THE GHOST OF ADRIANA (c) 2012, David Alan Dickens I began to fully identify with Nathanial Hawthorne. Just as the sun was setting in the early evening, I would see her in the hallway, the ghost of Adriana Vickers, her vague, hunchback image pushing a walker. Initially, I didn’t notice the apparition anywhere else in the house, only the upstairs hallway, which saw her appearances and movement restricted to a small portion of the east end of my tenement, only and always traversing between a closet and a window on the second floor. After several startling moments, her translucent image was ‘pulled’ toward a section of wall, before being absorbed into it. On several occasions I went to where she was last seen, feeling myself the stout plaster and lathe-boards through which she seemed to pass. Alas! Yes, indeed, I could see the ghost! In the early stages of my tenure, this paranormal phenomenon paid me no acknowledgement, as if completely unaware of my presence while being steadfast in a single purpose: strolling solemnly down the rear hallway in the evanescent onset of dusk. Alarmed I was, to say the least, calling into question every form of possible explanation including a trick of light created by the window, a sinister prank belonging to one of my twisted friends or family, or the deterioration of my own sanity. Much had changed in my life, most for the better, and I estimated that I had possible succumb to some stress-disorder or another. Although a visit to my personal physician crossed my mind, it never made it beyond my thoughts. I felt perfectly healthy in a physical sense, and my mind was as lucid as I could hope for. So I decided to live with this harmless figment of light and figure, hoping, more than not, that it would decide to wander off and haunt someone else. At first concerned by the onslaught of these mysterious appearances, I began to relax, counting them as harmless, albeit quite unnatural. Far be it from me to grasp at the grand workings of the universe, let alone interfering with one of its processes in my very midst. Nevertheless did I wonder as to the identity of my secret tenant; perhaps she was a prior habitant of my house, a resident from another time, or perhaps a friend of the aforementioned, searching for her knitting basket in the next dimension...
Posted on: Thu, 06 Nov 2014 02:44:42 +0000
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