Guardian Ghost

Chapter 2: The guest overstaying his welcome

"I'm sorry, what?" I repeated again, more out of habit than an earnest mood to listen. Sitting cross-legged on my bed in my pink room with all of its normal features – a bookshelf crammed with novels, news magazines, and trinkets; a closet stuffed full of charming, but not overly indulgent, clothes and a cabinet holding the rest that didn't fit into said closet; a queen-sized bed with a down plumage blanket – just made what my guest was asserting sound all the more crazy. As a matter of fact, I didn't want to hear what he had to say. It went against scientific laws which I, as a sensible student, understood and believed in.

My guest being the ranting "ghost" I had apparently "freed" by pulling a dagger out of his chest. He had followed me home in tip-top shape, without any complaints, and was now lounging around inside of my room, spouting on and on that a terrible future was to befall me unless I heeded his ageless "wisdom". Presently, he looked more at home than I did, arms pillowing his head and legs dangling over the edge of my bed. He stared up at me with dark and earnest eyes as his mouth continued recounting his story.

But come on, let's face it, who would believe something like that?

"Are you listening?" His patience was waning. It showed in his agitated blinking and tense arms. I supposed my disbelief was also showing clearly on my face. "If we don't work together then I don't get to leave purgatory and you die."

"Look, I'm interested in how you did that whole 'stabbed' act, but I wish you would leave me alone. I only invited–"

"Insisted."

"Fine, insisted that you come back with me so that I could make sure you were okay. Now that I know the whole thing was a fraud, I want you to leave. I've got homework to do and my parents will be home any second. Not to mention my brothers are already home and me being in my room alone is super sketch behaviour. You look about my age and you seem harmless enough, so I'm not going to call the police on you, but I'm asking you politely to get out."

He sighed, shaking his black hair to the side. "You're completely missing the point."

"What are you talking about? I got that you were crazy." My sarcasm and sass were lost on him. He seemed to be deep in thought. Taking advantage of his daze, I leaned over and pulled up his shirt one last time, just to make sure I wasn't letting someone fatally injured out of my house without any treatment. He didn't react as I glared hard at his flawless skin and lean upper-body, where there wasn't even a single hair. "Turn around," I said, when what I really wanted to ask was if he shaved his chest. His back was fine as well—in both senses. "You look completely fine to me." I sighed. "Though I think you'll have to something about your clothes." Whereas his person was spotless, his shirt definitely wasn't. There was a huge gaping hole lined with dried blood on both the front and back—the only proof that a dagger had been impaled in him only minutes earlier. Shivering at the thought, I dropped the once pine-green shirt, letting it float back down to cover his body.

My remark about clothing seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. "I don't need new clothes," he scoffed. "What I need is for you to believe me."

"Yeah, yeah." I was busy wracking my brain for clothing possibilities. I could probably steal something from my big bro. It's not he keeps track of all his clothing with a passion... I eyed my guest who was overstaying his welcome and decided that the two boys appeared to be around the same size. Meaning, in layman's terms, that they were both nearing a meter eighty in height. So almost a complete head taller than me...

Meanwhile, the so-called ghost seemed to have a eureka moment. "What if I proved that I was a ghost?" He sounded serious, but that wasn't about to convince me.

"Like, I can touch you." I poked him on the arm. "Which means a) you're not a ghost and b) I can drag your butt out of here if I want to. Now take some breaths for me." I went to place my hands by his sides—a task rendered difficult because of our relative positions. He noticed and sat up temporarily so that I could check his breathing before falling back down with the grace of a lazy teen.

"I really can prove it." It seemed the only thing he could persevere in was trying to convince me of his crazy story. I maintained my expression showing that I was unconvinced. "No, really. Here, let me show you my gratitude for pulling that knife out." Without allowing me time to object, he flipped over on his front and crawled to the window of my bedroom (creaking my bed which was lined up right against the same far wall). I watched with unconcealed boredom as his fingers lazily brushed the glass...

Before going right through it!

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, crawling to his side for a closer look. "How are you doing it?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he proceeded to extend his full arm out of the window. Now that his arm was outside, he lunged a bit farther and grabbed a handful of leaves resting on the rooftop. For the finishing touch, he pulled the crinkling leaves inside through the glass and let them drop in the palm of my hand. "For you, my fair lady." He even did a mock bow that went as low as his kneeling position would allow.

While I had been impressed by the trick, I bristled at the sarcasm. "That was cool but it doesn't prove anything. I saw a magician on TV once and"—I heard someone ring the doorbell—"and now my parents are home, so you're leaving!"

I neglected to slip on my indoor slippers and practically flew down the stairs to wave at my parents at the doorway. The "ghost" followed me down and stood in front of my parents, at my side, smiling smugly. I couldn't fathom why, though it did strike me that my parents were surprisingly calm considering the bloodstain and the total stranger. But I didn't let it get to me; I stalked to the entryway with my guest at my heels. My parents were focused on taking their shoes off, shrugging off jackets and bags, and washing their hands.

When they had finally focused their attention on me, the first question asked was: "Yuelian, have you finished your homework? Usually you have your brothers get the door." I frowned, having expected something like "what happened?" or "who's that?"

"I'm in the middle of it," I answered, shooting the boy a look. Was this some kind of joke? Had he planned something in advance with them? I don't know if that makes me more or less worried...

"I assume you washed the dished from this morning?" Dad added.

"About that..." I grinned sheepishly. "I was in a rush... I'll do them now."

Silence. Still, no one mentioned the silent yet smug boy next to me.

"Um, Dad," I began, trying to bring the elephant in the room to light, just as my father headed towards the living room from the entryway...

Passing right through the boy.

I blanched, rubbing my eyes. Was I seeing things? Then my mother did the same without batting an eye. I felt my legs go weak. What was going on? Why weren't they reacting? "Mom, Dad, are you not seeing this?" My parents turned around and watched as I gestured to where my guest was standing, unattended to.

Though that's not the biggest thing wrong with this meeting now...!

"Seeing what?" Dad asked.

My mother squinted at me hard before realizing: "Oh, Yuelian. Did you get taller? Ah, Qun, why don't we measure her?"

"We just did that yesterday." My father appraised me as well, unaware of the growing dread building up within me. "You do seem a bit taller. But it might just be the floorboards. Or the hair. I think her hair is just messier today."

"Is that it?" My mother seemed disappointed.

"Um, no, Mom, Dad, that's not what I'm talking about at all—" Before I could get another word in edgewise, my two brothers bounded up from downstairs to say their greetings. Both of them also completely ignored the stranger beside me as they began talking about their school day to my parents.

And so, my ghostly guest turned to me as I stood there, mouth agape, and pointed upwards, mouthing: "Let's talk."

"Oh, we'll talk alright, and you better have answers," I spluttered under my breath, rushing upstairs. He followed close behind, his steps hardly making a sound on the hardwood floor.

Almost as if he wasn't there at all.