He Saw Me

A Story by Miranda

I've been dead for years, but is there someone who can see me?

It was a long time ago when I died. I was murdered in my own hotel room, left to haunt anyone to stepped foot inside the exact room. I never thought I had it in me. I thought correctly. Every time someone entered the room, I was the one who fled. I'd run in the hallways, hide in a closet, sit in the corner, anything to get away. But I'd never forget the one boy. The boy who came inside the closet and asked to play. Could he see me? Hear me if I spoke? I tried it out.

"I don't wanna play." I said. He heard me.

"Why not?" He asked.

"Because I don't want your mom to see me." I walked around him and out the door, but he followed me.

"Are you a ghost?" He asked naturally.

"How'd you know!" I said, breathily.

"I can see through you." He said.

It was feeling I've never experienced before. I felt a sudden surge of anger, hatred, betrayal. I thought that I, dead ten year old Jim Benson, could not be seen by anyone. That I would never be discovered. That nobody would ever disturb me.

"Nobody can know..."