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| Mass-produced colour photolithography on paper for Toy Theatre; Romeo and Juliet (background and surroundings removed) (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
I was eight and Robert was ten when his family moved next door. I loved to swim in their pool, and my dad’s fully stocked game room kept us busy in bad weather: dartboard, foosball table, big-screen TV with Wii, and a real pinball machine. Playmates, best friends, soulmates.
Texting caused the accident. Not ours; the other driver’s. Somehow I know this, though I don’t know how I know. I remember the screech of tearing metal, a rain of shattered glass, then, not pain, but intense... pressure. I can’t breathe, see only crimson, taste a vile sweet saltiness in my mouth. Sirens, darkness. Nausea, freezing cold. The blinding whiteness of the hospital, antiseptic smells and rhythmically throbbing machinery. I hear our weeping parents, snatches of conversation. “Will recover, but the other...” “So sorry.” Organ donation? WTF?
I scream. Robert, I won’t lose you.
It’s okay, Jules. I can hear Robert, even if it’s not with my ears. How? He chuckles. You really think death can keep us apart?
Everything seems unreal, fragmented. I wake up scared and lost, then...
Read the rest at Diana Cachey's What Happens in Venice Haunted-Palooza, and find lots of other spooky stories and giveaways there.
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Because it's a month of ghostly hauntings and such, I decided to try my hand at this original short ghost story.
Like it? Hate it? Got suggestions to make it better?
Please leave a comment and let me know.
Thanks!
