Ghost

Chapter 4: Bath Time

After I get home still livid from how rude the old man was, I feed Emily Dickenson the food I had just bought her, fix myself some lunch and eat while I read another chapter of Jane Eyre. I then do the dishes, take the paint, roller, and an old paint tray upstairs. I lay a tarp down, and tape the walls up. I then change into a pair of old cloths, open the paint can, pour some into the tray, and set to work. It doesn't take long for me to get the first coat done, but while I paint I keep noticing little droplets and splatters keep getting on to the tarp and sections of the wall I haven't reached yet. When I notice this happening, I just shrug it off, kept painting, and let that coat dry. I the repeat this process once more for the second coat, and within a few hours I finish painting entirely. 

I finish the paint job, and there is still some remainder of daylight outside. I gaze out the great room window at Mt. Jackson while listening the the delicate scales and notes of songs as I practice piano. I've always had a passion for piano. You can portray any emotion in music, and can even tell a story. I put as much of my soul and passion into the piece as I can. It isn't extremely difficult, only a simple prelude by Bach, but it's still beautiful. However, soon the sun sets and I deciede that I have practiced enough. As I rise from my seat in front of the piano, I feel my stomach empty and longing for something to eat. I walk into the kitchen, and begin making myself dinner. 

I slowly but surely hold a paring knife in my hand, and make a long cut down a stalk of celery, splitting it in two. For dinner tonight, I'm making stir fry. I continue cutting vegetables while humming to myself, the rapid clicking of the knife on the chopping board being the only other sound in the room. Once all of the vegetables are cut, chopped, sliced, and diced, I go into the refrigerator and carefully take out a pre-cooked chicken breast I had bought at the grocery store. I walk it over to the cutting board, and begin cutting it into tiny bite sized pieces until all that remains in front of me was a small mound of bite sized pieces of chicken. 

I reach above the stove to where I have a rack of pans hanging, and pull down a medium sized Calphalon wok. I place it on the stove, and turn the corresponding burner on medium heat. I pour a small amount of peanut oil into the pan, and begin to hear a faint sizzle. I take the vegetables and throw them into the wok and immediately the scent of sauteing vegetables fills my nostrils. I then add a few dashes and pinches or herbs and spices, along with some soy sauce and soon the smell transports me to heaven. I then throw the chicken in with the vegetable medley and cook it for only a few minutes longer. I then take the wok off of the stove, and pour the vegetables and chicken over some instant rice I made a few nights before.

Soon, I'm sitting at the dinner table eating my delicious creation and sipping ice water. I continue eating my food, the only sounds being soft music playing in the background and Emily Dickenson eating her dinner. I'm about to take the last bite of food when I suddenly see a small shadow flash past the corner of my eye. With my mouth open and the fork hanging in front of my face, I turn to see what had made the shadow. It's dark outside, so the shadow had to be a reflection off of the glass. Curious, I put the fork down and walk over to the window.

I examine the plain sheet of glass closely, only to see nothing. My gaze is so fixed on it I barely notice Emily Dickenson pawing at my feet. I look down at her, smile, bend down, and scratch her under her chin only to hear her purr in adoration when suddenly I see another shadow fly across the window on the opposite side of the room. Frightened by recent events, I grab the frying pan hanging above the stove and raise it by my head in defense, ready to swing at a moment's notice. Slowly, I creep over to the window where I had seen the flash of darkness. 

When I'm about three feet away, I stop dead in my tracks only to see fingerprints in the window surrounded in condensation. No, I think, No that's not possible. It's summer. It has to be at least 60 degrees outside. There's no possible way that anything could have made that fog unless someone has VERY cold fingers or was breathing on my window.