Prompt: A ghost story

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Karla

He was so young.

These are the sole words people can say about Jorge Jimenez. He was only a kid, really, when tragedy fell upon him. He was only eighteen, and he was on his way to college on a music and academic scholarship, and he had his entire life ahead of him—and it was going to be a full life, considering at only eighteen he had done and seen much—and he was so young.

Time doesn't seem to care about the people it leaves behind in the dust; and the universe itself doesn't seem to care about the aftermath. No one seems to care about anything much, other than that Jorge had potential and he was going somewhere and he was going to be someone and he was so young.

(I'm still going somewhere, and still am someone, and I was young.)

His little sister Jacinta doesn't want to make the problem about her, but damn it, it is about her (it is about you); it's about her as much as it is about her mom and her grandma and her Jorge. It's about everyone who ever had an impact on his life and let themselves be influenced by him. It's about everyone left behind in the dust as the aftermath unfolded.

Jacinta has pent up anger, there's no denying it (be mad at everyone you need to be, but don't take this out on me, sister dearest, you know your anger is misplaced). Jorge may have been young, but she's still young. She's still only sixteen and she will go to college and she has her life ahead of her. All of Jorge's responsibilities have fallen to her; everything he failed to do is everything she has to surpass. It ticks her off to no extent that all the attention she wanted, she craved, is now hers, but not because she deserves it, but because it was Jorge's and, like all things that were his, it now belongs to her.

It should have belonged to the two of them, but he's gone now, and she's all that's left, so she's second choice (You will never be second, not to me). Time and time again, even after he's been dead for months, she's still second choice. She's the second and she'll come in second, she'll make sure of it. She will. She will. She will.

(Don't let it be so.)

There are days where she is blinded with an unknown rage.

Her vision gets blurry and her head spins. Her hands shake as she reaches for a fork during dinner. Her fingers twitch whenever someone remotely begins to annoy her. Her feet tap incessantly when things get too loud. Her entire body convulses in tiny intervals, like the waves coming from the center of stone clicking on a pond, or in larger intervals, like the foamy tips of the ocean crashing against eroded cliffs.

It's all or nothing with her, no gradual shift from one to the other.

(Don't be extreme; don't be too little or too much; be just right; be alright.)

Sometimes she gets so caught up in her own head, she swears she can hear and see Jorge, lingering in her peripheral vision, following her like an obsessed shadow (I'm with you always). It is on those occasions when she reverts to her old self—laughing, smiling, extroverted, so full of life, and still so young (I miss that version of you most of all)—for a brief second; and then, as quickly as she comes, she is gone. When she sees Jorge, or when she thinks she sees him, all her emotions bubble and rise and erupt.

She may find resonance in the sea, but she is like the height of an active volcano. Lava burbles as it rises, as it falls, and it explodes from time to time—such is the nature of her resentment (you are much more).

It is when she sees her beloved brother that she becomes more than just the lava and the volcano. She herself becomes the notion of risk. Sometimes she'll bike faster than she needs to, her hands far away from the brake, readying herself to be propelled down a hill (please wear a helmet). Sometimes she'll hold her breath to see how long it takes for her to pass out, for her to fall and have someone force her back to life (I wish you would chicken out after a few seconds). Sometimes she takes a few pills and sees how many she can take before she chokes on the water or her stomach spits it all out (I told mom to lock those up, I told her and I told grandma and neither listened). Sometimes she goes out and drives on empty highways and tests how fast she can go before she feels jittery and the bright stars blur with the light posts and she feels herself going forward, forward, forward, and then she brakes, and she's pushed forward and backward, and she just barely missed the wall at the intersection, and what would have happened if she didn't brake and she didn't swerve, and she wants to know what would have happened, but she's too scared, and she sees Jorge (don't be like me; don't see me. Please. Look at the road. Don't look at me. Don't try to find me. You won't find me in smoke and fire and shattered glass and bloody airbags and punctured lungs and death on impact; you won't find me there. Find the road, don't look for me).

She wants to run him over.

Sometimes she sees him and he waves at her and she waves back, but not before putting more gas on the pedal, not before closing her eyes underneath the water, not before swallowing one more pill.

