Winter Wakes

You realize you may have problems when a sadist ghost manages to make you feel guilty. I mean, he’s not an asshole just to be one, I don’t think. He’s dead, and clearly not happy about it. While that really isn’t a good enough reason to go violent, I can see where the negative emotions come from. Then again by way of the same thought process he should see a reason I would be upset with him being around and his actions. Of course, that as well is not a very good reason for me to constantly point out that he is in fact dead. He’s not breathing, he walks through walls, no one but me can see him, and he watched as his own casket was covered with five feet of dirt; he must have gotten the picture somewhere in that.

For now I sat on my bed, decked out in full bedtime attire as I toyed with my laptop. Let me add that it’s 2:30 in the morning; usually I would be asleep. The truth of the matter would probably get me more than my fair share of incredulous stares. Simon still hadn’t returned, and that had been mid afternoon when he had vanished. I was wondering where he was, and waiting to apologize. Yes, aforementioned guilt was getting me that bad. Part of my mind was questioning such an action, when I was the one who bore physical signs of harm, not him. I pulled at the sleeves of my hoodie, trying to keep my wrists covered. It’s a good thing it was too cold for anything but long sleeves.

I wasn’t quite honest when I said previously I was toying with my laptop; I was googling. I pretended I was “toying” but really, I was trying to find information on my ghost problem on the TOTALLY reliable internet. Because everyone knows it’s never wrong. Never.

One website in particular was kind of pissing me off. Alright, it made sense he was here because he refused to move on because he was upset or unfulfilled, I get that. But the ‘mostly harmless’ part felt like complete bullshit. Tell that to my wrists. This wasn’t Casper.

Something along the lines of a growl escaped my throat as I slammed my laptop shut. I shouldn’t still be up, so I decided to concede to defeat and sleep. I placed my laptop on my bedside table before turning the lamp off and crawling into my sheets.

Dozing off started shortly after my head hit the pillow. My thoughts began to mesh and meld; the outlines of the trees’ shadows’ on the walls blurred and faded into black as my eyelids finally drifted shut.

“Maggie?”

“Mmm?”

“What’s your full name?”

Dreams always had the strangest questions, but in sleep they made sense.

“Magnolia Christine Walton,” I mumbled.

Someone chuckled, “Your birthday?”

“January 1st, 1990.”

“Huh, really?”

“Mhm.” I strangely felt my alertness slipping, in a dream.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Needles... planes… emus…Si...mon…”

“Simon, huh?”

“Mmm,” I snuggled deeper into the warm comforter of my dreams.

“Why are you afraid of him?”

“Because he’s… Violent… He can hurt me but I… Can’t hurt him…It’s... Not fair…”

“And because he’s dead, right?” The anger in the voice was strong enough to leak through.

I curled up tighter into a ball; some kind of draft chilled me.

“No…That just makes me… Sad…”

“…Goodnight then, Maggie.”

***

“…Aggie…”

I groaned, digging myself deeper into the nest of pillows and sheets.

“Maggie?”

“Hm?” I replied, refusing to roll over.

“I made breakfast. It’s on the counter in the kitchen. But I’ve got a meeting with some clients this morning so I have to go,” My father’s voice pulled me further into consciousness.

“Waffles?” I inquired, turning my head slightly.

“Yes, waffles. Now I have to go. I love you,” he replied with retreating footsteps.

“Love you too.”

I listened to the stairs creak, and then to the front door slam. Even the dull sound of his engine could be heard from here.

“Waffles?” A voice mimicked across the room. Shit. He was back. A mixture of relief and panic washed over me as I realized Simon Dreyton was still haunting me.

Hesitantly, I rolled over and pushed myself into a sitting position. And there he was sitting in the window seat with a book lying open before him, his chin resting on his balled fist.

Those beautiful yet horrifying eyes were luckily fixated on said book, not me.

My own eye twitched, “You’re back.”

His gaze shifted slowly up to settle on me. He frowned slightly.

“Please, don’t sound so enthusiastic.”

“But you look so pleased to see me,” I retorted with a fake smile. At this rate, I say forget apologizing. A loud sound called from my stomach; apparently it agrees. “Food. I’m going downstairs Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

I hopped up off my bed, pulling the top of my plaid pants down around my hips as they’d ridden up during the night. The hardwood floor was cold on my bare feet.

“Enjoy yourself, Magnolia.”

I stopped halfway out of the door, turning slightly to look at the somewhat-transparent boy sitting in the window, “What did you just say?”

He looked up, slightly bemused, “That is your name isn’t it?”

“How did you find that out?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“You told me.” He replied simply, looking back down at his book.

“I did not—“I caught myself. “Oh.”

“Magnolia, what kind of name is that anyways?”

My hand clenched around the door knob, “That was my mother’s favorite flower.”

Perhaps it was the anger, or perhaps the coldness in my tone I’d never used before on him, but Simon looked up, startled. My name was very deeply tied to my late mother; my mother whom I had loved very dearly. Even when she died, even at her funeral, I didn’t cry. I had never cried over her death. Her body in the coffin didn’t faze me, only because I had already witnessed the sight so many times. Just because I didn’t break down or cry, did not mean I didn’t care. It had been, and still was, a hollow pain. The day she’d died I lost something inside of me, something that had not returned, nor did I imagine it would ever. Simon had struck a cord in me with his comment about my name.

I didn’t say anything as I gave him a hate-filled glance before exiting my room. Any and all thoughts of apologizing for repeatedly pointing out the fact he was dead were gone now. He didn’t deserve such.

I found myself unable to eat over half a waffle as I sat at the kitchen table, pushing the piece
I’d torn off around my syrup laden plate. I had never met anyone as able as he was to destroy my mood. I let my fork onto my plate; it tinged against the ceramic. With a heavy sigh I dropped my head onto the wooden table; the gaping hole in my chest I had managed to suppress until now ached slightly. He only brought misery.

I jumped in surprise as something clattered next to me on the table. I looked down slightly dazed at my cell phone.

“It’s been going off nonstop the past ten minutes. Please shut it up or turn it off or something.”

I glanced up at Simon; he stood cross armed beside the table clearly trying to avoid eye-contact. I looked down at my phone before gingerly picking it up. Was this his form of a peace offering?

“Um, thanks. I guess,” I muttered, flipping it open. I gasped. “Ahh shit! I forgot!”

I quickly stood up, running from the table and leaving the half eaten, syrup soaked waffle sitting on the table. I took the stairs two at a time as I tore into my room hastily jerking through my closet.

“Who lit a fire under your ass?”

I ignored Simon for the moment, opting to try to find an at least half way decent shirt for the chilly weather outside. Big mistake. The black and white striped sweater I’d been examining was suddenly tightly wrapped around my throat. Part of me said I should have seen that one coming. Since I couldn’t touch him there was no way I could tap out, my airway restriction made it impossible to get anything out.

To my good fortune after about twenty-five seconds (although it seemed longer) my lungs were freed to inhale oxygen. I coughed, rubbing my throat as I leaned against the archway of my closet for support.

“Would you,” I coughed a little. “Please STOP doing that?”

I looked over my right shoulder to see him watching me impatiently, a pale blonde eyebrow raised slightly. Oh. He wanted an answer. Great way to get it.

“It was Darren, we’re supposed to hang out today and I forgot,” I snapped, snatching the shirt from his somewhat transparent hands. “Now excuse me while I go get ready.”

I stomped off to the bathroom, slamming the door forcefully behind me. Things didn’t seem like they were going to change with him; at all.