I bet the apparitions I’d seen had escaped from my dreams and were appearing on the roads, day and night, frightening drivers, causing accidents...After witnessing the grisly accident scene, I had to take a walk around campus to get my head right. I passed by the Tasmanian in the small park near the gymnasium, eyed him solemnly. He was seated on a stone bench, under a bamboo tree, practicing calligraphy, Chinese characters. He looked so Zen, so peaceful drawing them.So, I decided I’d copy his practice. Went to the stationery store, bought a brush and paper and then went back to my apartment, began writing my own characters, stroke after stroke, tracing the particles, the radicals. The calligraphy, it was calming, soothing. It lifted my mind, set it at ease, and I didn’t see any ghosts for a couple days.A few days later, though, after the accident, the drilling started again, waking me whenever I slept, causing me to have anxiety and trembling spells.Worse yet, a new ghost, a lower. Her brows drawn together with intrigue, Imogen sat perpendicular to them in the leather recliner. Resting her forearms on her knees, she leaned in closer to them. “Okay, you want to explain to me where you found captain gorgeous here and how I’ve never seen or even suspected he even existed before tonight?” Newlyn chuckled, “You’re not going to believe me.” And so saying, she laid out the centuries old story; of betrayal, of the curse, of over eight hundred years of reincarnation. She talked of magic and monsters and lush mystical forests. And while rationally Imogen didn’t believe a word of it, she felt something inexplicable stirring deep within her, a yearning; an aching need. She quirked a challenging brow at them. “Okay, let’s pretend I believe you. Prove it.” Maccus gently took Imogen’s hand and activated the probe of his ring. He grazed the tip of it against the back of her hand, right above the knuckle of her middle digit. The chime echoed around the room and Imogen went.
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