It was Saturday afternoon. We didn't have school, but I was at school anyway. Why? Because I went to clean the rat cages. I have to admit, I was the only person in class brave enough to do it. None of the other kids would dare. Cleaning the cage didn't bother me, I kinda liked it.
While I was on my way to the cemetery I did a little rock collecting. Even at that age I was interested in collecting precious and semi-precious stones, which is kind of what I do now. By the time I hit my teens I'd amassed quite a collection. To this day there is still a huge space rock in my bedroom, that I'd found outside when I was small.
.jpg)
I arrived in the cemetery at about eight-thirty, and the ghosts were out in force. I've known since I was a small child that I have been able to communicate with the spirits of the departed. I actually think I'm more comfortable with the dead than the living.
One of my favorites was a jolly old man named Erdrick Gnomeheim. He'd died from old age. He liked having me come by and he liked hearing me tell ghost stories. He liked to tell his own tales about brave quests undertaken by warriors long ago.
Dad was waiting up for me when I got home. "Oh, princess, I was so worried about you," he said as he scooped me up.
That was the night I actually told him that I was able to speak to ghosts. "I'm able to talk to them as I'm talking to you," I told him.
He never laughed at me or anything, he never dismissed me. He just smiled.
We ran around and played tag until the wee hours of the morning, then, when my legs couldn't carry me anymore, he scooped me up to my bed.
No comments:
Post a Comment