Tag Archives: ghost

White Bones

They say it was me. They accuse me. Me!

They say I was too obsessed with those bones.

This is an outrage. This is insanity. I told the director weeks ago that there was somebody else; again and again I told im that somebody was fumbling with my bones – but he wouldn’t listen.

I knew he was special the moment he arrived. Eurasian male, definitely an adult, that’s all we knew for sure when the delivery came.

A blue plastic box with foam padding, and when I took the first layer off and saw his skull I was barely able to hold my excitement back. That’s something you read a paper about, not something you ever see yourself, not something that you get to have in your own museum!

The others, of course, didn’t realize the treasure. They knew he was unusual, but it’s not their specialism and so they don’t remember a thing they were taught at university – if they were ever taught a thing – and so they don’t understand. Completely white. Bright white, like your grandmother’s best Sunday china. Every single one of those bones looked like a piece of porcelain, just not as smooth and shiny. But even the skull and even the teeth, fully white without a single spot of gray! Continue reading

Almond and Rose

The scent woke me up. Gentle, warm, soft, arousing. Almond. Almond and something else, a fruit or a flower.

A glimmer of light came from under the door.

I was nervous, then confused. Somebody was in my apartment, but why that smell? Why such an erotic scent?

Quietly I pulled the jeans over my stiff legs. The scent was slowly fading away. I picked the broom from behind my wardrobe and tiptoed to the door. The door handle moved without a noise. The door opened, I stepped outside. The corridor was dark, only a glimmer of light came from the kitchen.

I slowly moved there and froze.

A woman. A thick but translucent white. Her eyes on the empty space in front of me. Screaming without a sound. A black hole opened in her stomach. Her face slowly deformed. She fell. The moment her body touched the ground she was gone. Continue reading

My Big Brother

When the light disappeared from behind the curtains it didn’t matter whether our parents were next door or not, it was only Ranyo that made me feel safe. He hugged me goodnight and afterwards he lay on the top bunk with his head dangling down the side of the bed. Every night he watched over me until I fell asleep and only then my brother went to sleep himself.

I don’t have many memories from my early childhood – I mean the ages 3 to 6 – but most of them are memories of Ranyo. He showed me how to make paper airplanes, he taught me to count from one to ten, and he was the one that told me about the treasure chests filled with toys in our garage.

I could not have imagined a better brother than Ranyo. He shared everything with me, even the secrets that I was not supposed to know. Once he showed me how to open the gummi bear drawer and afterwards we sat on the top bunk and ate little cola bottles and sweet green and red cherries until I felt sick.

Ranyo went to a different school than I did. He had to leave earlier than me and so I rarely saw him in the morning. But in turn he also finished earlier and nearly every day he stood on our front porch when mom and I arrived home. Only when it rained he hid inside the house, usually on his bunk with a teddy bear or two in his arms. Continue reading

“I am sorry mommy.”

Grace rubbed the sole of her right foot against her left.

She forced a smile.

I smiled back.

“You had some rather tough weeks.”

“Tough is an understatement,” she said.

“It is normal that you are not feeling well after losing a child.”

“Not just a child,” she said. Continue reading

The Ghost that Got Revenge

Liz brushed the short black hair out of her face.

“I remember seeing my grandfather for the first time when I was small. I must have been five or six. He walked around the corner with this incredibly pale face and the white nightgown. That day I only saw him for a moment, but he was always there, every time we visited. I was terrified of him, not just because he was so pale, but also because he always looked angry.”

“You were scared of your grandfather?”

“Yes. When I was small I refused to sleep alone at my grandmother’s house. I was worried that the ‘man in the nightgown’ would get me. He always walked through the house with his teeth clenched together. My mom thought I was just being silly and forced me to sleep alone in a room. I had many horrible nights because of that; because the ‘man in the nightgown’ kept patrolling through my room.”

“Your grandfather was patrolling the house at night? Were there many burglaries?” I paused. “I’m not sure how any of this could prove your uncle’s innocence.”

