Clairaudience

Ghosts are not creatures in white sheets. 

They are horrors. Rotting bodies, festering flesh, bug-eaten bone. Things that stalk and wail no matter light or night. Things that scream and entrap and whisper and growl into unsuspecting ears. 

Freaks, I tell you. 

And now you wonder why I know them so well. 

Quite honestly, I wish I didn’t. 

But I had the misfortune of being nearly forced into one. 

Metaphysical. Neither spirit nor flesh, yet both at once. They’ve no need of bodies yet they cling to bones that cannot move from marble tombs. Revenge, they desire revenge, especially the murdered ones. They tempt the curious visitor, crawling through time-aged walls that no longer possess any semblance of golden days. 

Broken. Raging. Weeping. Tempting. 

Anything to live a life again. 

…..you can feel the presence now, can you?