A Good Ghost Story

A Good Ghost Story

         Why, hello, there. So… you want a good ghost story, eh? Well, I can’t assure you that I have either fantastic story or implausible tale that most authors these days tend to elaborate. No. My story is — what do you call it? Ah, classical… classical yet true. So if you’re looking for a bombastic, pompous tale of a body-snatching ghost or something along that line, I’m afraid you won’t find it here. You don’t mind, do you? No? Good. Anyway, how shall I begin? Hm, let’s see…

         The year was 1887; it was a December night in Virginia. Quite a nice night, it was; with crisp, fresh air and bright, full moon illuminating the sky. A young man that went by the name of Jonathan Flakes was writing in his diary, capturing every detail of his experience into the yellowed, rough surface of the paper. It was about his morbid encounter with his elder brother, Leonard Flakes, who died from heart failure just the year before. He was very close to him — that Jonathan Flakes — that when Leonard gave his final breath, he broke into rivulets of tears, moaning and calling out his brother’s name in utter despair. He ceased his daily routines and insisted to stay with his brother for days, refusing eating or drinking anything when he did. How he survived, I had no idea…

         When he had fasted for a considerable length of time, he began to see things. Yes, things… Things such as mysterious light and suspicious silhouette… Soon, he began to talk incoherent things to himself, sometimes even laughed or cried silently. His family thought him mad. Maybe he was — but then again, he wasn’t. He was barely sane, yes, but still — his somewhat little sanity remained.

         Back to where I began, Jonathan Flakes wrote down his queer tale hastily. He needn’t think of what to say for his quill pen wove the words in an almost possessed way, stopping only to dip itself into the inkbottle. He wrote down everything — everything he saw, everything he touched, and everything he felt. He wrote about his seeing a mysterious light while he was writing one day, his deciding to follow it, and his encountering his late brother’s spirit; claiming to find him among the lilies — his brother’s favorite flower. He couldn’t contain himself when he saw his brother’s ghost, telling the spirit repeatedly how much he missed him, how much it ached him to see him die, to leave him among the silent night (yes, he said all these despite the fact that he was actually talking to a ghost)…

         He spent more and more time with the spirit, chatting or reminiscing their time together when Leonard was still alive; guffawing and sobbing along… Yet, his family couldn’t see this so-called ghost of Leonard. Therefore, they thought that loneliness had finally consumed him, plunging him into the pit of lunacy. They left him be, never caring about him anymore…

         Jonathan put his quill pen down, examined his work, and smiled widely as he closed his diary — satisfied with the entry. He took the book in his hand carefully and put it under his ragged pillow that he then slept on. That pitiful Jonathan, his family had eventually had it enough. They sent him to a mental hospital, leaving the spirit wandering around the big mansion in search for his brother. They said that, until now, the poor ghost is still looking for Jonathan — even though it has been more than a century since then…

         That is how it ends, ladies and gentlemen, this classical narrative of mine. Bored? Cliché? Ah, but this is the truth — the whole truth. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go… Hm? No, no, I couldn’t possibly stay; I have to go look for my brother — it’s been a long time since I chatted with him. I wonder where he goes… Maybe I could find him among the lilies I so fond of.