Haunted

You thought he was dead, but there he is, right in front of you in the alley, a wicked smile on his face, knife in hand. You stare at him; disbelief flooding your mind, making your thinking sloppy.

"You-you should be dead." You stammer, pointing at him.

"Well, I'm not," He chuckles, "You on the other hand... I don't know, you might be dead soon." He flips the knife, it's blade gleaming in the sunlight.

You back up, raising your hands in surrender, keeping them in sight. He advances, knuckles white around the handle, his breathing is heavy.

How did you get into this situation in the first place? Well, funny story actually; first you needed groceries, so, naturally, you went to the supermarket; which was packed with people, quite a hassle. Then, you had to walk your golden retriever around town multiple times, giving you plenty on exercise. Next, you had decided to go downtown and shop around for things you don't need, but want anyways.

"Hey," You smiled as you entered the first store on your long list, "You doing okay?"

"Yes, I am, how about you?" The employee had replied.

"I am doing good, thank you for asking!"

"Of course," He replied, "If you need help finding anything, just ask!"

"Thank you." You say, walking away to browse the bookshelves.

Your genre is horror. You love horror. Horror books, movies, stories, fairy tales, stories by the campfire, anywhere, anytime, you would read horror.

As you were browsing the shelves marked 'horror', you spot a book you have been looking for; Pet Sematary by Stephen King. Score!

Paying for your book, you leave the store and breathe in the smell of the outdoors: fresh pine mixed with rain, the perfect day. Not to mention the sun shining in between the break in the clouds, lighting up patches of sidewalk and grass, sometimes causing tiny rainbows to appear on the ground; making you smile.

There was a shortcut through an alley to your next stop, the bakery, because let's be honest, who doesn't love stepping through the doors and breathing in the scent of freshly baked bread?

As you were walking down the alley, you thought you had heard footsteps behind you, brushing it off, you continued to walk, only a little faster. Nearing the end of the alley, your shoulder is grabbed and you are pulled back, dropping your book and having your wallet go flying. You turn around, eyes wide and heart racing. Then you see him.

Now here you are, your crazy ex-best friend, coming at you with a knife; even though he is supposed to be dead. Why does he want to kill you? You and him were best friends before his death.

He had died a few weeks earlier, an accident, but you were there; you saw everything, and it is something you will never be able to forget.

But he's here, he looks healthy, he looks alive.

"How?" You ask, fear shaking your voice.

He only chuckles, advancing, tightening his grip even more. You can practically see the anger that is irradiating from his body, you can feel the heat. You scramble backwards, trying to reason with him,

"I'm sorry for whatever happened! I don't know why you're mad at me! Please don't kill me!"

"Aw, honey, no. I'm not gonna kill you; I'm just going to make you wish you were dead. It's all your fault that I'm dead! All your fault!" He shouts, face turning red.

"But how? I wasn't there, I wasn't in the car with you. How is it my fault?"

I really can't remember anything from that night. Only the faint memory of joking around in a cabin, setting stuff on fire, drinking, and movies. But you didn't go with him when he left; you had stayed behind to clean up. You had also drove yourself, there was no way you could've been the cause of the accident. But then again, alcohol was involved, so your memory isn't something to truly rely on, but it's all you have.

"You really don't remember, do you?" He scoffs, "You were the one that forced me to leave. You made me leave! If you hadn't done that; the truck wouldn't have hit me!! Then I would still be alive!!"

You sit there, shocked as the memories come flooding back in: you, shoving him out the door, slamming it in his face, screaming at him to leave, forcing him to go away.

It is your fault. If he had stayed, he would be alive.

Wait, so if he's dead....how is here now?

"How- how are you here? You're dead..." You whisper, the adrenaline getting released into your veins, making you feel better.

"That's none of your concern." He growls, stepping closer.

"Uhm, you're about to kill me," You say, sarcasm dripping into your voice, "I think I deserve to know."

"You always have been a stubborn one," He huffs, crossing his arms, "How do I put this?" He mutters to himself, tapping his chin with his pointer finger, "I'll just say it. I'm a ghost. Duh."

You stare in horror. You had always thought that was just a myth, the whole ghosts and vampires, werewolves, zombies, mummys coming alive, all of that; you had thought that was just made up....but now, you're not so sure.

He takes another step forward, holding the knife out, restraining himself from killing you right now.

Ghosts exist? So all of those shows on how to defend yourself from them wasn't fake? Wait. Defence from ghosts, that's exactly what you need.

Think!

How do you defend yourself from a ghost?

Iron pops into your mind. Too bad you don't have any on you.

Salt also works! There is a restaurant right around the corner! If you could just get there...

A sharp pain shoots up your leg and into your stomach, he had stabbed you in the leg, making that leg useless. You scream, hoping someone will come help you.

Nobody comes running.

He stabs you again, but this time, you don't feel it; you are thinking too hard.

'Salt packets are salt, right?' You think to yourself, trying to ignore the pain of the knife, 'I went to a restaurant yesterday, and put some salt packets in my wallet, they might still be there!'

You blink, realizing you could still get out of this.

Flopping to the ground, you try to claw your way to your wallet by the side of the wall, a few feet away. At first, you make it a foot, then another, and just as you're about to grab it, your hand is snatched back and thrown to the ground, causing more pain.

With one last desperate attempt, you gather all the strength you have left; and heave yourself to your wallet.

You rip open the zipper and shake the contents out, pouring them onto the damp concrete.

Where are they??

There!

You grab the sale and rip the paper open. Then, you fling the salt at his eyes, hoping with every bone in your body that this will work.

Time seems to slow down. You watch in slow motion as the salt touches his face and you watch as he screams, disappearing.

You only bought yourself a few minutes.

'I have to get to the restaurant.' You think, clawing your way out of the alley, your leg dragging uselessly behind you. You exit the alley and bang on the window of the restaurant, praying that there is someone there.

Within no time, the door opens and two people rush out, worried expressions on their faces.

They make no hesitation as they call 9-1-1.

Seconds later, sirens approach. That was fast; they must have been close.

You are loaded into the stretcher and taken to the hospital to care for your wounds.

As of now, you are safe, but what's going to stop him from attempting to kill me again?

'Next time, I'll be ready.'