The Wanderer

I was ten years old when I saw my first ghost.

This situation was a new one, so it took me by surprise. One minute, I happily played in the back garden, pretending to be a princess with my plastic tiara and sceptre. Next, a young boy, who looked around the same age as me, appeared, looking at me with a puzzled expression.

I didn’t know it at the time, but he was a ghost. He didn’t look like a stereotypical ghost. He wasn’t transparent and floating in mid-air, making weird noises. Like any other child, he stood there in a pair of jeans and a plain, red top.

“Who are you?” I asked the mysterious stranger. All the thoughts of my playtime were gone and my sceptre fell limply to the ground.

He just looked at me. It seemed like the fact I was actually talking to him confused him. I almost asked again, to fill the silence, but he finally spoke up.

“You can see me?” He finally asked.

Now it was my turn for confusion to cover my features. Why wouldn’t I be able to see him? He stood there, as clear as day.

“Of course I can see you,” I said.

The boy grinned, his eyes lighting up. He held his hand forward. “Well, in that case, my name’s Daniel. What’s yours?”