In the Light of a Candle

12. august 2018 at 14:51 | Nauesin

A l ittle something I wrote because why not.


I wake up and sit on my bed trying to resist the urge to lie back down onto the silky soft sheets. It's a lovely spring morning. The sun is up and so is the nature. Birds sing their best melodies and others chirr in response. I look around the familiar environment that is my bedroom. A large bed adorned with all kinds of floral engravements sits steadily on the wooden parquet floor of the room. The window lets in a reasonable amount of fresh morning air through a small gap. All the furniture is solid timber. Apparently, that's what my father liked. After a few minutes of intense staring at a scratch on the wall below the window I finally decide to swing my legs down from the bed and head downstairs to get a cup of coffee. As I walk down in trance after a long well-deserved sleep, night gown caressing the edges of the staricase, I yawn looking around. I've lived in this house for as long as I can remember. Inherited it after my father's death. It is quite large. Everything in this building is large. The door, the doorknob on the door, the windows, even the garden outside with the overgrown rusty swing. Everything's fairly old as well. One could easily call it a mansion. Sadly, I'm no lord. Don't have that kind of money. My wife has left me and took my two lovely daughters with her. Frankly, I ask myself why I still live in this house after all this time. I wish I knew the answer. There's simply something gripping my subconsciousness and dragging me back to this house whenever I leave in search for another, smaller and more afforadable place to live. Not to mention all my memories that still linger in these walls. Like the time my father taught me how to drive a bike and I fell down hurting my ankle or the time my knees were shaking so badly when he brought me with him to a hunting trip in the woods. I loved my father, I really did. I wish to keep his memory alive for as long as I can. However, I snap back into reality quickly, walking past the kitchen table into the kitchen to make the brown liquid that must surely be the drink of gods. To tell the truth, it gets fairly lonely in here. Most of the time I spend in the library reading precious old books. They keep me company, they brighten up my soul and most importantly, they keep me sane. Sure, I visit a nearby village down in the valley below the mountains where I live, however, such visits don't seem to fill my heart quite as much as reading in my spare time. I usually come just to say hi to a few people and to buy groceries to keep me going through another week of solitude.

But today is not the day. On the contrary, today is D day. Another day to spend alone in this giant house. I've decided to exercise my back and legs and give the ladder a little dusting. Today is a cleaning day. Yes, it might sound like a really boring activity to look forward to or even to decide to do it on your free will. I admit I can be a little bit weird but even something so unpleasant and tedious as dusting gives me peace and more importantly - something to do. I decide to quickly finish my drink and put on clothes. There's not much to chose from, honestly. I must admit my waredrobe is rather plain. White shirt, black trousers that someone made way too short for my legs, grey socks and a bunch of bowties in shades of grey. Yes, pretty boring. On the other hand, it saves my time picking and chosing what to wear and so I pick a shirt, a pair of trousers and a pair of socks with me and head to the library.

Like everything else in this house, it's huge. Imagine a fairytale with the princess locked in one of these, spending all her time reading and gaining wisdom and knowledge. Except, these books don't float around or anything like that. Don't talk, don't produce light nor give magic powers. Apart from that, it's really one hell of a spectacular view for a bookworm such as myself. Books bound in leather, tons of dust, the smell of old paper, oh the smell, the fragility of the paper. Some are actually written on a skin, that's how old they are. All this. Isn't it beautiful? So much knowledge in one room and so much joy and entertainment. Even I have yet to discover all the wonders these babies hide inside. Even though I've lived here for a reasonable amount of time I have not read all there is just yet. Thought, admittedly, a lot of it.

I stop day dreaming and pick up the ladder. Swipe away the dust and head to the nearest shelf with a duster in my hand. Ready to exorcise all dust fairies. I giggle at my own joke and proceed to work. After what seems like the whole day I stop to take a break wiping my sweaty forehead sitting on top of the ladder leaning on a shelf. Fairly tired I stop to look around the place. All quiet, peaceful. I take a moment to catch my breath again whilst contemplating life. How different would my life be if my wife hadn't left me years ago and what my daughters are doing right now. Did they get married? Are they well? Where would I be right now if I stayed with my wife? All these questions in my head which I try to suppress in my mind suddenly float above the surface. I'm lonely. I tried to deny it but I miss my family. My children, my wife, my father. Mother I have never met. I lean on a shelf and rest my eyes for a bit, a tear dripping down my face.

I snap back only just realising I drifted off for a bit. No duster in my hand. No wonder there, I did fall asleep. I rub my eyes and look around. The room is getting dark and so I decide to bring some light into it. Grabbing a nearest candle I light it up, put it on a table beside one of the shelves far enough not to catch on fire and close enough to see. A dim light shines on the titles and as I go through them, one catches my attention. It is a diary. A huge book still covered in dust. Out of curiosity I pick it up, open it and start reading. It describes days and days but no matter how much I search for the name of the author, I can't find anything. Clearly someone didn't feel the need to finish every entry with a signature. I read it, can't help but smile. All these entries are very nice. From what I've read I found out this belongs to a man. A man who has a daughter, just like me. Only he actually gets to play with her, spend time with her. They seem like a happy family. The mother seems like a wonderful cook. Every day a different meal. It seems... perfect. I read some more in a little selfish hope for worse days. I turn pages and turn and turn when I get to an interesting entry:

"For a week now I've been experiencing odd things happening in the house. I tried telling my wife but she wouldn't believe me. I keep telling her I'm not lying. I'm not making this up. I know what I saw. And that was a spirit. A spirit of an old man. He keeps cruising around the house. Doesn't seem to be harmful, just really... really lonely. I saw him for a moment in the living room. And then again in the library."

I flinch, chills going down my spine. Afraid to read more. A... A ghost? What is this lunatic talking about. I muster up all the courage not to close the damn book and read:

"He doesn't make any noise. He appears at random times in different places. He is wearing old clothes. Very old. I think... a shirt. White one. And trousers. Possibly black or gray. He's not wearing any shoes."

I look down on the date. It's from 150 years ago. I gasp for air.

 

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Comments

1 Sakura Minamino / Tweedledee Sakura Minamino / Tweedledee | Email | Web | 14. august 2018 at 20:23 | React

That was good. That was really good. Wow.

2 Nauesin Nauesin | Web | 15. august 2018 at 12:10 | React

[1]: thank you senpai owo

3 MOE MOE | Email | Web | 17. august 2018 at 9:21 | React

Good and a little bit scary :)

4 smartly smartly | 17. august 2018 at 10:43 | React

Not a bad life for a ghost. Good for the family the ghost wasn't me, as I would certainly be doing pranks on them.

5 Nauesin Nauesin | Web | 17. august 2018 at 13:36 | React

[3]: c: thank you

[4]: well, he didn't know he was a ghost after all :D He thought he was still alive

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