ghosts

The acrobat

The floor boards in the room

are about 12 inches wide.

The house was built in 1790, a man had been hanged in the backyard

And there is a cell built in under the house.

This is Andrea’s room.

She rents it for $120 per week.

 Andrea worked in the circus

But she lost her job.

It is an odd story, but she told it to me last night

As we were lying in bed and the moon shone across the sheets

Bathing us in a clean white light.

The window was open and somewhere the wind blew

A door open and closed over and over again.

Her job was to climb a rope,

Holding an antique vase and then,

Using her incredible strength,

Spin around doing tricks.

One night,

She drops the vase

And when it hits the ground

It doesn’t break, it bounces.

The scheme was the vase looked antique,

But it was made of rubber.

The crowd laughed

And she lost her job that night after the show.

I listened to her story,

But I knew it was not completely true.

I had been told she’d been stealing money,

But I didn’t say anything to her.

Now she works in the casino with me.

I clean dishes in the kitchen and she makes and sells coffee in the café,

Sometimes we would talk and play blackjack

And that’s how I met her.

She had to go to work early and I don’t start until late

So I get to lay in bed, listening to the sounds of this city

And the door opening and closing in the wind.

 He room is so much neater than mine, and cheaper.

I live in an old apartment on the highway.

The only thing I don’t have are ghosts,

And sometimes at night, in this old house,

Andrea tells me she hears things, like ghosts

Moaning outside the door.

That’s why she likes company.

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Ghost Story

 

After his wife died

Robert lived alone

And spent his nights painting.

His colours were directly plucked from nature

Or so he thought

And he toiled for hours to get the images just right.

He would take them to art shows

And once won first prize

But never made it outside of the smaller events in the country towns.

When he died, his children came and buried him

No one was too sad.

A local woman named Edith announced one morning

That she had been visited by the ghost of Robert Martin,

She described the scene

That it was him, she recognised him,

he appeared before her as she lay in bed alone.

It was his face, but it had shrunken, and the skin had pulled back against the skull,

Dirt fell from his mouth

And his eyes were gone.

He held out his fingers toward her,

The bones had pushed through the skin

And she could see the rib bones through his torn and ruined shirt.

The worst thing was that he glowed like moonlight.

The women listened to Edith speak

And never again did she have any respect in town.

A grown woman telling a story like that, they said.