One World Away

I had the strangest dream, one that took place in my own room while I conversed with a ghost, a ghost named Brian. He was someone I knew vaguely, had seen before, and I was aware that he wasn't supposed to be with me, but I somehow calmed down and let him stay. It had all seemed so real, and I stayed in bed for quite some time, thinking about it and recalling everything we talked about.

On most mornings when I had questionable dreams, I could ponder it for a moment, then I would know for sure that it was all just figments of my imagination. However, I still couldn't quite differentiate between reality and what was just part of my subconscious mind when it came to this one.

Sighing, I sat up and stretched before wiping my eyes. The room lights were still on, which confused me to no end, but I eventually got out of bed and walked into my bathroom to start off my day and go about my morning routines. There was a somewhat unpleasant feeling rooted right in my gut, and upon flipping the switch that brightened up the room, I knew exactly why.

My eyes went wide, and my jaw dropped open as soon as I saw my foggy mirror. That alone was strange enough, considering it was the beginning of September and not even chilly outside, but that was nothing compared to the message. Written in quite impressive cursive, obviously by a single finger, was, I will return shortly. Despite the shortness in length, it was enough to make my skin crawl.

I had a total of two thoughts as I scanned it over and over again. The first was, So, that really did happen, though a little part of me still couldn't believe it. The second was, How in the world did he fog up my mirror, write on it, and make sure it stayed that way? He had to have been more than a ghost. He had to be flat out magic.

Brian Haner, Jr. had really been in my room, or his room, and he had actually sat and talked with me until I fell asleep. It was unbelievable, improbable, incredible. Perhaps, the most surprising part of it all, however, was that while gaping at his presence, I had never once screamed, fainted, or wet my pants, which was pretty impressive.

I couldn't wrap my mind around it. He was a ghost. He ceased to live. He wasn't supposed to be left in this world, yet here he was. The man had lived during the romantic era, had been around for so many historical events, I couldn't even count them using both hands. It just wasn't possible.

The first time I saw him, when I was still a little girl, I had known that there was something strange about him, something off. The way he held himself and spoke had confused me, and when he basically disappeared into thin air, I was baffled. It all made sense now, though, or as much sense as it would ever make.

I was probably insane. Something must have happened to trigger a mental breakdown, and I was losing my mind, dreaming up ghosts, and hallucinating. There was no other explanation.

But, that writing on my mirror was very convincing.

I stared at it for what felt like hours before shaking my head and wiping it clean. Maybe I had been sleepwalking and did it myself. That somnambulism could be a tricky little monster. The only thing that I could really do was wait for Brian to return. I knew that under no circumstances could I tell anyone about him, not until I was sure he still existed, at least. I knew that nobody would believe me, mostly because not even I believed myself.

~

Abbeline came over with her boyfriend, Trevor, at around two in the afternoon, much to my mother's displeasure. My stepdad was at work, leaving her in the company of the three maids and our gardener. My friends and I just stayed upstairs in the game room, doing our best to stay out of her hair.

My mother wasn't the most desirable person to be around. She was strict, she was arrogant, and she had the most piercing cackle that seemed to echo for days after it sounded.

My stepfather, on the other hand, was the complete opposite... when she wasn't around. All in all, Nicholas was a nice guy. He was laid back and pretty modest for a man of his wealth, and he knew his boundaries, what was okay to talk about with me and what wasn't. When Mom was around, he put on this mask of rules and expectations, and as annoying as it was, I was sort of okay with it because I knew he only did it to make her happy. She just expected him to put his foot down like her, so he did. Had he become my father later in life, I probably would have hated him, but the man had practically raised me, and I had the utmost respect for him.

They may have been an odd match, may have been adamant about me seeing a ridiculous therapist, and may have been a little more distant than most parents, but they were pretty easy to live with for the most part, and they weren't as bad as most made them out to seem.

That didn't stop my friends from hating them, though.

"Does your mom always have a wine glass in hand? I swear to Christ, every time I've seen the woman, she's sipping from one."

I laughed at Trevor as he took steady aim at the cue ball on the pool table, judging the distances as he slid the stick through his index and middle fingers a couple of times. Just when he finally pulled back a bit and prepared to take the shot, his girlfriend walked past him, poking the lanky boy right in the ribs and making him miss his target drastically.

