“Memories with My Father,” graphite by Megan Andrews
The
C
Littlest Ghost Megan Jafarace
reak. Squeak. Scrape. The time is 1 a.m. Must be the house settling. Go back to bed, Irene thinks to herself.
the house at night, making sure it doesn’t rot. They huff and puff into the heater so that the house stays toasted. But the dinky ghost can’t go with them yet. Clyde had always felt confined anyways. Being the youngest is brutal. He muses about finally flying someday. But that day has never arrived.
When she closes her eyes, she can’t see the faint wisps that appear at dusk. They’re only visible when eyes are locked shut. Surely, the noises aren’t floorboards creaking –- but humans wouldn’t know. Ghosts can’t be seen by humans, no matter how hard they try.
Two days later, the radio chimes through the kitchen. Fatigued, Irene bites into her breakfast sandwich near the peeling, old wallpaper.
The house is old and tall, eerie even. “I wish we didn’t have to raise the children here,” says a ghost mother. “It’s surely our fate though,” echoes another.
“Always something strange in this town, she thought— clamor had me up all night.”
Thousands of glowing bodies move in the dark bedroom wall. Ghost families had slept there since the 1700s. They kept the house breathing.
Z
The smallest grins at his mother when she says he could fly soon. The other ghosts had matured, so he is left lonesome. When the town belfry rings, the wispy ghosts start their day. Irene was always comatose at night, a heavy sleeper. But that wouldn’t matter—she couldn’t watch them anyways. Sometimes ghosts mused about being visible, how life would be different. They could make silly faces at the humans, or give them hugs. But it that’s a hopeless thought—like a dead man leaving his casket. There’s no way out—it’s buried and sealed shut. Humans divulge stories of ghosts haunting people, though the phantoms are only living their lives. They scurry through
24
The radio news fills the room. “Party supplies disappeared from the local general store,” mutters the reporter. The store owner shrieks, “We haven’t even had customers in days—how did this happen?”
Always something strange in this town, Irene thinks—clamor had me up all night.
The ghosts had passed out earlier that morning. They had celebrated Clyde’s birthday— thrilled for the time was coming when he could finally fly and assist the others. The little one is the only ghost still awake, and his excitement keeps him up. Soon he can fly! In the wake of dusk, Clyde feels a razor-sharp pain. Two droopy arms pop out of his sides—not a good sign. Flying ghosts do not have arms. He panicks. What is this? His mother wakes, sensing his panic. When she snaps her eyes open, she is disturbed. If he can’t fly, he won’t be of any help. She worries he will be worthless.
