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The Ghost That Haunts Me (standard:horror, 937 words)
Author: Jason AndersonAdded: Nov 21 2001Views/Reads: 2279/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is in the narration of a boy who is haunted by a ghost...his own!
 



The Ghost That Haunts Me Nov. 14,í01 Today was bad. Very bad. It rained
most of the day, and it was still raining when I came home from school. 
I threw my books-U.S. History and my tenth grade English workbook with 
a new letter from Katie that I hadnít read yet-on the bed. I went into 
the bathroom, and staring back at me from the mirror over the sink, I 
saw that ghost again. When I realized whose it was, I wanted to scream. 
Mine... I must be crazy. Iíve played it over and over in my mind and- 
Dear God, is this what itís like to be crazy? Nov. 15,í01 I took the 
first step necessary. I broke up with Katie today. Did it over the 
phone, as a matter of fact, because I was too chicken shit to do it 
face to face. She cried a little. She wanted to know what had went 
wrong, and I couldnít tell her what had been racing through my head at 
that moment. So finally I just did the only thing I could. I hung up on 
her. Damn. I think Iím going to go cut now. (later) Momís been telling 
me Iíve changed. That may be true. I had been reading a book I had 
gotten from the library-Exploring the Unknown-sitting on the edge of 
the couch by the lampís light. Her favorite show was on, Cops, but by 
the next commercial break, I could see she had lost all interest. 
ďGary, is there something wrong?Ē I marked my page and laid it down 
beside me. I asked her what she talking about, but I knew even before 
she answered me. She sighed ruefully. ďWell, for starters, it seems 
Katie has dropped off the face of the earth and you donít seem to 
care-ĒLike salt to an open wound.-Ēand itís Friday and youíre sitting 
here with your nose in that damn book. Youíve become quieter and youíre 
grades have been slipping. I got a note from your Science teacher and 
she says sheís worried about you. So again, I ask you: What is wrong?Ē 
I shrugged. I braced myself for a lecture-it seems mothers always have 
an abundance of those-but every word that came out of her mouth might 
as well have been alien talk. I went to bed at nine and that is where I 
am now. Goodnight. Sleep tight. Donít let the bed bugs bite. ha-ha. 
Nov. 16,í01 I saw him again today. Period six, study hall. He was 
standing in the doorway, wearing the same pair of black jeans and black 
T-shirt as I wore...but he was bleeding from a small cut on his 
forehead and clutching something metallic in his hands. Bobby Stevens 
was the closest to him. He was playing a game of tic-tac-toe on a sheet 
of tattered paper with a pimply, scrawny kid named Eddie Brantigan and 
they were both laughing. I was at the table in the back of the room. I 
couldnít move. I felt drained and weak. I watched as he slowly put one 
hand over Bobbyís head and with the other, he revealed what he held. A 
bloodstained meat clever. I screamed and immediately every eye in that 
room was on me. Even Bobby, looking at me with a dumbfounded expression 
that made me want to get up and kick his ass. I went red and hid my 
face behind my Math book. But I was relieved to see from out of the 
corner of eye, he was gone. And I couldnít stop from trembling. I 
looked around one final time and the bawls in my stomach began to 
loosen. Cressner clasped me on the shoulder. I jumped. ďBoy, you need 
to get a grip. Yupe. Youíre like a long tailed cat in a room full of 
rocking chairs. Yupe.Ē He looked at the cover of Exploring the Unknown, 
and said with a point of his finger: ďAnd thatís your problem right 
there.Ē I wanted to ask that little fat bastard who in the hell gave 
him permission to stick his two cents in, but I fought it back. Barely. 
Nov. 17,í01 Itís Saturday. Six oíclock on the dot. Mom is at the 
grocery store. Itís dark outside and i am beginning to worry. Thereís 
nothing to watch on the TV---nothing but college football and a movie 
starring Demi Moore and Tom Cruise----so I will write. Itíll pass the 
time anyway. I had a dream last night, if you can dig that. I very 
seldom dream. I canít remember much and what I do has since become 
fuzzy and gray. Maybe thatís a blessing in disguise, Iím not sure. In 
the dream, Bobby Stevensís head was splitting in two, right down the 
middle. The blood, which seemed to be a lot, though I donít quite know) 
was crawling with roaches and beetles. There was a muffled sound of 
chainsaws and---- I woke up screaming and panting. I was sweaty and at 
that moment, I thought my heart would burst out of my chest, it was 
that hard. Weird, huh? Nov. 27, Ď01 Itís been ten days since my last 
entry. As far as I know, this will be the last. When I get done writing 
this, I will burn my journal. I have to. Then, I will kill myself. I 
stole my dadís .45 from his dresser, and I stole a box of shells from 
the ammo store down the street. Earlier today, I put my fingers on my 
wrist. And I have no pulse. And maybe this time,I'll finish the job. 
Bye-Bye. And so long.


   


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