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There’s a teenage boy covered in blood, living in my closet. He used to hide from me, and the first time I saw him, I screamed. I think that’s what made him avoid me. He’s silly sometimes. One day, I even caught him wearing one of my dresses! I couldn’t stop laughing for a long, long time. I didn’t see him for a few days after that. On the third day of his absence, I sat next to my closet door and read out loud from the beginning of a book I’d just started about a knight who rescued a princess. I didn’t see him then, or the next day, but the day after that, he came and sat down next to me while I read out loud to him. When we got to the part where the knight slayed the dragon, he cried, and I reassured him that I didn’t want the dragon to die either. The next day, I read him a story about a boy who lied too many times, and when the time came that he needed help, no one believed him. He got very huffy at that, and went back into my closet. I didn’t see him for a few hours, but he came back out and apologised about leaving so suddenly. I told him that it was okay and not to worry about it.
There’s a teenage boy covered in blood, living in my closet. When I came home from school one day, I was humming a song. When I walked into my room, the boy was sitting on my bed, and perked up at the sound of me singing. He begged me to sing a song with him, and together, we filled the room with haunting duets. From that day forward, after we read, we sang. We sang anything that came to our minds. From the latest hits that I left on for him while I was at school, to random melodies that we made up as we went along. One day, I brought home a piece of music that I had found interesting and we sang that together. The paper disappeared, but I found it a month later, stuck to the wall, when I was grabbing a pair of pants from the back of my closet.
There’s a teenage boy covered in blood, living in the back of my closet. When I got home from school one day, about 6 months after meeting him, I sat by the door to my closet and talked while he sat next to me. I talked about anything and everything. The girls at my school who threw paper balls at me. The boys who threw away my bag. The teacher who gave me a failing grade because I couldn’t print my papers before class because we don’t have a printer at home. I told him everything, and when I stopped talking, he hugged me. It was the nicest, warmest hug I’d ever felt. From that day on, after we read and sang, we talked. About anything. He didn’t always talk back to me, but sometimes he did.
There’s a teenage boy covered in blood, living in my closet. He’s kinda shy, but he’s okay for a ghost.