Jacinta is so fucking angry.

(Be angry, but not at me, and not at yourself. Be angry at everything else. Be angry at the circumstance and that I was too young. Be angry that you're too young.)

Her mother looks at her with concern, and her grandmother looks at her with disdain. How dare she put her mom through more pain, and how dare she be so selfish right now? It has been months, and somehow Jacinta is still making this about her (it's because it is about you). Everyone has tried to move on, but she hasn't even attempted to do so: she's caught up in her own melodrama and drama and amá por que no me estas ayudando te necesito porque no me ves mírame mírame amá te necesito tu bebe te necesita. (Ella te ve, te está buscando. Deja que te encuentre.)

(Let mom find you, but not like this. Jacinta, what are you doing? No, not that. Slow down. That's mom's old car, it's the one dad bought for her. Jacinta, come on, slow down, slow down. Ease on the brake, like you always do. Come on, don't do this. Don't be like me. You know you can't make that turn if you go any faster. You know I couldn't do it. You were there with me. Jacinta, please don't do this. Please, I shouldn't have brought you with me. You shouldn't have been there that night. You shouldn't have been there. Please, listen to me. I have so many regrets, and teaching you about this curve...please, slow down. I'm begging you. Just ease on the brake. Swerve now. Don't let her find you like this. Jacinta, please, don't let her find you like this; she's looking for you already, don't let her find you like this. Jacinta, please, por favor. Para mí, para tu hermano. Jacinta, no hagas esto. Te lo ruego. Por favor, no lo hagas; te ruego con todo el amor que nos tenemos...)

One life full of anger, the other the root of it all (but not really, she could never be mad at me.)

They were both so young, and they had so much ahead of them, and they were going somewhere in life, and they were going to be someones, and they were both so young (she was younger than me, even).

And sometimes, that is the biggest horror of them all.

She was so young, and that is the biggest regret of them all. 

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Amanda

Sleeping never came easy to her.

There was no way to sleep with the light on, but finding rest with it off was almost as impossible. Every noise in the dark had sinister intentions, every brush of air came from an unwanted guest. The girl knew she was much too old to believe in the monsters in the darkness, and when light was out she was too old, but when darkness fell, those stories suddenly held much more validity. It would take her hours to fall asleep, and in the morning she would wake up ill rested and wondering why she couldn't just sleep.

One night, she crawled into her bed vowing to do just that. She wouldn't stay up for hours fearing every shadow that danced behind closed eyelids. Not tonight.

But then- craaaaaaack. It was a door, that had to be a door opening. Right?

No! Not, it wasn't. It had to just be her imagination. It had to be. There couldn't really be a monster in her house right now.

Click. Click.

What was that?

She peeked one eye open, but that only made her heart beat faster. Her bedroom was engulfed in blackness, too dark for her to do anything but scare herself more. She grabbed the edge of her blankets, and threw them over her head.

The shield was a comfort- for a moment.

Clomp, clomp. Click. Clomp, clomp.

She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. It's not real, she thought, but she didn't believe herself. It's not real, it can't be, it's not.

Clomp, clomp. Clomp, clomp.

The clomping grew louder. Whatever it was had to be right outside her door. She drew her shaking knees up to her chest.

Craaaaaaack.

She clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out. This was real. She was certain of it now. But maybe if she just stayed very still, and very quiet, it would go away. It had to go away.

And go away it did. The clomping grew quieter, and faded away entirely. Almost like it wasn't there at all.

The girl couldn't take it anymore. She threw off her covers and leapt for the light. For an instant, her hands didn't find it, and visions of monsters danced in the dark. But then her fumbling hands reached the switch, and the bedroom was illuminated.

She relaxed for a moment. Light was good. Light was safe.

Clomp-clomp-clomp-

What was that? It was running so fast!

clomp-clomp-clomp-

She dropped to the floor and slid beneath her bed. Monsters appeared in the doorway, their grim faces fully illuminated by the turned on lamp. They stepped into the room. She shrank back against the wall, but there was only so much space underneath the bed.

"Daryl, the sensor already came up blank for this room."

"The light just turned on, Jenna! That's a sure sign of paranormal activity. Unless one of us turned it on."

