#3764

I’m Clarke. I’m a ghost. I have been for the past 12 years, after my untimely death from a car accident.

At first, it was terrifying. I couldn’t interact with anything, nor could anything interact with me. I scream and no one hears. I cry and no one notices. I’m nothing. Nothing.

After the initial shock, I didn’t know what to do. No ghost has ever communicated with the living, thus, I don’t know how much longer I have as a ghost.

I see no other ghosts. I only see tangible lives all around me.

*

I’m bored again. I have been bored everyday for the past 12 years. I can’t sleep. Ghosts can’t sleep. There is nothing to entertain a ghost. Why? Because I’ve seen everything. I have everything. I’ve seen the best shows and greatest movies. I live in a grand abandoned mansion alone. Without pain, life feels like a stroll in the park.

There is nothing to entertain a ghost.

Let me rephrase.

There is nothing that doesn’t hurt other people to entertain a ghost.

*

There is only one occurence of me hurting the living. I was one and a half years into being a ghost. I decided to haunt.

I’d stay at the home of any family and send wind currents inside, opening and closing on doors. I’d cast malformed silhouettes of strange figures to be recored by their cameras. I always loved their reactions.

Now, when I look back on those times, I feel an ache in my non-existent heart for having scared innocent people. I feel ashamed and deserving if punishment.

*

It’s night time again. I will roam the parks again, like I have done so every day for the past 10 years. I’ll check on my family again. They were eating chicken last night. How lovely.

This marks the end of today’s entry. This has just been a recap of what has happened to me for the past 12 years. This journal is the only thing keeping me sane.

- Clarke 25/09/2019