Oh, Johnny Boy

Friends for life...but then what?

"Come on, I mean it. I take this seriously; I'm not just out here to play grab ass in the graveyard."

Johnny looked at me in the cloudy moonlight. "Do you believe in ghosts?" he asked.

Well, I believe in something. That's what I want to find out though. Come on, we've talked about this for years. Let's do some...I don't know, summoning or whatever."

I clicked the tape recorder on. Johnny clicked it off and looked at me solemnly. "None of that 'provoking.' And no 'summoning;' that shit's dangerous. Just...just talk to them."

The flashlight jittered as though it was agreeing with Johnny, who raised his eyebrows. "Now do you believe in ghosts?"

I scowled and clicked the recorder on again. "Hello? Is anyone here with us?" I called, feeling like an ass. I whispered to Johnny, "All this preparation, now I feel—"

"Hear that?" he whispered

I thought I heard a very faint "hello," but it could have been my imagination. I reached for the recorder to see if I had caught it, but Johnny held me back. "Just talk to them, Geoff."

I pulled in a breath to ask something, and a voice actually came from behind a headstone, so clear I thought Johnny was pranking me, because it sounded exactly like his voice. "Believe..."

I startled and look at Johnny, who was smiling. "Now do you believe in ghosts, buddy?"

—And he was gone, like the universe swallowed him whole!

"Johnny?" I asked the darkness quietly. I turned in circles, looking everywhere. "Johnny!" I called loudly, cringing at the sound. As I turned in circles, my flashlight steadied on one weathered gravestone.

Johnny Sparkton
Sep 1, 1900 - March 22, 1918
Beloved Son - Proud Soldier

In the dark, I heard a very faint whisper. "Do you believe...?"

(Word Count: 300)