wing-chair

Ghost

Drabbletober Day 1 - Oswald reminisces on the ghosts in his home. 


Oswald still felt them sometimes. Grace and her miscreants, Charles and Sacha. When the lights were dimmed, and the fire died, it’s embers barely giving any light. When the clock struck past midnight and Oswald couldn’t sleep. It was always on dark nights, when everyone in the house was asleep, but himself. He’d wander downstairs, elaborately embroidered robe tied close around his waist.

The wine would swirl in his glass, dark red, near black in the low lighting. Oswald would sit in the same room Garce had died in, just …. waiting. The furniture had been rearranged to his own tastes, but when Oswald sat on his plush winged chair and closed his eyes…. He could hear them.

Whispers and floorboards that creaked under feet that weren’t there. A cold breath across his cheek and his name hissed in his ear. He looked up, Grace was there, all waspish and pale, silver tears of anger and sadness painted against her cheeks. She was mere tendrils, held only together by her hatred of him.

“Hello Grace.” Oswald murmured, raising his glass in salute. “I trust you hate what I’ve done with the place…”

She ignored him. “Where are my babies? What did you do with Sacha and Charles….” The question was the same. A desperate plea to find her children.

Oswald’s lips turned into a smirk and he rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He huffed into his wine and pointedly turned away. There was a cold breeze through the room and the unlocked window banged against it’s frame. Oswald opened his eyes. Grace was gone and he was left alone with his thoughts.

Pushing himself to his feet, Oswald hobbled to the open window and locked it once more. His attention cast down to the flower beds below and he smiled darkly. They bloomed a pretty blood red rose throughout the summer, and even now a few precious flowers stayed open.

His step-siblings had been good for one thing…

Move on, leave, run away, escape this place… but don’t forget about me, about us, about this town. Always remember where you come from so you can appreciate how far you’ve come.
—  c.j.n.
You claim to love her, inside and out, but the only time you call her beautiful is when it’s 3 in the morning and I’ve already turned you down.
—  girls tell each other everything, c.j.n.