A few swear words slipped from his frowning mouth, and he dragged a hand through his black hair, deciding that it was best if he stopped trying to play the game with all of the distractions that surrounded him.

"Yeah, pretty much," I answered. "I'm pretty sure that if she could have a glass surgically attached to her hand for convenience, she'd do it."

Abbeline laughed and nodded in agreement. "That's unhealthy, but damn, she's the classiest lady I know."

I shrugged and sat down on the leather couch that was positioned in front of the three unnecessary HD televisions. Below them were several DVD players and sound systems that I hardly knew how to manage. Shelves full of movies and TV series bordered the entertainment system, cases that had never even been opened sitting dustless in the cabinets that one of the maids cleaned every week or so.

"I guess you could call it that. Most people would just say she was a snob, though, which she kind of is." I had no problem admitting my family's shortcomings.

The couple stared at me in silence, apparently surprised by my bluntness. They could blame that little trait of mine on the woman who our short conversation had centered around.

"Right, well, let's go to the theatre room," the raven haired boy piped up. "I'm in the mood to watch Stepbrothers on the big screen."

A large smile broke out on the face of the green eyed girl beside him, and she raised her hand slowly.

"I second that."

I could only nod and lead the way.

~

I heard him before I saw him.

He greeted me in his strange, smooth voice, "Good evening," and was suddenly sitting in the chair next to me.

I nearly jumped out of my skin and put a hand over my racing heart. "Jesus, you scared me," I whispered, hearing Trevor and Abbeline laugh at something in the movie.

"I'm very sorry," Brian apologized. "That wasn't my intention." I only nodded and crossed my legs. "What exactly is this?" He motioned at the giant screen in front of us. He sounded genuinely confused, and for a moment, I could only stare at him. He was so old, not physically, because just going by appearance, he looked to be in his mid- twenties, but his mind and soul were aged two hundred years.

"It's a movie, a motion picture," I answered him. His expression didn't change to that of understanding. "Um, were you around for the first photograph?"

He shook his head. "I died in 1813."

"Right," I nodded, finding talking about the death of the man sitting and talking with me a little weird. "Well, it's like a painting, only it looks a little more real, I guess."

He furrowed his brow and thought. "Then, a motion picture would just be photographs-..."

"In motion," I finished for him, still speaking in a hushed voice. "They use video cameras to make these."

A harsh kick to the back of my chair reminded me that my friends had working ears, despite all of the loud music that they listened to. "Who are you talking to, dude?" Abbeline called out.

I sunk down in the large leather seat, a small flashback of that Strutford Ball so long ago spreading through my mind, only instead of answering truthfully, I simply said, "I'm not talking to anyone," then turning to Brian, I just barely uttered, "They can't see you, can they?"

He shook his head, "Nor can they hear me."

I nodded and pulled a leg up against my chest. "Well, that's lovely."

He chuckled softly and crossed an ankle over his knee. "No need to fret. Your sanity is in tact."

"Then why am I the only one who can, you know, sense your presence?" I questioned him, wide eyed. It was dark in the room, but I could see him perfectly, outdated clothing and all.

There I was, conversing with a ghost again, and it was no easier to believe the second time around.

"Because I've made it that way," he informed me, smiling sweetly, though my confusion wasn't swept away by any means.

"Leigha, stop talking to the voices in your head," Abbeline whined, making her boyfriend chuckle.

I rolled my eyes and stayed silent for a little while, watching the movie and glancing over at the man next to me only to find that he was still a little taken aback by the whole motion picture thing. Leaning over, I quietly said, "I'll show you how it all works later, 'kay?"

He grinned widely, then sat back and observed the story that was being played out for him, his expression changing every so often.

It was weird to think that this was the first movie he had ever seen (and, it probably wasn't the best). It was just something that was part of my daily life, sitting in my unnecessary home theatre, plush chairs, surround sound, wall sized screen, the whole sha- bang, but it was something that Brian had never had the luxury of partaking in. His entertainment was reading and studying and writing with quill pens.

That may have been a bit of a stereotype, but I couldn't have been too far off.