“I’ll get to it,” Liz said with an angry tone. “You have to judge my sanity, fine. Let me talk then.”

“Okay.” I said.

“Okay.” Liz said. “The point is that my grandfather was there when I was a child. He was always there; he was always patrolling the house. The adults never saw him, but I did, and once one of my friends came along on a visit to my grandmother, and she saw him too.”

“Your grandfather was invisible for adults? Like a ghost?”

“Exactly. Seems like you are a particularly smart person.”

“Sure.” I said.

Liz frowned, and then quickly shook her head.

“Anyway,” she said. “My point is that I’m not making this up to protect my uncle. I saw my grandfather many times when I was just a child; I told many people about seeing him; I told them about him even before I knew that there was a grandfather missing. I only understood that my grandfather was dead when I was eleven or twelve, but long before that I described to people how ‘the man in the nightgown’ looked.”

“I called him ‘the man in the nightgown’ and I knew that he was always angry and that he always held a blade in his hand; a small, thin blade. I think that was the knife that killed him. My grandmother always flinched when I talked about him, and particularly when I mentioned the knife and how angry he looked.”

“Liz, you are trying to tell me that your grandfather was haunting your grandmother’s house?”

“Yes. I think he was waiting for revenge. My grandmother always said that he died from an accident. But I think my grandfather was murdered. I always saw this long thin line on his throat. I never understood what it could be, but it all came together at the funeral.”

“What happened at the funeral?”

“Well,” Liz said. “I came along with my grandmother. I first thought it was strange that she wanted at all to go to the funeral. I mean, the guy was killed in her house, and her own son, my uncle Terry, was locked up for killing him. It’s a bit disrespectful to go to the funeral of a man your own son killed, isn’t it? It’s even disrespectful if he was an old friend.”

I nodded.

“So, I was angry at my grandmother for going, and I didn’t pay much attention to the ceremony. I only went along so that she wouldn’t fall or have a breakdown or something of that sort. But when I lead her to the casket I recognized the wound. I recognized the wound because it looked exactly like the one I had seen so many times on my grandfather’s throat. On the corpse they tried to hide it under the collar and with makeup, but still it was clearly visible: just one long and thin cut.”

“You think the wound looked similar and that’s why your grandfather’s ghost must have killed this man?”

“At first I didn’t think of that. First I only noticed that the wounds looked the same, I just thought it was odd. But then later, when they carried the casket to the open grave, I saw my grandfather standing just a few feet away from the hole. I hadn’t seen him for several years, but he looked exactly like in my memory – the short mustache, the neatly done hair and the long nightgown-like dress on top of his pants. But he was smiling. I saw him so many times as a child, and a few times as a teenager, and every one of those times he was pacing through the house and looked angry. But this time, at the funeral, he was just standing still and smiling.”

“Alright, the ghost was smiling.” I said with a hint of impatience.

“That’s not everything,” Liz said. “The thing is that I didn’t know the victim’s profession. I mean, it wasn’t relevant and nobody had ever mentioned it. But the priest, while he was speaking, he said that the victim was a barber. You understand, he was a barber! And in that moment the scales fell from my eyes: The thing my grandfather was wearing, that wasn’t a nightgown; it was a barber’s cape. It was one of those capes that they put around you so your hair doesn’t get on your clothes.”

“Okay.” I said.

“And you know why they never found the knife that the victim was killed with?” Liz smiled triumphantly. “That’s because my grandfather still has it. I saw him playing with it. It was the same knife that I’d seen so many times, but he was happily swinging it around. My grandfather took revenge. He took revenge because that other guy killed him first!”

“So, Liz, you are saying that this man killed your grandfather during a barber’s accident sixty or so years ago and now your grandfather’s ghost took revenge?”

“I don’t think my grandfather’s death was an accident,” Liz said. “And he didn’t take revenge just for that. I think he had a second reason.”

Liz grinned.

“At the funeral I met the victim’s granddaughters. He has two. And they both look just like me.”


This is my story, originally I published it on Reddit.