Do you believe in ghosts? I didn't until I first saw it there on my bedside table as I woke around midnight, All Hallows Eve, gold letters stamped into a leather-bound tome, "Book of Shadows." A cold wind burst through my window as the curtains billowed and reached out toward me with their draped sleeves, a voice beckoning "You'll join us in the night..."
I awoke. I sprung from the bed to my record player where a colorful piece of wax was already gaining speed under the needle. There was the sound of rain; I looked again to my window, but there was no storm. The night was calm. I heard the gentle tingle of guitar, a melody that sounded unlike anything I'd ever heard before and yet it resonated within me. As my mind was racing to place the piece among some familiar timeline or comparative composer, a crash of thunder scattered my thoughts and the same intriguing melody had now stricken me with fear, an impedance to run. The thunder boomed once more and I looked again to the window. There was mist growing above the cemetery and the moon looked sick. "I feel it in the air tonight, the end is coming soon," I thought to myself, kicking my feet hard and fast against a "Hallow Hallway" to nowhere.
I pushed through the cemetery gates and crept to where she sleeps underneath an old willow tree. Sweet "Hazel", my "Darling," my sweet departure from the ruin within. "It won't be long 'til I see you soon," I whispered and the willow shook its heavy head with the wind. "I remember our summers..." I began, setting my mind adrift. "Riding bikes in the summertime..." and I lingered there, feeling a light tug on my sleeve but didn't wince away, fearing that the moment would end. I felt sunlight on my face for the first time in years. I thought, "It feels good to think of her like this."
Two lips brushed cold against my ear, "Hey, it's been a long time since you smiled..." I opened my eyes, wanting to meet her golden stare, but found the dust covered window of my attic with my hand pressed to the glass. I pulled back to see the black in my palm from the circle I spun in the window. To see what though, and from up here? "Am I out of my head?" And now I'm not sure if it was she or if it was it me who whispered back "Just remember what your granddad said...?" Or was it "Marceline"'s advice that I took so critically? "It's your own fault," she would say, wagging a finger and flashing her fangs. "Never go astray." I sunk into a chair shooting dust into the rafters, and I watched as they danced in the slivers of moonlight before settling in a scatter in my hair. I shook instictively-- No, something's surely possessed me. I leapt up and walked with purpose to the stairs. Perhaps that night we tossed 'em back over a Ouija board and maybe my jest in exclaiming I was just "so-so on 'Zozo'" unleashed all this bad luck upon me. The wind shook the glass inside the pane and the floor creaked all around me. Or am I really outta my gourd now?
I heard my Hazel call to me, "I live in the places you don't want to go at night." I rushed toward her voice below. Hazel, so little you knew of the darkness I'd tread, whom I'd shed. A long time ago, far away from here, they put me "In a Box," for a crime I'd not know I'd commit again, but you see, my Hazel, they couldn't make the voices stop. Just as now I cannot silence them nor through beating hands nor sleep. And late at night Sweet Hazel, she comes for me. They don't know she watches me sleep. They don't know she's there. I'm not crazy, I swear.
"Deep Inside Your Heart of Hearts," I pray, you'll never understand what it means to be haunted in both home and heart. You see, I too am a ghost. I too am but a stare. I am more than thoughts that you don't dare. I am my own haunting, lingering in wait for it all to "Turn to Dust;" 'twas born "Widdershins," walking backward into each new day and perhaps in death may I lift one foot ahead of the other in confidence, for the first time in stride.
Running my fingers along the "Yellow Wallpaper" lining my bedroom walls, I feel Hazel prick my finger's tip. She's hiding in the flowers with a fistful of thorns; tonight she doesn't want to be seen. I look to the window; everything covered in night appears more surreal. I lay down, I can't sleep. I think I hear her come home as I drift off to sleep. Do these walls contain me? I lay down. I can't sleep, instead I creep.
Comments
Post a Comment