Short Ghost Story

[Surlethe]

A little thing I threw together. Any thoughts?

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(Translator's Note: This was taken from a sheaf of unburned material in the headquarters of the Romanan MIA. It stands alone, so we are unable to tell whether the events described herein are singular or part of a pattern. Intelligence has been unable to correlate the material, so it seems to be simply a ghost story, albeit one that caught the notice of the Romanan Secret Service.
A note on the translation: Since the beginning of the Quiet War, there has been considerable study done on the various dialects of the Romanan language, correlating them to Lesser Moran, the language spoken here in Ilia. I have followed the general academic consensus and translated Ukenshko's Romanan into a rural Ilian accent.)

9.9.2007
Aleksandr Shevkin, ID: 198403929109483, transcribing

Submitted 21.9.07 to Internal Affairs office of Praetorian Police. Contents odd, but taken down verbatim from tape recording of interview. If correlated with facts, could indicate serious matters afoot in eastern provinces. --Aleksandr Shevkin, 198403929109483

Interviewee: Viktor Ukenshko, ID: 001328573629003

This whole thing took place a couple weeks before the war started. I couldn't tell you exactly when, because time has a way of doing strange things to your mind, especially when it's a memory of something like this. It was before Ally's baby came, but after the second-to-last wheat harvest and the apple picking party. Hasn't nothing happened since then, though; once the nuclear bomb started flying, seems as though everything took cover, even the birds and the bees. Anyways, I was walking back to my farm one evening after spending the evening at the village tavern, it's a couple kilos from the village to my farm, and I sees this little girl, all alone-like by the side of the road.

Now, she's not some ordinary little girl, I figures right away, because she's all alone and standing up straight under the streetlamp. And it's the only street lamp on that stretch of road for maybe a mile, because electricity rationing's already started, and no-good-for-nothing thieves've all stolen the bulbs out of the other streetlamps.

So, there I am, walking up the road at night, heading back to my farm from the village, and on both sides of the road is black forest, and the full moon's up above, and there's a spray of stars around it, and up ahead's this pool of yellow-orange light from the streetlamp. And standing under it, there's this little girl, maybe seven or eight. Couldn't tell you for the life of me what color her dress was, or her face or hair. The yellow from the lamp washed everything out, and afterward, we were walking in the moonlight, and that doesn't let you tell colors easy either. So there she is, little and lost, I figures, but not crying or afraid -- leastways, she doesn't look like she's afraid.

I walk up, and she's standing there, just looking at me. Her eyes are real big and black, but she's got this real serious look on her face, too, you know? Just like a cat that's crawled up on your lap and is just staring you in the face, waiting to be petted, or wanting to show you the mouse it just killed and left for you.

So I stand there for a second looking at her, and she's looking right back at me, like she can see my eyes, even though the moon's behind me and I'm sure she couldn't see anything. And then I bend down and I says real kindly-like, so's not to scare her, I says, “Hello, little-girl [Trans.: This is a friendly diminutive in Romanan that has no parallel in Moran.], are you lost?”

And she just stares back at me with those big, black eyes.

So I says again, “Little-girl? Can you hear me?”

And she still just stares right back at me.

I'm getting a little nervous now, and I move toward her, but she backs away toward the edge of the light, still staring at me the whole time.

I figure, hey, don't want to scare her too much, and so I says, “Okay, well don't get yourself hurt.” And I walks around her across the puddle of light, and she stays away from me, always staring, always staring. Except, and I only noticed this thinking about it later, she never steps out of the light, not once. Stayed inside the pool of light like it was a prison cell and the shadow was the walls.

So I goes a couple meters down the road, maybe ten, and turns around, looks back. There she is, still standing, looking at me, and I can't help but go back and try again. So I walks back, and I squats down just inside the light, and I says, “Hey, little-girl, you lost?”

And she just stares at me. I don't think those eyes blinked just once.

I stands up, and she just follows my eyes up, gazing at me with no expression. And then she smiles.

You got to understand, this wasn't no nice smile, and it wasn't an I'm-so-scared smile. It's the smile that someone gets when he's bigger than you, meaner than you, when he's knocked you over and is sitting on your chest and is about to punch you in the face. It made me think of a cat about to jump on a mouse and eat it.

And then she took a step forward, and I nearly pissed my pants, I was so scared. I hopped back out of the light and then she was standing right in front of me, still in the light, and looking up at me, still grinning like a madman.

I'm no little schoolgirl, all frightened of things in the dark that go bump, but I was about scared out of my mind. It was all I could do not to run as fast as I could back to my farm, but there was something in her eyes that kind of held my gaze.

She didn't move for a little bit, kind of staring at me like a wolf might stare at a baby moose. And I didn't move, frozen like a mouse that's just seen a hawk.

I must not have seen the woman come up, but then she steps into the circle of lamplight, all washed out and yellow, and I look up at her, and she was quite a looker, you know? Beautiful, mouth-dryingly beautiful. All curves and the prettiest black eyes, just like the little girl's. She looks at me, blinks, and then looks down at the girl, and the girl looks up at her, and then jumps into her arms and kisses the woman on the cheek.

And I just look at the woman again, then turn around and start walking away. And suddenly, I feel a touch on my back, kind of like a soft brush, kind of faint. I can't really explain it, don't know what it is. Anyway, I spin around, and the woman's still standing there, almost glowering at me. And then the light goes out, probably more electricity rationing, I figure now. But she's still lit yellow-orange, all washed-out, and now she's smiling at me. And it's not a nice, I-want-to-go-home-with-you smile, it's just like her daughter's.

I lost it then. I turned around and I ran as fast as I could, and I didn't look back.

[The Grim Squeaker]

Eh, looks decent enough if not worth expanding. Another 2 sections and it'll be finished, I presume?

[Surlethe]

Eh, looks decent enough if not worth expanding. Another 2 sections and it'll be finished, I presume?

It's just a short story; why can't it be only a couple of pages long?

It's actually a little bit of background for a longer "short" story I'm working on as I type this. I hope to have that done sometime soon, or at least presentable; I think it actually might be marketable.

[Noble Ire]

Well, I liked it. There's isn't really any need for further expansion; its a ghost story, after all.

[Pick]

Sounds nice. Good solid tale.

Now for a bit of nitpicking, if you want it : I think your character used a few too many metaphors. Save them for when most effective. "She didn't move for a little bit, kind of staring at me like a wolf might stare at a baby moose. And I didn't move, frozen like a mouse that's just seen a hawk." For instance, sounds a little clumsy. You've just introduced four animals for the sake of saying "She stared at me with unmasked hunger, her eyes holding me in place as if I'd frozen deep in winter's clutch" or something, which has introduced less auxiliary 'characters'. Additionally, dashes can be very useful when characters are talking, if you feel perhaps you've introduced too many commas. It helps break up the punctuation. Also, if you want a real nitpick... "apple-picking." .

[Sidewinder]

It's okay, but I was somewhat disappointed that the "ghosts" didn't do anything other than look at the narrator with smiles that said, "I want to rip out your liver and eat it," before disappearing. Maybe you can have the ghosts claw at the narrator, tear open the shirt to reveal a hidden cross or rosary, before shrieking in anger and disappearing?