Twenty past three… (4)

(Preceding Part: — 3 —)

— 4 —

Time is unpredictable. To a ghost, it doesn’t exist. I can go back in time to any day, any place and watch as what happened unfolds once again. Sometimes, I wish I could whisper into the ear of the “past” me, change life as it was meant to happen. But I am, in the end, a ghost. I can watch the past, not alter it. And I usually go back to only one moment.

She’s sleeping. I’m looking over her, trying to wake her up. But nothing I do seems to work. I hear the sigh from outside, and see mom pacing the kitchen. She’s worried. Dad’s in the hall with a guest. Then I hear the door shut, mom running past me into the hall, and then kissing him. I follow her there, hug her legs. After some moments, it happens. Two shots, and Mom and Dad fall near my feet. I see the guy fumble the gun on first shot, and I fall with his second. As my soul is parted from my mortal body, and this ghost form is born, I quickly run through the walls, and the door to see her safe, still fast asleep. If only I had stayed with her and not gone out; she’d have still had me at least.


The wind pulls us out through the attic window; all three of us. As we fall to the ground, the noon sun is masked by the dark clouds, and amidst cries of grief, there comes the sound of things breaking. The object that draws my attention most is the clock, still stopped at twenty past three. It flies out the kitchen window, and lands near us. After six years, the day has come. We are no longer required to haunt the house. The window near the attic draws my attention next. It has a strange light coming out from it. I know it is no light made by humans. It is one that is heavenly. Sure enough, the light descends down near us like a stairway. She comes out. She’s cute, but then again, she always was.

“Why can’t ghosts wear color, Pap?” she asks me, a playful punch to my hand, “Yeah. I know you. Mumsy told me who you all are. Didn’t you hear it? I know you were nearby.”

“Oh. Ghosts don’t like color. Doesn’t suit the clouds, Angie”, I reply back, smiling to her.

“You are my mom and dad right? Oh I wish I’d known you longer”, she says giving them a hug. Then looks at me and says, “Why can’t we wear blue then?”

Ghosts never age, so she and I are about the same height now. I laugh, putting my hands on her shoulder, and we walk away from the house engaging in sibling banter that we’ve never had before. The ground feels and looks like clouds to us now. Then as a silver tear slides down my transparent cheek, I look at her and say, “You should have stayed alive much longer, Angie.”

“Oh it’s okay Pap. There is something good to it after all. I don’t need to haunt Mom for touching me, coz she’s already a ghost. I knew it was her. It wasn’t a cold touch, and my tear dried instantly then. Only mom could’ve done that. It’s okay. I’ll miss mumsy, but we can be a family again now.”

We see a set of swings in the park, and jump on them, seeing who can swing highest. I glance at them watching us, and I’m sure I heard mom sigh again. This time it’s a contented sigh. She’s got her little girl with her now.


“Lady, how much for that clock?” he asks.

“$10 will do just fine. You can have it.”

He smiles. He was back in town after years to seek what he desired most. And he gets it for a hundred times less than what he bid back then. A touch in the right place and the clock ticks for the first time in six years.

“Killing three was worth it I guess”, he murmurs as he walks. He never notices the two empty swings rising and falling. Nor does he care. For he doesn’t believe in ghosts… will he soon?

(To be continued..)


For Three Word Wednesday‘s 251st prompt (Fumble, Glance, Banter) and Thursday Tales‘s 70th prompt, accompanying image from THIS SOURCE, courtesy Rachel (~RachelxxRampage) at DeviantArt.

© Leo 06/July/2011

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

14 thoughts on “Twenty past three… (4)

    • The clock was an antique that he had bid for six years before, Sheilagh. And when he was outbid, he killed the family for it. He dint take the clock back then so he returned for it when he was absolutely certain no one would remember..

      Thanks and glad you liked it. 🙂

  1. An enthralling tale with so much in it. I didn’t like the way you put “The End…” to finish it off, surely there is more to come? You cannot be that cruel!

    • Hmm.. I don’t know how long to take the series, Old Egg 🙂 So put that. But okay.. will take it off 🙂 And see if I can continue it soon.

  2. Wow.. excellent, interesting story… And I am still curious to know what happened after that.. Sad that the story ended! BTW, I saw this post first, so thought will read the other parts.. Wasn’t sure will read all at a stretch.. but your story proved me wrong 🙂

    • Its not quite ended, Sunil. 🙂 I might take it up further too, just don’t know if it’ll be next Wednesday, or after that 🙂 Glad you liked it and thanks for reading at a stretch.

  3. Killing for a clock is too much… I love the story as it kept me hooked till the very end.. You are an awesome talent Leo..

    Someone is Special

    • It’s not just a clock, SiS. It is an antique, worth lots of money. People are there who would have killed for lots less. Glad you liked it. Thanks!

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