| General Fiction posted September 26, 2025 |
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A short ghost story
Ghost Story
by AliMom
It's difficult to write a story while someone is looking over your shoulder criticizing every syllable...
I situated myself, as always, behind my writing desk with only a lamp to light my space. You see, too much light is distracting. Too little light and I couldn't see the keyboard or the ink on the paper if I decided to write things out in longhand.
I'm not sure how long I had been sitting at my desk but there wasn't a thing on the page. The sun was going down slowly melting away the day and long shadows had begun to fill the room dimming the corners and pushing back the light. The evening rush had diminished, and the streetlamps were just beginning to illuminate the darker places on our street.
My study took on that familiar dreary dimness that you'd expect from a half-lit room in the Fall. A solemn quiet had settled on the house. Even the sounds of television shows and evening music were absent.
I'd insisted that I be left undisturbed by my family. Their constant interruptions, most of which were unnecessary, impinged on my creative process. Yet, I was uninspired. An empty page loomed before me and everything seemed a distraction. The light tick ticking of the clock, which I usually found comforting, the rustle of the curtains as they swished slowly against the window frame, even the silence itself drew my mind away from the task at hand. Then the door behind me creaked open with a snail-like shush against the wood floor.
"I asked you not to bother me!" I said. But there was no one there. I turned in my chair. Only fleeting shadows in the darkening hallway beyond. I pushed away from the desk, stood and craned my neck to have a better look. Crossing the room, I squinted peering earnestly into the shadows and realized there was no one there. Only darkness. Well, semi-darkness.
"Nobody" I murmured.
I stuck my head into the hallway thinking one of the children might be too shy to enter. They knew the rule: Don't interrupt Mommy while she's writing.
"Hey!" I yelled. The sound of my voice fell flat as if absorbed by a cotton wall.
Receiving no answer, I went downstairs. There, on the table my husband had left a thoughtful note indicating he'd taken the kids out for pizza so I could work in peace. How sweet, I thought. Then I checked the doors to make sure they were locked. I turned on a few lights so they could see better when they came in, at least that's what I told myself, and headed back toward the stairs.
A footfall came from upstairs. Then another. And another. The wood creaked slowly with each step. Someone was upstairs!
"Ralph?" But they didn't sound like dog feet, like paws. They sounded like human footsteps.
"Here Ralph," I whispered hoping our dog would hear me and respond. His fuzzy sheepdog head popped between the railings upstairs panting happily at being called.
"Silly dog. You scared me to death". Ralph thumped down the stairs towards me wagging his tail.
"Come on, keep me company. You don't talk enough to bother me. I'll even let you lay across my feet." We headed back to my study with me in the lead, my hand gently resting on the top of Ralph's shaggy head. Ralph stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Come on Ralph", I beckoned gently. "Come sweetie." Ralph stood staring unmoving but alert.
"Ralph!" He refused to move past that spot. The door to my study jerkily shifted forward an inch or two.
"Ralph", I whispered, "Did you see that?" Ralph stared straight ahead, still standing at attention, on full alert.
"What is it boy? What do you see?" Ralph cocked his head to the side as if asking himself the same question. Even with a gentle tug on his collar, he would not move.
"Alright you big sissy, I won't make you go. But if anything pops out of there, you'd better be ready to attack." Ralph just sat down on his haunches and stared ahead into the dim hallway.
I situated myself, as always, behind my writing desk with only a lamp to light my space. You see, too much light is distracting. Too little light and I couldn't see the keyboard or the ink on the paper if I decided to write things out in longhand.
I'm not sure how long I had been sitting at my desk but there wasn't a thing on the page. The sun was going down slowly melting away the day and long shadows had begun to fill the room dimming the corners and pushing back the light. The evening rush had diminished, and the streetlamps were just beginning to illuminate the darker places on our street.
My study took on that familiar dreary dimness that you'd expect from a half-lit room in the Fall. A solemn quiet had settled on the house. Even the sounds of television shows and evening music were absent.
I'd insisted that I be left undisturbed by my family. Their constant interruptions, most of which were unnecessary, impinged on my creative process. Yet, I was uninspired. An empty page loomed before me and everything seemed a distraction. The light tick ticking of the clock, which I usually found comforting, the rustle of the curtains as they swished slowly against the window frame, even the silence itself drew my mind away from the task at hand. Then the door behind me creaked open with a snail-like shush against the wood floor.
"I asked you not to bother me!" I said. But there was no one there. I turned in my chair. Only fleeting shadows in the darkening hallway beyond. I pushed away from the desk, stood and craned my neck to have a better look. Crossing the room, I squinted peering earnestly into the shadows and realized there was no one there. Only darkness. Well, semi-darkness.
"Nobody" I murmured.
I stuck my head into the hallway thinking one of the children might be too shy to enter. They knew the rule: Don't interrupt Mommy while she's writing.
"Hey!" I yelled. The sound of my voice fell flat as if absorbed by a cotton wall.
