The Journals of Henry Dawson

Chapter 2

*Henry*

I don't exactly know why I'm here.

"I mean I'm obviously dead so why am I still here in my house?" I spoke to no one in particular. Or maybe someone. God? Is this really the afterlife ?
I guess I can't complain too much. I get to keep my home and I can't feel anymore. I just don't understand why I'm trapped here. Or to be honest how I died. I was only 23 and to my knowledge I was perfectly healthy. Maybe I fell and hit my head in the shower ?

I wandered around the house trying to remember something as I have been doing for weeks when the door flew open. I quickly hid from view-- although I don't know why its not like she can see me. Wait she? Who is this girl? Why is she in my house?

I took a minute to look at her and see if I could remember who this girl was.
Long wavy chestnut brown hair cascading down her shoulders. Cream colored skin with a rosy pink tinge on her full cheeks from the cold air.
And round emerald green eyes that looked as if she could see right though me. No pun intended.

I was wrong about not being able to feel. I feel everything and yet nothing all at once. I feel slightly warm for the first time since my death. I step forward just as she smiles and takes a deep breath. Likes she concentrating really hard on something.

She quickly snapped out of it and started to bring in some boxes. They looked quite heavy and I wished that I could help her. I tried to follow her outside but yet again. I can't leave the house. Stupid death rule.

I frowned. Why does she have boxes ?
Then it hit me. She's moving in.
Someone sold my house. Who would have even been able to do that without my signature ? I didn't sign anything. I thought of Connor and how upset he is going be. His best friend is dead and now the property that means so much to me is sold.

I noticed that she seemed a little annoyed after looking through some boxes.

"Great. I can't believe I forgot my books." she looked really sad. Why can't she just go back and get them ?
She must have traveled far or something.

I remembered that I have some books in the attic I could give her but how can I tell her. I quietly made my way to the ladder and into the attic but I knocked over a broom and I could hear her gasp from downstairs.

Well that's one way I guess. I smiled triumphantly. I could hear her getting closer and suddenly her hand popped up and in it was a hairbrush. What?

"I have a hairbrush and I'm not afraid to use it." her voice squeaked.
She brought it as a weapon?
I was glad she couldn't see me because at the moment I was on the floor laughing uncontrollably. I honestly sounded something like a hyena but I can't help it. God she's so cute. I leaned backwards against the wall and heard a smash beneath me.
Crap.

I looked down and seen myself.
A picture my mom took of me at one of our family barbeques. I could feel the dull ache of the pain when I thought of them but then it fizzled away like it has been for the last few weeks. The only good thing about being dead. Then why do I feel so attracted no that's the wrong word, drawn to this young woman.

She was picking up the picture now and smiling at it. If my heart was beating it probably would have stopped when she mumbled that I was cute. She quickly set the picture and collected some books and started to leave but then she stopped and looked in the corner of the room.

I glanced where she was looking and seen my journal laying on the ground. How did that get up here ? I frowned walking over to it. I saw her eyebrows knit together as she read the first page.

Property of Henry Dawson.

I could see how intrigued she looked and at first I was extremely mortified that she was about to read my inner most thoughts, some of them weren't even thoughts they were just random things I wrote down about my day, but at the same time I want her to know. I want her to know me. As if she read my mind she clutched my journal to her chest and she ran downstairs.

30 minutes.
This woman has been sitting staring for 30 minutes. Just read the journal woman. Woman. I don't even know her know and she's about to know everything about me. I could tell she was a little hesitant so I reached out touched her hand hoping that she would feel reassured. I was a little shocked when she looked up suddenly. Did she actually feel me, I wondered. She was deep in the first page of my journal so I decided to try and figure out who she was while she was busy.

I found out- much to my liking- that she chose my room to be hers. Out of the two she chose mine instead of the guest room which is actually the master room. I smiled thinking how sweet this woman was. Giving up the best room so when she has guests they feel more comfortable. Or maybe, she is as drawn to me as I am her.
Stop, I told myself. You're dead.
I found her purse on the bed and quickly checked her wallet.

Greta Hall.
Greta. That name suit her so well.
She's 21 years old and she's living out here on her own. I wonder why. Perhaps for the peace and calm like I did. Or maybe just because she wanted to, Henry.

I glanced in the living room and seen her set my journal down with a huge smile on her face.

"Henry Dawson." she bit her lip as she spoke and I actually almost fell over.

"Greta Hall."

I hope you guys enjoyed this!
And no not every chapter will be the same scene in each perspective !
I just wanted y'all to see Henry pov of seeing her for the first time.
Its going to continue to change povs though.
Hit the vote button guys !!!
-E.S.