Waiting for the Metro

“Who are you??” I shouted, my throat stinging from the aching cold. “What do you want??” I continued the fruitless act to receive a response. The ghost, nevertheless, ignored me. This continued for some time, my desperate pleas for soundness falling deaf upon the ghost, whatever or whoever it was. Eventually, I couldn’t even take it anymore. I stopped, bending over to face my aching legs as I gasped for the energizing air of the forest. With my hands on my knees, I turned up to lock eyes with the poltergeist, or person, or whatever the hell it was. It appeared to only be around fifty feet away.

I still couldn’t view their eyes, remaining fixated only on two seemingly crudely cut holes, and the matte ebony of them seemed to return the stare. Despite the silent forest surroundings, and how the eerily quiet atmosphere brought chills even without any cold, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I finally felt an unspoken connection, after hastily chasing after the ghost for what felt like an hour. This is alright, this is what’s supposed to happen. As I sat down against the muddy bark and rested my eyes once more, the ghost turned away as gracefully as it wandered away from me. When I awoke the phantom had disappeared, and all that remained was the soft white sheet and a note.

The Ferret