Receiving no answer, I went downstairs. There, on the table my husband had left a thoughtful note indicating he'd taken the kids out for pizza so I could work in peace. How sweet, I thought. Then I checked the doors to make sure they were locked. I turned on a few lights so they could see better when they came in, at least that's what I told myself, and headed back toward the stairs.
A footfall came from upstairs. Then another. And another. The wood creaked slowly with each step. Someone was upstairs!
"Ralph?" But they didn't sound like dog feet, like paws. They sounded like human footsteps.
"Here Ralph," I whispered hoping our dog would hear me and respond. His fuzzy sheepdog head popped between the railings upstairs panting happily at being called.
"Silly dog. You scared me to death". Ralph thumped down the stairs towards me wagging his tail.
"Come on, keep me company. You don't talk enough to bother me. I'll even let you lay across my feet." We headed back to my study with me in the lead, my hand gently resting on the top of Ralph's shaggy head. Ralph stopped at the top of the stairs.
"Come on Ralph", I beckoned gently. "Come sweetie." Ralph stood staring unmoving but alert.
"Ralph!" He refused to move past that spot. The door to my study jerkily shifted forward an inch or two.
"Ralph", I whispered, "Did you see that?" Ralph stared straight ahead, still standing at attention, on full alert.
"What is it boy? What do you see?" Ralph cocked his head to the side as if asking himself the same question. Even with a gentle tug on his collar, he would not move.
"Alright you big sissy, I won't make you go. But if anything pops out of there, you'd better be ready to attack." Ralph just sat down on his haunches and stared ahead into the dim hallway.
My common sense dictated that I should be heading for the front door about now, but I was intrigued by the strangeness of the situation. Besides, I had Ralph to protect me. I cautiously headed toward the door of the study. Nothing there. I flipped on the switch for the ceiling light deciding I'd had enough dark for the evening and gave a good look around. Still nothing. "Back to work", I thought and crossed the room to my desk. Ralph, still unmoving, began to whine in the hallway.
Then the ceiling light went out. The room seemed close, suffocating in fact. And the breathing started. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, ragged and heavy like someone with pneumonia or emphysema.
"That's it. I'm out" and I started toward the door. It slammed with a loud bang in front of my face. I leaped back startled. The single window in the room looked like a pretty good option at that moment except it was two floors up and there was no foliage underneath to break my fall. That didn't stop me from back-pedaling in that direction.
A whisper - no, more of a long sigh, passed by me as I stood frozen unable to will my feet to head toward my only escape route, dangerous as it might be. Then, my writing chair turned toward me, seat first, and began to roll slowly across the wood floor. I backed up an inch or two reaching for the window latch until I ran out of space. The chair bumped insistently against my legs-not hard-just enough to let me know two things: It wasn't operating under its own steam, and it wanted my attention. Another warm breath blew past my ear.
"Sit" it whispered. "Sit".
Strong but gentle hands turned me around and pushed me into the seat. The chair or whoever was directing it, rolled me silently across the room until my legs slid under the desk. The desk lamp was turned so its light shone onto my keyboard. I didn't dare peer over my shoulder to see who was responsible but kept my eyes pitched toward the laptop's screen which reflected a ghostly shadow whose face I could not see. It hovered there expectantly. I kept expecting the screen to leap into action producing unspoken words from my phantom guest. But nothing happened. It was waiting for me.
So, I began to write this story...
Then the ceiling light went out. The room seemed close, suffocating in fact. And the breathing started. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere, ragged and heavy like someone with pneumonia or emphysema.
"That's it. I'm out" and I started toward the door. It slammed with a loud bang in front of my face. I leaped back startled. The single window in the room looked like a pretty good option at that moment except it was two floors up and there was no foliage underneath to break my fall. That didn't stop me from back-pedaling in that direction.
A whisper - no, more of a long sigh, passed by me as I stood frozen unable to will my feet to head toward my only escape route, dangerous as it might be. Then, my writing chair turned toward me, seat first, and began to roll slowly across the wood floor. I backed up an inch or two reaching for the window latch until I ran out of space. The chair bumped insistently against my legs-not hard-just enough to let me know two things: It wasn't operating under its own steam, and it wanted my attention. Another warm breath blew past my ear.
"Sit" it whispered. "Sit".
Strong but gentle hands turned me around and pushed me into the seat. The chair or whoever was directing it, rolled me silently across the room until my legs slid under the desk. The desk lamp was turned so its light shone onto my keyboard. I didn't dare peer over my shoulder to see who was responsible but kept my eyes pitched toward the laptop's screen which reflected a ghostly shadow whose face I could not see. It hovered there expectantly. I kept expecting the screen to leap into action producing unspoken words from my phantom guest. But nothing happened. It was waiting for me.
So, I began to write this story...
Ghost Story writing prompt entry
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Writing Prompt Write a Ghost Story. No limit on the word count. No poetry. |
Have you ever been so absorbed in your work that you forget to look up? And when you do, you could swear someone is watching you? A creepy little tale about a ghost writer? Maybe.
Pays
one point
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