Ghost

by Auguste Larson

Grantaire died in 1987 and has since then been wandering around with little purpose and no passage to the afterlife. He falls in love with a living man called Enjolras and watches from afar. Everything changes when Enjolras nearly dies, being left with the ability to see the dead. Featuring psychic con Montparnasse and ghost Eponine in upcoming chapters. See latest note please.

9. Chapter 9

Enjolras always arrived early to class, even if he had little intention of enjoying the said class. He would usually be able to get into his seat early and study, which was an added bonus for the teachers who liked to give pop quizzes.

It turned out that not all teachers were even present in the building a half hour before class started and Enjolras was left to wander, unsure if he wanted to sit down on the dirty floor.

The art building was rather large, despite being one of the oldest buildings on campus. Enjolras was amazed by the art that was left hanging from years of past students. If he'd known anything about art, he'd say that the art was quite good. The pencil and charcoal drawings were quite realistic, and the paintings of people and landscapes were stunning.

As he wandered down the hall, Enjolras saw a large canvas painting. It was of two figures, their hands together. It looked as though there were flames around them, or entire stacks of gold. The eyes of the figures haunted Enjolras, who tried to imagine why on earth the people would be so sad.

"It wasn't even that good." A voice said behind him. Enjolras turned, finding an old man.

"I'm sorry?"

"He'd been such a good artist, and that semester... Well, I don't know what happened to him. He just couldn't paint. This was the only thing finished in the shop when we were clearing out his things. It doesn't speak to him as an artist."

"Who?"

"Richard... Er, uh, Richard Grantaire."

"Grantaire?" Enjolras was perplexed. That couldn't be his Grantaire, well not his, but the Grantaire he knew. No, of course, the plaque said 1987... "Did he have a son or brother who went here?"

"No, he's the only one. He was a scholarship kid, out of the New York streets... You know, those schools we go to for raw talent, well, he was one of the best I'd ever seen."

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Lennon Smith, I'm one of the professors here." The man held out his hand.

"I have a, uh, I have a class with you today. Intro to Drawing or something. I can't make it, I'm sorry. I have to go." Enjolras adjusted his bag before turning to run down the hall.

"You're early." Smith called after him.

"I know, I just need to go talk to someone."