Points to a sign : Please don't throw cans at the writer.
I hope ye like.
Dawn haunt me not
I walked until, I stumbled upon a door step, where I spent my nights. I awoke the next morning in a mansion, once inside came a cross mild golden crests on the walls, red carpet, and halls for miles with it every room held a chandelier.
Each room with a window enlaced with red velvet curtains, with golden tassels, each wall was a solid cream color with a good balance of decorations in color.
I could get use to living here. Thought the red eyed ghost writer.
Little did he know he'd be cursed to live every morning of his life like a bird in a cage in the mansion walls. This curse was brought upon the inhabits that once resided in the mansion.
When morning came he awoke on the floor of the mansion near a window.
Once dawn hit his face, he begain to feel strange. His hands began to disappear right before his eyes.
He got up and ran for the doors of the manor, but the entrance was locked. His condition became worse as the light filled the room.
"What's happening to me?" He screamed.
"It's the curse!" Whispered voices from around the room.
A pile of blue flames, jolted from the farthest part of the corridor, into the main room shadow had been sitting in.
They circled the room, as if they were observing the spectacle that laid helplessly on the floor.
By this time, the poet, was completely intangible to naked eye.
"Who are you?" The angry writer yelled.
"Your the new, owner of the mansion, this is Mystic Mansion. The ghost that reside here are ether waiting for their time to the hear and after or haven't really lived. Explained one of the blue flames.
A pair of red eyes gave a glower look. "Huh?"
"I'm dead?" Screamed the poet.
Another blue flash came out of nowhere and stared the dark writer, then at a pair of stairs.
"Or you have some unfinished business in the land of the Living."
"Unfinished business?" Thought the writer.
"Your invisiable state will only last until, the sun sets." Said another ghost.
"So, when the sun comes back?" The ghost in a ghostly black cape looked at his hands.
"Yup, you'll be back to your normal gruesome ghostly self."
"Right." Said Mr.red eyes as he walked to a mirror near the front hall.
What's this? Thought the writer.
"That's the mirror." Said a young ghost.
The dark knight looked at the mirror. "No reflection."
Your deepest desire is brought to a form in that mirror. Giggled the young ghost.
"So who are all of you?" Asked the Poet.
"We are the ghosts of time." The four ghost.
"Past, present, furture, and lost time." Said the ghost in unison.
"Lost time?" The dark ghost looked at them all.
"I don't name them kid." Said the oldest ghost.
"Look in the mirror." Laughed the Youngest ghost.
"It's Amy!" Yelled the poet in surprise.
"The desire to be with her is locking you to this form." Said the ghost of the present.
"Why don't you just confess how you feel? "The ghost of the future yelled at him.
"I, as well as anyone else know what you've done for the world." Yelled the ghost of the past.
"Your right." Said the poet.
"Yeah, Of course I'm right." Laughed the Past proudly with the other ghost rolling their eyes.
And so here I am at the portal of the living and the dead, staring fate in the face of a mirror.
But the path had been taken, I leapt in the mirror and ended up in the living world on the waters surface.
There she stood watching me, as I had been detected in the moon light.