The boy on the boat
Were running down the street, looking for the small, narrow, odly angled path. For you to understand what I’m talking about, I must take you back to three days ago.
I was sitting in my room on my comupter, like anyother Saturday. I look up and see a boy. He is black and whits, as if in an old movie. But for some odd reason, I know he has blonde hair and blue eyes. The boy is dressed in rags, like a 18th century slave. He’s dirty and scared. He opens his mouth to talk, yet no sound comes out.
-I’m sorry I can’t hear you? I ask the boy. He just shakes his head in dissmisal and truns. He faces my wall and walks right through it. I’m shocked at first, I just saw …. A ghost? I run to my mothers office and nock.
-come in. She eventually says.
-Mum, I just saw a ghost. He was a boy from the 18th century I think, He looked like a slave. I tell her in a rush. She looks up from her screen and looks at me in disappointement.
-Elizabeth, ghost’s do not exist, they are just old folktales. She insists. Even if they did exist, they would only be balls of energie floating and could not make any kind of communicati……on. She stoped talking. I look at her and see interest, disbelif and fear in her eyes. She gases behind me. I slowly turn and see the boy from before. He’s smiling in an inoocent and appolegetic way. I look from him to my mother and say under my breath:
- See I’m not carzy. I turn my gaze back to the young boy to my left. . I take a closer look at him. His hair is cut irregularly, as if done with a nife. He is my height and skinny, very skinny. I can tell he never went out thanks to his pasty skin. He is wering some every old dirty trousers and an old large pillow case with three holes cut out as a shirt.
He caucsouly waves his hand in a sign of greeting. My mother gasps and takes a step back. The boy quickly scared of scaring her puts his hands up in submisson. I look at him and slowly, as to not scare him, walk towards him. Once I’m only a few feet away I smile at him.
-Hello, I’m Elizabeth. Who are you? The boy smiles widly at me. Just as before he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.
-I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. The boy frowns at my comment and looks around the room. He spots a pad of paper and a pen. He looks to me and point to the items. I go to pick them up and go to sit in my mothers office chair. The boy follows behind slowly as to not scare anyone.
My mother stands in the corner of the room, not scared but intrigued with the situation.
I look up to my left to see the boy standing next to me standing. He points to me and makes the movement of writing. So I pick up the pen and look up to him again. He smiles and holdes my hand. I don’t feel anything at first, I look up yet again to see his eyes shut with concentration. Suddenly my hand feels cold and starts to move of it’s own accord. After A minite or two he stops and let’s go of my hand. I look down at the paper to see what he’s writen:
Hello to you too Elizabeth
My name is Christopher, I’m sorry you can not hear me.
I look up to see the boy smiling.
- I’m sorry I can’t hear you Christopher and make you have to write this. The boy looks to my hand and to me asking permisson. I nod. He slowly takes my hand ad closes his eyes again. I feel the bone chilling feeling in my hand again. I look down to see what Christopher has writen:
Don’t worry I’m sure the more often I write like this I’ll get used to it, If you are OK with me using your hand like this?
-Oh you don’t need to ask permission to use my hand just make sure I know you want to talk to me or someone els.
So that's it chapter 1 tell me what you think thanks for reading !?!?!?! ^^