Casper

Not Just a Ghost Story

It was frigid outside, inside, and all around. The tree branches that scratched and scraped against the dusty window pane left behind a distinctive noise that simulated something similar to pencil tapping. It was so vexatious; that sound which seemed to repeat over and over in his head—like a broken record. Even when standing outside of his house he could hear it. He'd sworn that it was a curse, because he could hear it no matter where he went.

If he plugged his ears, he'd hear it. If he cut off his ears, he'd hear it. The noise wasn't real. It wasn't something that would go away. It would start. End. Then repeat. Then repeat again. This sound, this annoying, incessant sound was all in his head.

Instinctively, the young boy who was no older than twelve, starred down at his hands. He couldn't feel them. Not really. But he was in pain nonetheless. It was the memory of which perpetrated his physical state of being. The memory of how his hands were swollen and red. Red, like a cherry sucker from the candy store. However, his finger tips had turned pale, almost blue tinted. If they hadn't hurt so badly, he would have thought that the ombré tones were neat. Unfortunately, the icy breeze which bit and kissed his flesh was anything but neat.

Snow flakes laid atop his head, soaking his brown, mossy hair as he trembled in anticipation. Inside. It was safe inside. If only he could just walk inside...

Casper could feel the familiar waves of fear that washed over him like a tsunami. His heart didn't pound in his chest. It didn't beat rapidly against his rib cage to the point where he thought he would pass out, because there was no heart inside of his chest to beat. But he felt it. He felt all of it. Every emotion, every ache, every painstakingly slow second that passed...he felt it. It was like he was living in real time, even though he wasn't.

Casper's feet were glued to the ground. He should have been able to walk. He should have been able to move or at least do something except stand there like an idiot.

But he couldn't. There was this unexplainable force that kept him in place like a magnet that clung to a refrigerator. He was supposed to be there. It was his fate. His destiny.

There was a rustling in the forest and brush that made his mouth go dry and his arms fall slack.

"What are you doing out here, little boy?" The taunting voice that repetitively haunted his thoughts had finally returned to stake its claim on him.

"Dad's not home. I heard a noise. I came outside to look, but then the door locked behind me." The words poured out of his mouth quicker than he could think. They were instinctive—practiced. Almost like he had said them time and time before.

"Would you like to come with me? I have a warm car and some candy waiting with your name on it. I was going to give it to my daughter. However, I think she'd understand..." It was a creature with no face or no name. It was inhuman and held no emotions. This creature...no this demon cultivated the atmosphere around it. It twisted the energy into something dark and paralyzing. Casper didn't know how else to explain it other than this feeling of relentless fear that gnawed at his chest like a vicious animal.

Everything in his gut told him to say no. This faceless creature which began to take the form of a human male, had nothing but ill intentions toward him and his family. The familiarity of his features was unsettling in his stomach. The name was on the tip of his tongue, but he could not identify who the demon was replicating before his eyes, his terror filled eyes. The evil smirk of the demon was almost as incessantly haunting as the continual tapping of the tree branch.

"I don't think that's a good idea. My dad will be home soon..."

"Come on! Your cousin would love to see you," it whispered in his ear. There was no warmth behind those words. Just cold hearted malice.

That was when it hit him.

"No she wouldn't. She is dead. She died in a fire. You killed her!"

"You should have said yes!" The demonic voice growled in his ear making an animalistic noise that resembled a dog or a wolf.

A searing pain erupted in his lower abdomen as something sharp and blade like was thrusted into him. The twisting of the pointed object stirred up his insides, turning them into slop. He then yanked the object out, his blood splattering across the demon's face as it painted Casper's favorite shirt a new color. Then, rammed it back in as if he were trying to spear a fish.

Casper dropped to the ground, face first as his own blood pooled around him. His eyes were wide open revealing the fear that he had in the moments before his death. Whoever would find his mutilated corpse was sure to experience a surprise when they saw the gaping hole in his body where his intestines used to be.

The endless tapping had finally diminished as he gurgled on the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The evil smirk no longer imprinted his mind, and in a sick and sadistic way, he'd felt relieved. Not relieved to be dead, relieved to face the light instead of the darkness that had plagued him and his family like a disease.

The last thing Casper remembered seeing was the gigantic dragon tattoo that snaked up the assailant's skeletal arms. Only one person had this tattoo and it was his uncle. The betrayal was bitter on his tongue, but in the end would turn sweet. Even in his twelve year old mind, the demonic creature from hell that took form in his uncle had won this battle—a battle that he'd only ever read about in ghost stories from the library.