The ghost in search of fame

The telephone would not stop ringing. I had registered a police complaint and it became fodder for folklore. All day people would find excuses to peek into my cottage. I would get random calls from the media asking for details. My long forgotten relatives also called and I was forced to repeat the same story again and again…phew!

It all started that day when I received a letter addressed to me.

In,

search of skin,

color no matter,

brighter or darker,

tell no one,

I will take someone,

Ssssshhhhh!

–  ghost, me!

I thought it was a joke and threw it in the bin. Next day, I received the letter again. I classified it as a prank, but it was not. The letter arrived everyday in my mail box for the next seven days. The last day it was accompanied with a dagger, bloodied and stinking. That is when I involved the cops. They are clueless still.

It has been fifteen days now and the telephone has still not stopped ringing. I have stopped picking it up though. I decided to shift back to the city. I packed my bags and called the local taxi stand for a cab. I took one good look again at my cottage, my hearth for writing horror stories and my launch pad for becoming the bestseller writer that I was. I took the lock in my hand and opened the wooden door. It was still early dawn and slightly dark outside.

I stepped out. The open mail box caught my attention. I walked towards it with anxiety and a nervous lump in my throat. There it was. A letter. I opened it. It was a new poem…

‘You told them all,

This was a bad call.

I will follow you,

In summer, winter and fall,

All I wanted is you to hear my story

And give me fame in your hall!

–  ghost, me!’

Alka Sharma

All rights reserved

#flash fiction

https://itsphblog.wordpress.com/ibmc/ibmc-06-the-mass-media-challenge/