Still Ghostly

Still Ghostly

“Grampa...” Alisa began tentatively.

The man in the lounge chair turned to look at her and smiled.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Well, I may not believe in them, but they seem to believe in me.”

The little girl sat up straighter.

“What do you mean?”

“In my long life, I have met quite a few. Why when I was ten...”

Grampa Arthur was a wonderful storyteller and could always keep his youngest grandchild enthralled by his stories. Alisa listened avidly and begged for more whenever he stopped.

“I gotta leave now Grampa, I love you.”

He watched her fade with tears in his eyes. Emma, his wife came into the living room a short time later. When she saw his wet eyes, she took her seat in the other lounge chair beside him.

“Alisa came to visit again?” she said quietly.

He nodded, then blew his nose noisily.

“She was always a thoughtful child; I miss her too.”

“I think this time was different, I’m not sure why.”

Emma looked at him again. His eyes had closed. She reached across and took his wrist in her hand. He was gone.

“Take care of him Alisa, until I can join you,” Emma whispered, then she began to sob.

The funeral was quiet and small. Emma felt a hand on her shoulder. The shade of her Arthur was behind her holding Alisa’s small hand. She wiped her eyes and straightened her back in the chair that had been placed at the graveside for her.

As the few mourners departed, none of them noticed the figure in black slumped in the chair. The cleric approached her to offer condolences. When he took her hand, he found it ice-cold.

“Good speed, Emma. Give our love to Arthur and Alisa,” he whispered.