Ghost Treatment

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man who sees ghost checks himself into a hospital, only to find out the hospital has been closed for 30 years- Prompt

Submitted: February 13, 2015

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Submitted: February 13, 2015

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Slouched back, head turned, looking away from the coffee held in mid air, somewhere between lips and table. College, eh? A time for reflecting about life, what was, what will be, why your roommate of two months hung himself above your bed instead of his own. You know, the important things life is made of. I haven't slept in days, not rightly anyway. Every time I get remotely close, I see him... or worse, other people I've never met. All perpetually twenty-something, or not quite twenty-something. College kids. Forever reflecting. Forever... haunting?

I look around the campus cafe and I see life flourishing in all its glory. Heads bent low over text books, knees bouncing anxiously, ears stuffed with ear buds for computers, phones, whatever electrical circuit they could plug their brains in while stuffing mouths with pastry and sweetened caffeinated drinks. Comfort. But even this place was tainted. I see them hovering at the tables, sitting next to the living. I see them. I wonder if they see me. Suddenly I am aware of the ache in my arm, and finally shift to sip my coffee. It's gone cold. I put it down and try not to make eye contact with any of... them.

When Jeremy took his life I grieved my almost friend and moved into the only other available room in the dormitory... the one adjacent to my old one, sharing a wall with my former bed. I had not yet found a roommate and doubted I would anytime this semester. Who wanted to bunk with the former roommate of a suicidal kid? For all the knew I drove the poor boy to it. But I didn't. I don't think. I mean, we were just guys. He had left a note, but it didn't even mention me or why he chose my bed to hover over. Nor did it offer any evidence as to why he still hovers over my bed in the middle of the night. Or why he points out other... ghosts. They look like everyone else. But they don't always, behave right. A mouth hung open for much too long, a girl who won't stop pulling at her hair, though no hair falls out... I can even hear them. Jeremy stands by my side, and points at them all, his arm a compass to the souls left behind. And I want to ask him why. But I don't. I don't even know if he is real. If any of them are real.

The door opens and an old man scurries through, and looks around the room. I see his eyes land on Jeremy... but then I realize, no he isn't looking at my dead roommate... of course he isn't. He is looking at me. And he is moving toward me. He is limping and bobbing and looking like a maniac and he is coming in my direction, eyes locked clean, and I find myself panicked. I try to raise from my chair, but find I am sitting too close to the wall and succeed in nothing more then bumping my head against it while simultaneously hitting my knee against the table.

“You” He says pointing a hooked finger in my direction. “You see them too!”

“I...” I start, but am interrupted abruptly by a woman with a booming voice.

“Octavian Jones. This is the second time this week you have taken off. We were so worried about you.” She is over at my table at exactly the same moment he reaches it.

“But.” He stammers. “But, I, I found a friend.”

“Don't mind him love. He's a patient.”

“Ok.” I say. Sweat building up in my palms.

She wraps her arms around the mans neck and starts to escort him out. Her white nurses outfit strikes something in me. She escorts... a crazy man... away.

“Wait!” I say.

“Darlin' ?”

“I, I want to admit myself.” I see a few heads turn to look at me, and my mouth goes dry. If my reputation wasn't already blacker then soot, this would have certainly sealed the deal.

I turned to look at Jeremy. He wasn't currently there. Maybe the first step to recovery really is admitting there is a problem.

“I don't think you understand.” The woman said leaning in and lowering her voice so only I could hear. “This is a place for... mad people, people off their rocker if you will.”

“I see ghost.” I say. Short, simple... mad.

“Well, then you follow me love. No harm in talking to someone.”

“No harm.” I agree.


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