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Find her

by Alexandra Garcia (She/Her) 4 months ago in Short Story

A fiction ghost story

Find her
Photo by Edward Howell on Unsplash

I am a creep. Well, I don’t know if my obsession was either too gory or too creepy. Current location: the cemetery. Status: just waiting. I type as quietly as possible in my blog. I live in a small town — too small and maybe it was the lack of exposure of a larger city is making me this way. Because here I am watching through vines of grass and secretly hoping it isn’t poison ivy and I am just waiting for him to come out.

My skin prickles with goosebumps when he finally comes out. The air becomes heavier, my throat is dry and thick. I lift my hand and hit record. The figure drops the flower down to the grave. He stays for a moment and then disappears. The pulsation against my ear becomes louder, and all I can hear is my breathing. I turn to look at my watch: 12:01 am, like clockwork. I stay in my position for another extra thirty minutes, just for good measure.

I stand up, and the moment I turn, I scream. There is no sound coming out, even though I am quite positive my throat will burn tomorrow. The figure is not just a figure; it is a man. The man is holding a flower. His eyebrows lift and his finger lays in his mouth, making a notion for me to shut up. Not a chance in hell. My knees tremble and I slid down to the ground. There is still no sound coming out of me. My hands clench to my throat.

The marigold flower lays in front of me and I take a deep breath before looking up. 

There is something eery about the man in front of me, the swollen face, the dark circles under his eyes, but the most obvious thing of all: the blood dripping around his wrists.

“What do you want?” I squeak.

His finger lifts and he points at something. My eyes follow the direction. The grave he always visits, the first time I noticed him was around 2 years ago. I was playing Pokemon Go. Yes, Pokemon, trying to catch them all, I guess. I had never run as fast as I did the first time I saw the figure. After that I came back every night and noticed the routine. Every time the same a flower down a few minutes there and he was gone. Tonight was the first time I had attempted to videotape it. I had also researched the owner of the grave. The man keeps pointing and I gulp and decide to walk to the grave. I sigh and narrow my eyes. I say the name from the headstone out loud: Anna Richards.

“She died in a car accident five years ago. Her boyfriend survived the aftermath,” I murmur, refusing to look at him. “She was 18 years old, had a full ride to a university.” The man grunts and I lift my gaze to look at him. “You are the boyfriend, aren’t you?” 

There is some void in his eyes and regret. I gulp as I really stare down at his wrists. “Suicide?” He nods. I cock my head, trying to understand why is he here and not somewhere else. Where do ghosts go? Where is Anna?

“What can I do?” I ask him, knowing no one will really believe me.

“Find her” His voice is shaky and drawling. “Give her this” He hands me the flower. I frown. I mean, I guess I can do a séance or something like that.

“She is not here. Her body was never found in the river and I can’t leave the cemetery, my body is here… she is looking for me,” He continues.

I look down at the flower and clench my jaw. “I’ll find her. I promise”

Short Story

Alexandra Garcia (She/Her)

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Alexandra Garcia (She/Her)
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