The moment I finished writing Dueling Notes, my mind leapt to the second story for the month, a ghost story. While I’ve built up a collection of fun characters for this genre, I’ve been reminded recently of one of my earliest entries in this genre, Journey of Thanks. While I’ve continued to return to this format over the last six years, Tully’s story has a special place in my heart. The idea of a ghost being guided through the city to discover the impact of their lives makes for wonderful stories.
Sometimes that impact can be massive in scope, though more often than not we find our impact more limited to a handful of others. Even people who don’t have a lot of friends can be alter lives in magnificent ways. The idea of being able to see your influence after parting is highly moving.
Find a comfortable corner and join me as we explore Elias’s journey of self-discovery.
Despite preparing for his end, a musician is captured in death and sent to explore a stranger’s loft in search of answers…
“Blindly poking through this mess isn’t producing the results you suggested it would.” The shade slumped forward as his ethereal fingers plunged through the soft leather binding of a nearby book. They came to a stop halfway through the tome, dangling inside the manuscript as if to catch a stray secret from within.
However, a few seconds later, he ripped his hand free from the lifeless literary pond as his silent howl rebounded off the walls. When his chest resumed moving in time with his forced breathing, his gaze swept back to the loft’s sole bed. The shade wiped his spotless chin as he drifted to the slumbering figure.
“These cryptic messages of yours couldn’t be less helpful. I’d appreciate clearer instructions or simply educate me as to how I’m able to interact with whoever this is.” He slammed his fist into the sleeping stranger. However, his ethereal limb raced through the fellow as if he was a mirage. The ghost glanced at the clutter before gesturing at the scattered stacks. “Failing either option, you could help me thumb through the organized chaos of his desk.”
The shade swiftly rushed across the room and hovered over the mess. A few seconds later, he swiped his fingers through a precariously stacked pile consisting of books, folders, and even loose papers, producing similar results to his assault. “Is there a valid reason why I’m here? Because I cannot think of any.”
The ghost’s lips contorted as he curled into a ball and unleashed another unheard cry. When he untangled his ghostly limbs, he glanced down at his palm and cursed.
Elias Thompson, you must continue searching the room as instructed.
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