The Ghost's Diary 👻 ✓

54. A Wilting Flower

This really doesn't make sense. The Dad I know would never have come in between Mum's parents and her.

Isn't love supposed to be that cloying sentiment that makes you want to let go, rather than clinging on?

The journal lies on the mahogany table, as a bent finger of mine is pressed between my teeth. A faint orange light from my bedside lamps emanate my room while my feet stumble in between the shadows.

Why am I finding so many lies in my beliefs?

Change the word. Make it... faith!

I need answers before that, I'm afraid...

It has almost been an hour since I've come back from the Rosens and Uncle Gary. The weather started changing only after I left the hospital, and now it is an entirely different shade of blue.

I rub my hands on opposite arms, before closing the windows of my room with a click. Footsteps pace around my room and I realise that they're actually my own.

I've talked to Mary and Richard, but Meredith...

I can't actually summon her or anything.

Rubbing my temples, I blink several times at the journal. My bedroom clock ticks away, as I wonder why Henry had to resort to those methods to catch my attention at the library.

Something yellow flashes from near my table, making me grip on to the metal of my bed.

Am I hallucinating too...

Just as I advance towards the picture frame resting on the table, the journal starts fluttering till it reaches the very last page.

"Back to the old methods?" I avert my attention from the frame and rest my palms on my hips as I glare at the journal; its yellowed pages create a sharp contrast against the maroonish table.

Henry's handwriting is there.

"It was the only way I could grasp your attention at that moment.
Also, it was a form of warning."

I roll my eyes and drop my head to the side at the journal, even though I know Henry can't see. When I focus back on the pages, new words have appeared:

"I can also see you, Lindsey. Must I now reprimand you on the etiquettes of body language?"

I put my hands up and shrug.

"The matters of your generation never cease to astound me.

"At least, your posture is quite better as compared to others of your age."

"All right..."

He really is my Great-Great Uncle, isn't he.

"Give her a break, Henry."

This time the handwriting isn't Henry's. The letters are of an average shape, as compared to Henry's small ones.

My eyebrows rise to my forehead, creating several ripples in it.
"Kathy, that's you. Right?"

"Yep. I didn't say anything before, so that I wouldn't blow my cover. Now you know, so I'm interrupting and making Henry sigh at my side."

"This is exactly why I only let you do more practical things.

"I presume you have already spoken to your maternal grandparents."