ghosts and bedtime stories

This ‘un’s also Shan’s fault. It went something like this:

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

“I don’t have any.”

“Make one up.”

“I’m not that creative.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“No.”

“Tell me a ghost story.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Make one up.”

“I don’t know what it’d be about.”

“The ghost’s name is Recluse. Just make something up about it.”

At the mention of ‘recluse’, I got a silly grin on my face as it gave me the idea of something like Emily Dickinson come back us a ghost. I imagined this ghost haunting some lonely young girl, whispering poems to her, or giving her muse. A fanciful daydream, which I utterly destroyed in my story. But I think it changed for the better. So I made Shan wait as I typed out my (new and improved) idea. I read it to her maybe an hour or two later.

Here's how it went:

Recluse

When I was a young girl, I was a shy little thing, and surrounded myself with books instead of people; their words were calming to me, and I lived through them; they were better friends to me than people ever were. So I spent most of my days cooped up in my room, reading, reading… and when I wasn't reading, I was pondering the things that I read- how I related to this character or that, and how I would hold up in some of the adventures of the protagonists. Quite often, I related the antagonists to my schoolmates. It was just as well. I didn't get along with any of them. I wondered if, outside of my books, there was anyone that I could really relate to, if there was anyone that I would WANT to relate to. I told myself the books were enough, but all the same I fell prey to a sort of loneliness I cannot express. I would have sunk into a depression, I am almost certain, were it not for a girl I think I might have met.

I can't really remember when I first met her, or… if I really did. I only remember that, now and again, she'd whisper poems in my ear, in a voice clear as a thought but no louder. And sometimes, in the dead of night, I'd find myself writing my loneliness away, my pen moved by some unknown force, gliding over the page and repeating words that I pulled as if from memory; but all the while, I knew it was her. I can't say how I knew; I never really saw her except as a shiver down my spine and an instinct that said someone was with me. I felt a presence of something like loneliness, and an overwhelming sadness, when she was there, but she did not seem to wish the same on me; at any rate, it made my own feel more bearable, like an oddly pleasant sort of ache. It was comforting somehow, having her there.

If she was there.

She only really seemed to exist at the back of my mind, like a memory or a daydream, something not quite substantial. Sometimes I wonder if she even existed but in my dreams; she haunted those too, after all, always there, always accompanied by this feeling of gloom and loneliness.

Was she a ghost, I wonder? Some recluse not so unlike myself, but doomed to wander the earth alone? Or an angel, perhaps, simply showing me the kindness I needed.
Or my own troubles, personified by a madness that came from lack of human company.
Heh, imagine: a product of my madness as the thing that keeps me sane.

But then, in the end, I suppose it doesn't matter. She comforted me all the same, and that was enough. My school days passed, and when I finally got to college, I took a step to become more social, make a few friends, and ultimately lived a happier life for it, as cheesy as it sounds. As for the girl… I never felt her presence again.

But… I had a dream once, not so long ago, that I was a young girl, a shy little thing who surrounded herself with books instead of people, and imagined my schoolmates to be the antagonists in my own story. Only, I never met the recluse girl, and I sank into a depression caused by my loneliness. Without human contact allowing me to live happily, I withered away like a flower until there was almost nothing left; my body fell away and I was nothing but a lonely spirit, tied to the earth in hopes of some companionship. I wandered in search of such until I found a girl who I swear looked familiar, who looked as lonely as I was, and out of pity I kept her company and sometimes whispered poems in her ear. 

Shan reckons she'll give me more ideas and get me to write her bedtime stories more often. I think I'm okay with that. She told me the next one should be called "Red Raven". I haven't the slightest idea what to do with it, but I'll hopefully figure it out before it's story time tomorrow night.