Chapter One:
I was expecting a very young girl to come occupy the room that had been made so...effeminate. There was lace and frills everywhere. This is why I was
appalled that her family kept speaking of her strange behavior, such as entering
other people's houses without their permission, not attending school, and
smoking cigarettes at a wedding. A girl who was to occupy a room that was so
lovingly adorned with lace and frills and flowers could not possibly do the
terrible things her mother described to the girl's new stepfather weeks before
she arrived.
You can imagine my shock when I saw the young lady. She was wearing torn up
jeans and a black leather jacket. Appalling. I know that fashions have changed
in the past 150 years, but I couldn't help but feel disgusted with her taste in
clothing. A girl was wearing pants, and they were falling apart, no less. Her
skin was showing through holes in the knees. And her shirt was tight, leaving no
room for imagining the body beneath it, much to my embarrassment. She,
apparently had no problem with wearing clothes like that while men were around.
But she was a beautiful girl, despite her distasteful clothing. She had
beautiful brown hair and the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen. They were the
color of emeralds.
I chastised myself for thinking those thoughts about her as soon as I realized I
was thinking them. It wasn't right to think those thoughts about any lady, let
alone one who could not see me. And then there was the little fact that I was
dead and it didn't matter what I thought of her.
And then I realized that she liked the decor her mother and stepfather had
chosen for her room about as much as I did, which was to say, not very much. She
tried to hide her discontent for the decorations, but her pretense faltered as
she neared the window seat. Her mother looked at her with concern. "Oh no,
Susie," Mrs. Ackerman said. "Not again."
But I hadn't realized that the girl Mrs. Ackerman had called Susie had seen me.
For a hundred and fifty years, no living human had ever seen me. Because I was
dead.
Susannah had seen me, I realized, because as her mother and stepfather left her
to unpack the remainder of her belongings, she looked at me and said, "Who the
hell are you?"
Nombre de Dios, what kind of greeting was that? Such language. I had heard worse
from men who'd lost games of poker, but a lady never dared to raise her voice
above a whisper, much less swear.
Times, she informed me, were a-changing.
And I believed her.
Okay, this story was co-written by me (booksrule39) and Bee Bee (beebeepumpkingheadisdarcy). Please read and review folks! We would loooove it if you did. Oh and, be sure to read Bee Bees other fabulous Mediator stories. She is a great writer!