The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

52. Five

You don't how it feels when voices hunt you down in the night.

But what kind of voices? Henry's whispers never bothered me, and no 'ghostly figure' has ever contacted Dylan.

Right?

The elmwood gates rattle behind me, while two trees plague the front yard. I pay no heed to them, as I tramp in between the crippled leaves on the ground.

This place is exactly the same. This time, though, the lambent sunlight reflects itself on the the stone graves, and I have no friends with me.

I haven't spoken to Ethan and Allison, ever since Dylan left for Ireland about two weeks ago. I still sit with Allison in Chemistry class and lunch but our time together always ends up in an awkward silence. Ethan, I think, has been avoiding for me. I only catch glimpses of him in English, and he's nowhere to be found during lunch.

The only absolute good thing that resulted out of this fiasco is that Trevor's been hiding his face from me now.

It's better, though, for the both Ethan and me to have some space after the fight.

How on earth am I going to contact Mum's parents and Meredith when even my friends...

Besides, why would Meredith help me?

I stop crumpling the leaves at my feet, and take note of the where I am now.

I'm exactly where Mum and Dad's graves are, with Kathleen's at the side. The last time I was alone here was when then journal gave the first memory. That seems so long ago.

If all of this journal fiasco had been a book, then we'd already have more than fifty chapters by now.

Earlier today, homework proved to be able to tame my thoughts. Though, I can't believe that I finished my work that isn't even due till next week; and now, I have come here because those same thoughts are roaming my mind without my permission.
Dylan's words keep replaying in my mind, and now, I only feel something that I have not ever felt before.

Not rage; not sorrow.

Only regret that seeps into your veins when frost envelops the body.

Well, he did abandon you for seven years.

But he's also suffered a lot.

Life is suffering. Grow up.

You sound like a religious scholar.

Will you two shut it! I'll decide for myself, thank you very much.
I call out to my angel and devil sides, and they quieten down after muttering to themselves.

Shaking my head, I lower myself and sit cross-kneed in between my parents graves, while my fingers circle around the leaves and flowers. The bouquets that Dylan put here are long gone. They probably withered away, making the caretaker remove them.

Some of the flowers growing here are purple and blue hyacinths.

Purple and blue hyancinths are Ethan's favourite.

The weirdest thing about cemetries is that they have people's most prized possessions: their loved ones; but still a very few visit it. Though, I admit, the strangest thing for me is the number five stalking me.

Five memories; the grandfather clock always stricking five times; five being in the body of birthday, current age and year.

Even that makes up five.

"What're yeh doin' 'ere, lassey?" a soft growl comes from behind me, making me jump but I quickly recover.

Soft growl: Is that even possible?