“There is no need to be sarcastic, you little shit.”
“I…are you talking…to me?” He asks his full, pierced lower lip curving downwards to form a slight confused frown.
“No.” I say sarcastically, flopping down on the massive bed, body practically melting into the soft mattress and pillows. “I`m talking to the wardrobe over there.”
His deep, intelligent looking eyes narrowed. They really were a stunning colour, golden but with flecks of green.
“There is no need to be sarcastic, you little shit.”
I roll my eyes and adjust myself, not wanting to become too comfortable in case I had to suddenly spring to my feet and fight this dead loser.
“I…I don`t understand.” The ghost admits quietly, frown deepening, small creases appearing on his pale forehead. “How can you see me, and hear me when nobody else ever has?” I got this question a lot. like, a lot a lot. all the fucking time to tell the truth.
“All this time and no one, not a single person has ever-“
“Yeah, yeah. Look, whatever.” I snap, cutting him off. I didn`t mean to sound cold or uncaring, but I had a really long, tough day and I really wasn`t in the mood for this.
“Look dude, it`s time for you to move on and all that shit. Go on to some higher place or whatever. So here`s the deal.” I tell him, and he blinks once. “You tell me why your still here and I`ll do my best to get you gone.”
He blinks again, looking even more confused than he had done a moment ago. For a surprised, dead guy, I have to admit that he looked pretty good. It wasn`t often I cam e across an attractive ghost. He had crazy hair, the sides were shaved and dyed the colour of blood while the rest was left long and black, falling over his face in a scruffy, choppy side fringe that partially shielded his strange, heavily made up eyes. he was small, incredibly skinny and had this thin, tiny legs that were covered in incredibly tight leather. He wore a scruffy black jacket, adorned with patches, safety pins and spikes, over a severely torn black shirt, with the words “Death Or Victory” scrawled across it in messy, red writing. His tiny feet were covered by beat up looking black boots just short of his knees that had several, chunky, chains dangling from them.
“Gone? What if I don`t want to go?” He challenges, raising one perfect, dark eyebrow.
“Well you have to.” I tell him sharply. “You ain`t supposed to just be hanging around here no more.”
And what if I like hanging around, huh?” he wants to know, the small, infuriating smirk on his full, pink lips casing me to see red. He was teasing me, being annoying just for the sake of it. sometimes back at home other kids had made fun of me for my glasses or because of how incredibly skinny I was. that was before I had found out how satisfying and effective breaking their pathetic little noses was.
But I wasn`t going to hit this guy, not yet anyway. I was close though, very, very close.
“Look man” I say, getting to my feet, deciding to try a different tactic. “You can do all the hanging around you want, all right? But just not here.”
“Frankie.” He says randomly, still not moving from the charcoal sofa.
“What?” I raise one eyebrow.
“My name Is Frankie, you called me man. I think that was rather rude on your behalf, but you are forgiven.” He states blankly.
“Oh well thank god for that then!” I scoff, working hard to keep my voice down, not wanting my mother or one of the others to run up and see my yelling sarcastically at an empty sofa.
“And you?” his smirk grows even wider, his eyes twinkling with conceited amusement. He had a good face, a handsome face, and he knew it. It was the kind of face that had he still been breathing would have got him any girl he desired, it was the kind of face Alex would have probably swooned over. Not that he was pretty I tried to tell myself. Not one little bit. Dangerous was how he looked, smug and dangerous.
“What is your name?”
I glared and ignore his question. “None of your fucking business ghost boy.” I snap.
“That dark haired woman, I assume your mother, called you Mikes.” His red rimmed eyes were fixed directly on my own hazel ones. “Short for…”
“Mikey.” I raged, turning away from his intense stare.
“Mikey…”Frankie tries it out, the name sounding strange in his odd accent, almost alien. “Short for Michael?”
I nod sharply, glowering over at the shorter boy.
“So this is your room now, Michael?”
“Yeah,” I answered, trying to ignore the tell tale signs of a stress headache creeping up on me. “It is my room now so I really need you to go.”
He laughs once, an empty sound lacking any kind of humour. “Let me get this straight, you want me to leave?” I nod once. “Me? I died in this room, Michael, over thirty years ago and lived here since I was a boy, and you come waltzing in here and are ordering me to leave?!”
“look, I`m sorry, Frankie.” His name sends odd chills up my spine that I put down to the slight coldness that always accompanied the dead. “but I am not sharing my room with some dead punk guy, got it?”
“No I don`t got it.” was there an echo in here?
I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Either you move out willingly,or I will have to force you out.” I threaten, before turning on my heals sharply and storm out of the door.
I had to; I never lost an argument with anyone, especially a ghost. But I had a funny feeling that if I stayed around much longer, I was going to lose that one. I know I shouldn’t have been so short with him or rude, but I had just experienced the worst day of my young life and then came home to find the ghost of a dead guy lazing about in my new room. Not the kind of warm welcome I had been hoping for…