Processed by ghosts

The Whispers of a Ghost

Is it the smooth raven locks of your hair that I crave to touch?

Or is it your soul?

Is it your deep blue eyes that I wish to drown in?

Or is it your love?

Is it your tantalizing lips that I desire to sample upon?

Or is it you alone?

A voice barely above whisper recited the lines, the only audience of the mesmerizing lines being the four walls that were covered by the cobwebs and tons of dust which acted as a paint to the stone walls.

Mi Amor, are you impressed? The whisper-like voice questioned only to be met by silence.

Unfazed, the voice continued.

I've been reciting poems in your memory, the only beautiful memory I have. So, tell me did I impress you? Or, did I fail again?

Well, if I failed, then worry not. I will recite a different poem, another one from my heart.

And so, another verse filled the room.

How I wish to be the sweet whisper on your lips.

How I wish to be the smile in your eyes.

How I wish to be the one in your heart.

Oh, How I wish to be the one holding you in my arms.

And, How I wish to be the kohl lining your eyes so that your hidden tears never escape me.

The verse seemed to come to an end as the whispering voice came to a halt, an eerie silence descending in the room.

The silence stretched over a period of time over which one could easily feel uncomfortable.

Mi Amor, why are you not saying anything? the whispering voice broke the silence.

Did I fail to impress you, yet again?

Why is that you never notice me but him?

Why is that you never feel my love but only his?

Why is that I fail to capture your attention?

If one could listen closely, they could hear the despair in the whispering voice.

And, soon the despair turned into a frenzy, one which reflected of madness.

Why did I fail to capture your heart while he did?

And, why didn't you love me making me kill you?

As the frenzied whispering came to an end, a shrill cry resounded in the room which spread to the outside.

Freddie, who was busily sweeping the dry, fallen leaves off the grass felt his back stiffen as the shrill cry fell on his ears. Though he had been working as a cleaner in the villa for about twenty years, he was still not used to the sudden outbreak of the ghost residing within the stone walls. Letting out the paused breath, Freddie resumed the action of his broom.

The faint whispering and the shrill cries of the ghost have now become a part and parcel of Freddie's life. The ghost never harmed him and so Freddie was not totally frightened of it. But, he took enough care so as to not provoke it. He simply did his work and left promptly after cleaning the garden daily.

It was the same today.

After placing the broom in the garden house, Freddie left the haunted villa after locking the gates properly.

...

Another day inside the room.

Mi Amor, I decided to move on.

I've sacrificed my life so that we can be together in death, but you abandoned me. And even in death, you chose to go with him.

You still chose him in the end.

I've realized that my sacrifices are in vain.

I will find my true love, one who is not scared of me and bold enough to love the monster who I am.

I will find the Queen of my heart.

Sayonara, Belle.

Once again the whispering ceased to welcome the silence.

...

Clink! Clink!

Freddie who was watering the lavender plants turned around on hearing someone hitting the rusted iron gate. A glint of surprise flashed in his eyes as he eyed the group of uniformed men standing on the other side of the gate. What surprised him is not the uniformed men but the cleaning tools in their hands and the 'Movers and Packers' truck on their behind.

Putting down the sprinkler in his hands, Freddie hurriedly strode towards the gates.

"Old Freddie, open the gates. We've got a new owner for this house." Mr. Mark, the owner of the villa or now presumably the ex-owner, shouted in his usual booming voice.

With a nod, Freddie opened the doors letting the men in, who promptly entered in with their eyes fixed on the huge dark villa.

"Don't enter the last room above the stairs. Leave it as it is." Mr.Mark instructed, his tone demure.

"Yes, Sir."

Saying so, the group of men entered the villa with their equipment.

Waiting for the backs of the men to disappear completely, Mr.Mark turned to Freddie who was fidgeting his fingers, something the man does every time he is faced with a dilemma.

"Mr.Mark, who is coming to stay in this house?"

"Reportedly, it's a woman named Ameya Dawson with her nephew and niece. They purchased this villa and she will be your new employer. She expressed no dissatisfaction with you continuing to work here. She's a kind employer and you can be at ease..."

Mark had wanted to say something but he halted in the middle, the pale and lifeless expression on Freddie's face startled him.

"What's with the look on your face?" Mark nudged the dazed old man.

Coming from his reverie, Freddie questioned, his tone flustered "Didn't you tell the lady that the house is haunted?"

"Freddie, this house is not haunted!"

"Don't lie to yourself! How do you explain the sudden wails and the faint whispering in the walls? It's sick to think that you sold the house without informing the lady that it is haunted."

Faced with the old man's accusations, a cold gaze settled in Mark's eyes. In a tone reflecting the same, he said "I never heard of the sounds which you claim of. All that took place in this house is a murder and the person moving into this house knows about it. I've already sealed the room where the murder took place. So, don't go around spouting nonsense about ghosts and bring bad reputation to this villa!"

"But..."

"Enough of this, Freddie!" Mark interrupted harshly, "There are no ghosts in this villa and you will not say otherwise. Understood?"

"I understand." Freddie nodded, his tone clipped.

No one believed that the house is haunted, only Freddie did. As he had no evidence to prove his words, he could only keep his mouth shut.