The girl pressed her fist up against her mouth. All that was visible of the monsters were their shoes. Two pairs of boots, one small and brown, the other big and black.

"Why are you looking at me? I was with you the whole time, remember?"

"Exactly. It wasn't one of us, so it had to be the ghost." The big black boots grew closer to the girl's hiding spot. "And look at that! The sheets are disturbed."

The brown boots joined the black. "That could have been the Montgomerys. Make it look more realistic."

"If they were going to fake evidence of a haunting, don't you think they would fake better than some rustled sheets?"

These monsters didn't sound like they were leaving anytime soon.

"Fine, fair enough. Here, hold the sensor for a minute, will you?"

If they weren't going to go away, she would just have to make them go away. But with what?

"But that's heavy!"

"Jenna!"

"Fine."

She couldn't see well in the dimness under the bed. She felt around the floor and against the wall for something, anything to use against these unwelcome intruders. Her hands landed on a small quilt pillow, the kind that was only ever used for decorating a perfectly made bed.

The girl pulled back her wrist, and launched the pillow out at the boots. It hit one of the black boots, and the pair subsequently stumbled away from the bed. The brown boots jumped, and someone's gasp sizzled into the air.

"That proof enough of a spirit for you, Jenna?"

"I- I can't believe it. This is a real spirit. Did that pillow come from underneath the bed? Why would a spirit be underneath a bed?"

They weren't running away. Monsters were supposed to run away when you fought back.

"The Montgomerys said they think it's a child spirit."

"So?"

"So what kind of place might a scared child hide?"

"Scared?" The monster echoed. "You think the ghost is scared?"

The black boots folded away. They were replaced by a pair of jeans, and then the lower half of a white shirt. Hands dropped into the girl's field of vision.

"Hey there," the monster said softly, in a very un-monsterlike voice, like pink silk. "I know you're there. We didn't mean to scare you. We don't want to hurt you. We just want to talk. Will you talk with us?"

For the first time, the girl wondered if the intruders in her room were monsters. They looked like monsters. But this one didn't sound like a monster. Monsters didn't have pretty voices and gentle words. Monsters were loud and demanding, always roaring for her to get out.

"Are you sure that'll work?"

"Jenna, why must you always doubt me? Now....hello? Can you come out and talk to us? We can all be friends. We just want to talk."

The girl crawled toward the edge of her shadowed shelter. She hesitated. The monster-if he was one- was positioned so unthreateningly, and he hadn't yelled at her once. Maybe he did just want to talk.

She looked down at her hands, and saw they were shaking. The monsters were still monsters after her. Was she being a fright, or was she right to be afraid?

Maybe this whole thing was a complete nightmare. That was a nice thought. It gave the girl the last push she needed to crawl out from under the bed.

As she did, a floorboard creaked beneath her. Now she could see the monsters in full again. The black booted monster had a kind face to match his gentle voice, even though he and the other one looked just like regular monsters.

"Did you hear that?" The woman monster exclaimed.

The woman monster's voice made the girl shiver. The sound was as painful as nails on the chalkboard. The woman monster locked her eyes on the girl.

No, she can't see me, she can't-

This was a mistake, a horrible mistake. A frightened whimper broke out of her. The monsters looked at one another.

The girl shuffled slowly backward-

And stopped.

She couldn't move back underneath the bed. She was stuck.

The breath left her. She could feel her head pounding. I can't move I can't move I can't move

"Is it working?" The woman monster asked.

"Of course. Just give me another minute."

The monster with the kindly face was sprinkling something all around. It was something small and white, and on the floor all around the girl. He reached over the girl and let a pinch of it fall onto the girl-

OW that hurts that hurts-

She tried to shrink away, but she couldn't. He'd trapped her. He dropped more white powder onto her, and she squirmed as it made contact. It burned. It burned so badly it made her go dizzy.

But though it burned, the girl was able to slowly and deliberately look the monster in the eye and said, "You lied to me."

The monster's gaze cut right through her, but his skin rippled into white goosebumps.

The burn became hotter and fierce than any warmth she had ever known. In the next instant, her pain became too much even for her to cry out. Then nothing.

Sleep had come quick.