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Date Posted: 17:30:17 10/31/25 Fri
Author: Curious
Author Host/IP: 49.196.178.164
Subject: For Halloween
From the writings of An4, a ghost appears...
'Suddenly, the cigarette was moving. In the background Trent Reznor was singing over and over again `Nothing can stop me now.' A drum beat tripped along to this pithy little declaration. `Nothing can stop me now.' Up and up it went, held straight out. It came to a stop, still parallel to the floor, before indenting slightly. Smoke curled off the end, twisting madly in the cold air.
Then the truly amazing thing happened.
There was an exhale. It was the sort of exhale one would expect from a long denied smoker, deep, rich, backlit by the full moon, still low on the horizon and big as a beach ball. The smoke drifted angrily in the air, and then things became even more amazing. There was a disturbance in the smoke as she moved forward.
It was definitely a young woman. The smoke trailed around her, like a drawing penned in fog. Helen could see it clearly- a teenager girl with long hair and a face so sweet it made the girls on Dawson's Creek look like they'd been pulled from the bottom of reject bin. A beautiful young thing, a gossamer-based sketch of Athena from her high school days.
Helen thought about the fact that her classics instructor would have had a projectile experience hearing that descriptive voiced aloud.
Stiff bastard. As if only the ancient Greeks saw life for what it was.
The urge to smoke- and it was clear now from whence that had sprung- was so overwhelming that Helen found herself torn away from the scene. She walked into her room, pulled a cigarette from the pack, and lit it with nervous hands, wanting to get back to the spectacle.
The girl was still there. What had been a shimmering reflection of smoke had formed into near tangibility as she entered the room.
Her face- it was unbelievable, but she looked very much like Robyn. They would have been mistaken for sisters- if you could imagine a ghost woman of insolute features to be human. The smile on her face was so complete, white, half-realised teeth, perfectly straight in the sort of demure mouth which would have had revolutionary age suitors writing long poetic nonsense. "Hello, Helen," she said, her voice as indistinct as her flesh. She brought the cigarette to her lips again, a short beauty with long hair who had been sculpted by some cruel deity to look perfect only when smoking. The inhale was so deep, so luxuriating, and immediately her substance hardened until she was almost entirely whole.
"My name is Darcy. I never thought-" She held the cigarette in front of her between the first two fingers of her left hand, curled back on the palm. There was a look like love in her stark pale blue eyes. "-I would enjoy one of these again. Thank you."'
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