My Guardian Angel//Lams//Post Laurens Death

Chapter Four

John Laurens
Philip turned eight last week. It'd been three whole years since I told him my real name. Three years since I made him promise never to say my name in front of his father.

He didn't promise, though. He talks about me at least four time a month, but who's counting? Oh, right. Me. I've got nothing better to do.

The only thing I ever truly enjoy about being dead is watching Philip. He makes me smile and laugh and want to dance around the room without a care in the world.

"Zoom!" Philip says as he pushes a toy wooden carriage across the room to me. "He shoots... he scores! Ten for Philip the Player and three for John the Spirit."

I can't touch the toy, but I know how to move it. I grin.

"We'll see about that," I say slyly.

I blow gently on the wood and I feel a strong gust of wind push the carriage into Philip's 'goal'. The object of the game is simple: push the toy carriage into the goal and see how many scores we can make before Alex gets home.

"Oo, that brings John the Spirit up to six!" I exclaim.

"What?" Philip crosses his arms. "That's not how the game works. It's two points per goal, one point if you make it into the side."

"Yes, but you aren't technically nonexistent," I point out. "It counts as three points for me because I'm awesome and got this little toy carriage into the goal even though I can't touch it."

Philip rolls his dark eyes, but he's not really mad. "Fine. This one time that rule applies. But any other would be two points per goal."

I stick my tongue out at him and get ready to block the coming carriage. It comes towards my goal swiftly and quickly, but I make it to it first. I blow it off-course and send it into Philip's goal.

"Wohoo! Tie!" I say joyfully. "Off-course is worth one point!"

"Not so fast, voyou!" Philip protests, calling me a scallywag in French. "This eight-year-old has some tricks up his sleeves!"

Philip attempts to push the carriage through me, but I'm better than that. I stand up and let it crash into the wall. It doesn't break, but makes a little clank sound against the wall.

"Twelve for me!" I cheer. "Be careful who you're messing with, Philip!"

"A ghost?" Philip raises an eyebrow.

"Okay, yes, but a very courageous and re-sourceful ghost," I tell him. "Back in my day, toy carriages were toy soldiers instead, soldiers who raced towards the enemy on horseback!"

Philip seems intrigued now. "Tell me more."

I stop speaking and blink at the little boy God sent me to guard. At least, that's what I think happened. I'm not fully sure, but I can go where Philip goes only, unless it's important or someone is talking at my grave. I still vividly remember my funeral.

"About the toy soldiers riding horses?" I ask.

Philip nods eagerly. "Of course! What else? I wanna know where you can get them!"

I laugh. "I'm not sure if the artisan ones are even sold nowadays!"

"What? Please, I'm sure there are some original ones left," Philip tries. I look down at him, skeptical. "Please? I really wanna know."

I consider this. I guess it had to do with history or something. The history of toys, but still history. Maybe it'd save Eliza some time from homeschooling her son, but I prefer telling Philip stories of the Revolutionary days.