The Ghost That Wears Makeup
A short ghost story
“Daddy, why does Mommy still put on her makeup?” I ask.
He looks down into his steaming mug of tea, back to the same paper he’s been reading since forever, and doesn’t answer me.
“Can I have one?” I ask, and this time he responds, standing up and switching on the kettle which starts to scream.
It’s sad that we have to burn Mr Kettle until he screams to make our tea, but it tastes so good that I don’t mind.
He pours the tea into my little sippy cup, and I hope Mommy won’t mind. It has wings on either side and it’s quite heavy so I hold it with two hands as I take it to her.
I hope she’ll like it.
It takes a long time to walk down the hall from the kitchen to her room. Daddy used to sleep in there but he doesn’t anymore. I don’t think he sleeps at all now, but he’s often curled up on the floor next to me when I wake up.
When I get to her room the door is open a little bit but I knock anyway because she taught me that’s polite to do.
She’s brushed her hair and done her lips already, now she’s making her skin all white like she used to do before every performance.
I understand why she does it.
