Ghost of You

“Tom?”

My eyes fluttered open at the sound of my name. I winced at the light. “Sarah?” I muttered, a yawn forcing out after I had said her name, “what's wrong?”

Sarah nervously played with her hands. “I had a bad dream, Tomi.”

“You, too?” I asked, sitting up, the comforter falling from around my shoulders. I squinted my eyes. “What time is it?”

“Early. Daddy already went to work and Mommy will be up soon.”

Sarah held out her tiny hand towards the bed, her fingers motioning for me to take it. Sighing, I grabbed her hand and stumbled out of bed, not even realizing where we were headed.



Sarah pushed open the door to the study. “Are we allowed to be in here?” I whispered, craning my neck to look down the hall for Georg or Mrs. Listing.

Sarah nodded her head, grabbing my wrist and pulling me through the door. I looked around at the familiar place. Everything seemed so serious. The bookcases oozed knowledge. The couches screamed expensive. The desktop computer hissed “for display ONLY”. I was afraid to touch anything.

Sarah was prowling through the bookcases, her finger trailing down the many spines. “Here,” she said, grabbing at one of the books and dragging it out, letting it drop down onto one of the couches, hopping over the back of the couch and down onto the cushions.

“Be careful,” I hissed, the door squeaking as I pushed it shut, going over to sit on the couch.

Sarah was flipping through the pages, pictures flashing by. It was a photo album. “There. That's him.”

Sarah's small finger pointed to one of the darkened photos. I grabbed the album and dragged it into my lap, staring.

“I knew he was evil from the moment we met him. He had that dark glow around him.” She shuddered. “He was odd, talking in rhymes and riddles and never made any sense at all.”

I squinted at the photo, turning the album this way and that, but the person in the photo standing with the Listings was too dark to make out.

“Do you have a better photo, Sarah?” I mumbled. “This one is too hard to see.”

“Sure,” she squealed, flipping through more and more pages. This time, she didn't have to point. My eyes automatically rested on the gleaming face. “S-Sarah,” I whispered, “how do you know him?”

I turned my head to look at the child next to me. Her expression seemed giddy.

“We went to a carnival once. None of us except Georg wanted to go, he said it looked “cool”. But it wasn't, Tomi! It wasn't! It was scary. Everyone had these odd colors surrounding them, and then there was him... he was the scariest of them all. His color blended with the sky. He insisted on taking a photo with us, he said I'd want to always remember this place.”

“Your dream,” I said quickly, “tell me about your dream.”

Sarah shrugged, looking down and playing with her hands again. She let out a slow breath, straightened her shoulders, and looked back up at me. “He was reaching out of that photo for me, Tomi! And I was afraid he would grab me, but I couldn't move, so he just kept reaching for me!”

I kept opening and closing my mouth. I didn't know what to say. “Sarah,” I started weakly. I closed my eyes and sighed, opening them back up again. “It was just a dream,” I said firmly.

Sarah's mouth grew into a tight frown. “Liar!” she screamed.

I shut the photo album and placed it beside me.

“You're a liar! You have that same color as before!”

“Color? What color? There is no color. You have a very good imagination, Sarah, but you really ought to learn when enough is enough.”

A tear escaped down Sarah's cheek. She hurried from the couch and out of the study, the door swinging shut behind her. I quickly flipped the album back open, gripping the photo and tearing it from the page. I shut the album and crumpled the photo in my fist, scurrying into the hall.

“Tom!” Georg called from the end of the hall.

I dashed into my bedroom as he came running down the hall, throwing my back against the door. His fist beat against the wood.

“Tom!” he called again, his voice seeping through the door.

“Whatever you're doing up there, knock it off!” came Mrs. Listing's voice. “Now get dressed and be down for breakfast.”

“Mommy!” Sarah's voice fled through the hall.

“UGH!” I screamed, banging both fists against the door.

I tossed the photo to the ground, letting out a huffed breath. I went over to the wardrobe, dragging out a pair of baggy blue jeans and a black “Pink Floyd” teeshirt, topping it off with one of my black-and-white Zoo York caps.

“Tom,” Mrs. Listing said, the door swinging in. I quickly bent down and picked up the photo, stuffing it into my pocket. “What's that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing curiously.

“Oh, just a song I wrote. Kinda got mad though and crumpled it up.” I shrugged. “It's all good.”

Mrs. Listing pressed her lips together. “It's breakfast time,” she muttered, turning to leave.

I followed after her into the hall.

“Hey, Mom,” Georg called, running up beside us, “will you drop us off at Crimson's?”

Mrs. Listing sighed as she started to descend the steps, turning back to look at her son. “Fine, sure, whatever, after breakfast.”

Georg cracked me a smile as he pushed by me, heading down the steps.



I gathered the dishes from the table, carrying them over to where Mrs. Listing was washing the dishes.

“I don't know what you could've possibly done to Sarah,” she began, scrubbing at the glass plate.

I set the silverware down next to the cups. “I simply told her that her nightmare wasn't real, and she called me a liar.”

Mrs. Listing started shaking her head back and forth.

“Who's Crimson?” I asked, dropping some of the plates into the soapy water of the sink.

“Oh, she's... odd, to say the least.” Mrs. Listing frowned. “She's a so-called fortune teller that lives a few blocks from the outside of the development here. Sarah and Georg go and visit her every now and again. I never fancied her.”

“Do you believe in that stuff?” I asked, picking up the sponge from the side of the sink.

Mrs. Listing shook her head and sighed. “Me? No. Drew? Yes. I think it's beginning to rub off on Sarah, myself.”

“Mr. Listing believes in spirits and all?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Listing said, cracking a smile. “He always believed in that mumbo-jumbo paranormal-spirtual stuff. His quack uncle was obsessed with those types of things. Always holed up in his apartment, giving tarot card readings, telling fortunes, watching for aliens, ghost hunting.”

“What happened to him?” I asked as she shut off the water.

She turned to me, smiling. “He died. Left most of his crap to Drew. I refused to let it in our house, so now it sits in the basement in boxes. I do have a reputation to maintain.” She smiled again. “Now, go get your shoes. C'mon, hurry up.”

I nodded as I headed for the stairs, pausing halfway up. I dug deep into my pocket, retrieving the photo. I stared as the carnie stared back.