy." It's a rechargeable energy that ghosts, spirits and demons can have that allows them to interact with the living world, but it's very limited and, once it's used, it takes time to be able to be used again. It can get stronger and you'll be able to use it more often the more you do it.

I must've had enough energy to be able to tip over the glass, but not enough to type on the computer. The things I took with me when I died are the only things that don't require spiritual energy.

Everything seemed like some fictional world.

I went into Phil's room, where I found him asleep. I kissed his cheek. He had bags beneath his eyes, and he looked thin. I sighed and sat, waiting for the rest of the night to be wasted. I would be right there when he woke up, I knew, not tired or in need of sleep at all. Ghosts are weird.