Ghost Story
—This is the scariest story I’ve ever read.

Hey, you.

Yes, YOU, the ghost.

Look down and you see yourself flowing in the mid air. Looking up, you stare at the cars going to and fro under the bright sun shine. The heat falls on the red tile ground; you can even see the hot stream rises and passes through your translucent arm. Trees are waving in a bad mood with birds shouting, screaming to the sky.
It is a hot summer day.

And you see a huge block of red flowing under that tree. Going closer, you realize that it’s a huge red hat. It moves and turns – looking down, there’s a small face of a little girl under the hat that covers her up like an umbrella. She is standing on a chair, a tall wooden chair next to the pets shop door. Looking around like a little red mushroom, her blue eyes shining like the deep blue sky.

“Hey,” jumping in front of her, you find her eyes. “What are you looking for, little girl?”

Knowing she could not hear you, you still ask out loud and take a seat next to her. Under the shade of the leaves, two of you are waiting for someone, although you don’t know whom. And she doesn’t know that there’s someone by her side.

There, a golden gale of wind blows through the crown of people. It’s a young lady’s hair that is waving like a flag when she runs across the street. “My hat!” she exclaims in joy. “You found my hat!”

She runs to the little girl, and you already know what will happen. Yes, the kindness and smiles, the “Thank you” and “You are welcome” – you know these things and see them every day. They are as warm as fire, and you know them well.

You leave quietly, although no one can possibly notice.


“One dollar! One dollar! ”

Across the ocean, you stop at a small town. Men and women with their fancy clothes walk pass the stores on both sides of the streets. The shop owners are looking at every person who passes by with enthusiastic smile, yelling out the names of local products one by one which connect into a song and hoping someone will stop by. No one really hears the young and naïve yelling in the street. You turn around and –

Whoosh!

A bracelet is right in front of your eyes.

“Hey! What was that for?” jumping back abruptly and screaming, looking down; you see this boy, about seven years old, reaches up to you with a wooden bracelet in his hand. “One dollar!” He stares at you, speaks again, and stands one step closer. It seems like this is the only English that he knows.

You step back with fluster. “I, I don’t have a dollar. I mean, I don’t need —”

“Sorry, I don’t need it.”

You stop, realizing the boy is not talking to you. He couldn’t possibly talk to you. Turning back quickly enough, you see the back of the woman who pushes away the bracelet and already walks away.

The boy doesn’t stop. Seems like already gets used to this kind of rejection, he immediately turns to another tourist. You see one of his shoes is broken and almost falls off as he runs faster. His face is not clean and his clothes are simply a piece of connected cloth. If he suddenly disappears in this noisy street, maybe no one will even notice. You follow him and closely observe that bracelet: it’s the connection of easiest wooden cube with letters, dull and dusty, silly and old. It’s easy to tell that they are home-made, and definitely not worth one dollar.

No one pays for the bracelet. Tourists are leaving; their kids are laughing and comparing what they got. Seating on the edge of the railway, you watch the boy walks quietly away.

“I’m sorry.” looking at him, you say. ”I don’t have one dollar.”

He doesn’t hear you. He could not hear you.
Staring at his lonely shadow, you promise never come back to this place again—never.


You can't believe your eyes. How? You thought that town was bad enough—that boy, he won’t get any food for dinner, perhaps not even breakfast. But you realize you were being stupid. How can there be somewhere like this on earth? You don’t understand.

Fires burn the trees all over the field – if you can still call those black sticks “trees”. Huge holes fill the ground with earth shaking in pain and anger. Sky is all black and gray with heavy clouds and smokes; lights flash and fall and scream and blow up into pieces of fireballs.

You never understand what war is. The only thing you know is that this is the closest place to hell. Flowing around, you try to find out how these noisy monsters work – and one of them shout straightly at you. BOOM!!

“Ahhhh!!” The thing couldn’t hurt you, but you still jump back, fall on the ground, and pass right through the black burned earth. All light disappear, and darkness huge you into her deeply—you stand back and flow out, with your heart bumping hardly.

This is not a place that you want to be.

Flow across the field—if you’re human, you must already died for several times—maybe falls into pieces or loses half of your arm. Black, gray and red, these are the only three colors you see. Having no idea how long it takes, you finally hear the voices of human.

Behind all those bags there are men seating in a circle, each one holding half a pencil with yellowish paper. You stand behind one of them and look at the black marks flowing on the soft surface.

…and hope you are safe. I might not come back. Just want to say goodbye to you, and also to our unborn daughter. Tell her that I love her, and how much I want to meet her. Sorry for my absent in her life, and also yours…

You follow that man when he grabs his gun and jumps into position. The bangs and bongs and cracks and screams, everything smashes together and pumps into you. The light of those monsters scream at you and drag you into a painful shadow…

So you didn’t even see how the man dies.

He suddenly stops and freezes, reminding you of the freezing game you used to play. But he doesn’t laugh and move on. You stare at him trembles and falls to the hard black ground like a puppet that loses its wire.

You know there will be a letter mails to a pregnant woman telling her that she lost a person who loved her until the end of his life. You can do nothing about it.


From the no man’s land to the forest, the ocean, the deep blue lake—it takes you several years to wash away the depress. You promise never go back to the battle field again.

You find yourself missing the peace and love that once you thought was everywhere. So in a late-spring day, you come to a city. It’s early in the morning and the cool wind blows through the sleeping street. The sun gets up and yawns tiredly.

But you hear crying like a soft touch in the air. Following it all the way across the city, you turn into a small dark alley. In the bags of junks, you find a baby.

Yes, a baby—a real living life.

He is so quiet and weak, but so fresh and soft. You get closer—this is a new born baby. He reminds you of the light green leaves that stretch under the warm sun shine—but he’s now crying in debility. Did someone throw him away? You can’t understand.

You look around. The city is sleeping deeply. All quiet—it seems like every voice heavily sink to the bottom of the ground. “Anyone?” You step forward. “Please! Help!”

No one can hear you. No one is there to hear.

The cry becomes a low whisper. You see his face squeeze together in pain, but crying is already too hard. You seat beside him; there’s nothing you can do.

When the first bright light falls into the alley, the crying stops.
You promise that you will never come back.


You freeze when you see the deep blue eyes that somehow familiar. Old memories flood into you—she is that little girl who seat with that huge red hat. Now she’s not a little girl anymore, but you remember her clearly. Breathing in with relief, you run to her with a big smile.

And you see a block of red rolls on the street. It’s a little red wallet. You know what will the girl do—you smile at her, although she couldn’t see you. You wait.
The girl stoops, picks the wallet up, and puts it into her own pocket.

--Who is scary?