GHOSTLING. Prologue
I'm excited to share with you my new original serialized fiction, titled GHOSTLING. New chapters coming every Friday. Hope you'll join me!
PROLOGUE
Alone, alone I am this day
no one left with me to play
building castles of sand and clay
that the winds shall blow away
I hear them coming as the shadows fade
too tired to run so here I’ll stay
soon to join others lost in the fray
Alone, alone I am this day.
The night died young. By the time I came to, I found myself standing on a long narrow bridge. Its wood was weathered, wind and sun beaten until it glowed a pearly gray. One end of the bridge stretched towards a strip of land, a verdant mound rising from the mellow waters. The other end faded into the distance, threading through a wall of fog so dense I could not see beyond it.
I began walking towards the foggy side when a tiny cry from afar broke my focus. Cocking my head, I listened carefully. The cry was gentle yet persistent. I turned my heels and began walking towards the cry; it beckoned me as if it needed comfort.
As my bare feet tread upon the soft mossy grass, I looked back at the bridge but it had vanished. The fog had also dissipated, revealing a crystal blue sky with a sparkling sun that lit upon the land until there was an effervescent glow, glimmering like Champagne bubbles.
The cry ignited with more urgency now, so I dashed towards the distressed sound. In the middle of the meadow sat a small white house with a plain black door.
Inside the house, I heard the cry coming from upstairs. I followed the cries until I came upon a sparsely decorated room. The windows were open, allowing a breeze to flow in. Long sheer curtains fluttered and danced as a hazy shaft of light filled the space. In the shadows, a lone crib sat against a wall.
I tiptoed towards the crib and peered over the rails. Indeed, it was a newborn baby. In the corner of the crib, nestled in with a blush-hued blanket was a pink teddy bear. Embroidered on its belly was the word Violet in a cursive script. My lips parted with hesitation before I whispered out, “Is that your name, baby? Are you Violet?”
A thick mass of black hair covered her tiny skull. Purple and crinkled, her contorted face was streaked with the longest trail of tears, her mouth agape like a wet and clammy crater. Her miniature fingers quivered above her head with each gasp of air. I itched to touch her, only to realize that my arms were frozen against my sides, as if my entire being had been bound by some invisible vise. I wanted to soothe her, to curb the strangling, guttural cries that emanated from this tiny exposed creature. “Don’t cry,” I called out to her. I moved closer, so close I could smell a wonderful, milky aroma that rose from her skin. I could not touch her, but I bent my body as low as I could, until I felt just the downiest wisps of her hair against my lips. “It’ll be fine,” I murmured. “You will be fine.”
I know not how long I watched the infant but I hovered over her, petrified, and waiting. Won’t someone come and comfort her? Poor little Violet. I frowned at seeing the vulnerable baby, so agitated and discontented, her lips blubbering with spittle, her eyes scrunched in thick folds, her arms waving about, as if she were screaming, “Hold me, hold me!” I willed my arms to move, to reach out to touch her forehead but I was still lodged in that invisible brace. After some time had passed, as if resigned by my abandonment and exhausted by her efforts, she settled into a series of rhythmic hiccups that died down to a quiescent moan until it was no louder than the mewl of a tiny kitten. The room was then enveloped in a cocoon of silence.
Slumber was the magic medicine. Now asleep, the turbulence that had racked Violet’s body lifted away, forgotten. The tears that poured so freely had dried into a glossy sheen that clung to her skin, casting a dewy look upon her serene face. Her lashes, still damp, bowed over her plump cheeks, while her tiny hands fisted loosely over her blanket.
I tried once again to touch her when finally, my hands broke free from whatever had bound them. Eagerly, I reached out, but just before, just when my fingers were mere fractions of an inch from touching her, I felt a supernatural force pull me away in a rapid fashion, yanking me towards some deep, dark tunnel.
Violet lay before me, unaware of my struggle. I wanted to scream though no sounds flowed forth. As I watched her, she began to shrink smaller and smaller until she was so far away and diminutive, it was as if I was peering at her from a peephole. In mere seconds, she diminished into a pin prick. In mere seconds, she was gone.
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Author’s Note:
Thank you for reading GHOSTLING. The original inspiration for this story was a dream I had years ago, but it took me some time to figure out how to flesh out the rest of the story. I hope it will be a fantastical journey, for both you and me. Not all is what it appears to be.
I will be serializing this novel with new chapters every Friday. I look forward to reading your comments, feedback, and theories.
🤍 L
Music:
Hungry Ghosts - I Don't Think About You Anymore but I Don't Think About You Anyless