As I stare at the ghost in front of me, I begin to think that maybe I’ve been insane this whole time and it has all just now started to fall apart.
I stand just inside the door of my dorm, staring incredulously at the bloody figure across from me. Seconds ago, when I entered the room, I was greeted with them, alive, falling from what was apparently the roof. Something red on them flashed as they fell, then they promptly impaled themself on the roof of the shorter building that so graciously blocks my view of almost anything outside my window.
In the grand scheme of things, this was a few steps away from an average Thursday, so I had taken a deep breath, shut the door behind me, set my bag down on my desk, and prayed to some external force that for once, the dead person would go and haunt anyone else.
Alas, this is not that day. I’m halfway through the motions of pulling out my laptop when I catch a glimpse of blood out of the corner of my eye. As I turn to face it, the laptop makes a fairly loud noise falling on the table that I should probably be concerned about later.
Standing in front of my window is the person from before. They’re dressed in black, with long, braided black hair. The end of the braid fades into a pale blue that somehow reminds me of a flame, or a star.
Now that I unfortunately can see them face to face, I can tell what that flash had come from. Hanging from one ear is a teardrop-shaped ruby earring that looks like it’s glowing even now. Like their braid, it seems to burn, but while the hair’s fire had a distant chill and power to it, the ruby feels almost angry.
It occurs to me that this is a rather pointless train of thought to be having while the ghost has just appeared in front of me. They were probably just an average idiot who happened to fall out a dorm window and posthumously made it my problem.
I’ve tried the whole “resolving unfinished business” thing, and it’s mostly a myth, so I’ve had to do my own experiments to get ghosts to leave me alone over the years. Sometimes something weird will happen to a compass and it can point them to the proper entrance to the underw—
“Well, would you look at that? I’ve died,” said the ghost, who apparently had stood and waited several seconds before voicing anything. “That’s never happened before.”
That isn’t really a sentence that real people ever say, so I chalk it up to post-death shock and try to move on. “I understand this is a surprise, but you seem like you’re processing it decently well, so you probably shouldn’t stay here for long.” They won’t technically have to deal with any consequences, but I’ve had an essay due tomorrow for a week, so I need them out of my hair soon. I start digging around in my bag. “I have a compass… somewhere in here, it can give you directions—”
“That won’t be necessary, Tegan,” the ghost interjects. It’s always made me nervous that any ghost can just know my name, but combined with this one’s weirdly casual demeanor, something about it sets me on edge. Suddenly, I feel seven years old again, screaming for my mother as she stares at me like I’m a stranger. This time, though, I limit myself to just a shudder.
“Death and I have a long history,” they continue, “though I’ve never gotten the chance to do it myself.” They smile at me, and something churns in my stomach. “Until now, that is. Don't you worry, I’ll be on my way soon. I just need a favor from you, dear.”
Despite something deep within me screaming to run out of the building, leave the country, and never come back, I can’t seem to look away from this ghost. More specifically, their ruby earring. I stare into the gemstone, and I can almost see flames.
I force myself to snap out of it enough to form a response. “What kind of favor?”
“Oh, I thought you’d never ask,” they grin, clearly knowing I’d ask. “Do you see that watch over on the roof?”
I look over almost automatically and see what I somehow hadn’t noticed earlier. Hanging from the roof near the bloodstains was a pocket watch. I nod, eyes much wider than I’d like. “Go and grab it. Promise you’ll take care of it for me, and I’ll leave you be.”
Between the mesmerization and the dread that have been battling inside me this whole time, the dread takes over. “I—”
Their eyes almost burn for a moment. I blink and it’s gone. Must have been the trick of the light. “Come now, darling, you can promise me that one little thing, can’t you?”
The mesmerization takes the steering wheel back, leaving the dread to scream at it like the world’s worst backseat driver. Somewhere in all that, I say, “I promise.”
The sensation I’ve always hated takes over. Making a promise to a ghost is something you can’t turn back from, and what’s basically mind control is not a pleasant feeling.
“There we go, then.” The ghost grins, seems to burn, and is gone.
Marcy is a high school student and theater kid. In Which I Take "Gifted Kid" Far Too Literally is a WIP novel about ghosts, and the real horror: academic pressure.
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