I wrote this awhile ago and decided I should post it.

The Boy and the Ghost By Zachary Storch
It was a plain summer evening. The sun was just beginning to set, and Gregory Smith was outside playing ball with his friends. The summer was a good time to be young; free from the bonds of elementary school to enjoy the warm breeze and the world around him, after his mom made him put on sunscreen of course. He heard his mother now, calling him and his friends in for dinner. Isaac Colton kicked the ball away, and it rolled out of their green grassed, white picket fenced lawn, across the street and behind the spooky house.

Every good suburban neighborhood has one– that one house that is somehow different from the others. No one ever saw anyone come or go from the door, no cars park in the garage. It was an intimidating large house with an entrance supported by two thick mahogany pillars. Glass windows adorned the walls for the unseen residents to gaze out through. The backyard looked cleanly cut and welcoming, yet the fence around it bore sharp metal spikes. It was around the back of the house and slipping past the freighting fencing that Gregory found his ball.

His ball had rolled on top of what looked to be a small garden. Brilliant blue forget-me-nots mingled with ruby roses and cheery bright yellow tulips. The garden looked very well kept and loved, not a single weed or broken stem. When Isaac kicked the soccer ball here, it rolled over a few flowers and made Gregory nervous, for he did not wish to hurt the flowers. It was odd; Isaac was not that strong a child; how did it roll so far? He reached to pick up the ball and felt a cold hand tap his shoulder.

“Excuse me, but could you keep your ball off of the flowers?” he heard a tremulous, high female voice ask him.
Gregory turned with a start to see what was there. What he saw puzzled him. It was a girl no older than he, dressed all in a white dress that glowed a soft green. Her skin looked like it was coated thickly in flour, a pale, pasty white. She stood at his height, but when Gregory turned his vision down, he saw she did not stand on the grass, but above it, serenely floating in the air.
“I didn’t mean to,” Gregory said and quickly picked the ball up off the flowers.
“Just be more careful next time,” the girl replied.
“Are you a ghost?”

The strange girl laughed at his question as if it were a ridiculous thing to ask someone floating a foot off the ground. “A ghost? Like dead? Of course not! I live here with mommy and daddy and I take care of the flowers here. I’m not a ghost.”

Gregory turned to look at the house, which showed no signs of life. A well kept lawn, flowers taken care of but inside the house, darkness. “But no one lives here.”
“I live here and so does mommy and daddy, I don’t know what you mean!”

The sun sank behind the horizon, and the world became darker as night overtook Gregory’s surroundings. The warm breeze became a soft rain that pitter-pattered down onto the road. It started to raid harder, making the grass beneath his feet muddy.

“You should leave!” the ghost told him.

Gregory left without saying another word to her, too confused by what he had seen to speak another word. He ran home through the rain holding the ball over his head for meager cover. He shut the door to his home behind him hard. It smelled like meatloaf, his favorite. He tried to forget about what had happened and went to eat dinner.

The next day passed like his other summer days did. He went outside, played with his friends, and enjoyed his summer vacation. Later that night, his thoughts drifted back to the ghost he had seen behind the spooky house. He resolved to try to find her again, sneaking off while his mom was making dinner.
When he made it behind the spooky house to the quiet flower patch where he had seen the ghost last night, he found nothing but disappointment. It was just a patch of flowers: pure white irises, rich purple lilacs and large pink lotuses. She was not there. He turned and started to leave, stumbling into someone and falling down into the grass. He stood back up and tried to brush the dirt off him, but the grass was still muddy from the rain the night before. He looked up and saw the ghost again.

“Oh! I- I’m sorry, I should watch where I am going,” said Gregory.
“Why did you come back?” asked the ghost.
“I just wanted to see if you were still here.”
“Of course I am still here silly. I live here with mommy and daddy and I take care of the flowers,” the ghost folded her small arms angrily “You are bothering me, you should leave or I am going to tell daddy!”
“Can I come back tomorrow?”
“No! Leave me alone and let me take care of the flowers.”

Gregory left.

The next few days of his summer break were much the same. He would play with his friends, rest in the sun, and then at night he would go talk to the ghost. Every night, she told him to leave, and he would. On his eighth visit, things started to change.

“So what is your name anyway?” the ghost asked him that night.
“Gregory,” he told her. “What’s your name?”
“Lily,” she said. “You should leave,” she said like always.
Gregory began to do as he told, but she spoke as he walked past her. “Wait,” the ghost said. “Will you come back tomorrow too?”
“Yes,” Gregory said, as his fascination for his discovery had yet to fade, and he had every intention of returning.
“I will see you then,” the ghost said.

The next day Gregory had an idea. He decided he should get her a gift. What would a ghost want? She said she takes care of the flowers there. That evening, Gregory returned to the spooky house with a gardening trowel he had taken from his dads shed while he was at work.

“I got you this Lily,” he told the ghost.
The ghost crooked her head and stared. “I have a trowel Gregory, how else would I plant new flowers?”
Gregory looked down nervously.
“But I will take it if it is a gift from you,” said the ghost as she took the trowel from him. “You know, what I really wish I could find are some lily flower seeds. I have always wanted to grow the flowers I am named after.”
“My dad has a garden at our house, I could look for you,” promised Gregory.
“You would do that for me?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you. I will see you tomorrow night.”

The next day Gregory sneaked into his father’s shed once more and found the seeds he had hoped would be there. That night he returned to the spooky house with the lily flower seeds.
“I found the seeds,” Gregory told the ghost as he handed her the small packet.
“Thank you Gregory,” Lily said. Then she began to disappear, like the image of the setting sun on a lake, fading brightly. It was strange, for she had done such other nights, but as young Gregory watched, he knew that this was the last time she would do so.

Note about the story:The idea of the story is not one trying to be scary but one trying to show the beauty that lies in the brevity of life and the sudden nature of death. It maintains a sort of childish tone, which works well with heavy stories. There are tales of ghosts passing on after someone grants them a final wish; that was the case in this story with Lily. I do not consider this piece perfect, but I like it.