Death grips us in unusual ways. Once there, now gone, or, at least that’s the way it usually runs. Sometimes, on the rare occasion, Death doesn’t quite remove the dead, and they hold out, holding on, and haunt the living.
You scoff – such silliness, of course everyone knows that there are no such thing as ghosts! I stand before you here today, on this most mundane of days, to tell you just how wrong you are, for I am one of those unfortunate souls who has been gripped by apparitions from beyond the grave.
It came on slowly, at first. A glimpse in a windowpane here, a half-heard whisper there. Then, with greater rapidity, my dreams became infected – my days filled with flitterings in the corner of my eye. I could not escape, and yet, my rational thought knew, I understood, that this was impossible!
I had burnt the manuscript myself, set the work aside and moved on with my life, and yet, the story, from beyond its charred grave, called to me! It called out, crying for life once more, a vampiric resuscitation, its essence consuming my own. I’m ashamed to say, I succumbed. The novel was written. But, do not judge me! You know not what it is to be tormented, to be haunted!