Candy Apple

The carnival had come again; lights and music interrupting the quiet nights that often settle over the small town in South Mississippi. ONly a few people were privy - the spirits didn't like many of the town's inhabitants and didn't want them to ruin the festival nights.

I have always been visited and liked by spirits, and I've always been quietly proud of that fact; even if I didn't brag about it. Bragging would chase them away, and they were better friends than the living. This year, I am one of the only living people. I'm still special to them.

I buy a candy apple, a rare treat, and cheerfully set to work on the bright red, sugary coating as I make my way to the carousel. I sit by a girl about my age - a spirit I recognize, but have never actually talked to. She looks at me with oddly opaque obsidian eyes that contrast starkly with her transparent white skin.

"Your face is bruised," She remarks. "I bet it's from someone in your family; a lot of girls our age deal with it."

Something grows cold in me as the ride begins to slowly spin, the lights growing a little dull and the music slower - more warped. I twist my candy apple stick between my pale fingers.

"Sorry. I guess that was private."

"Did kind of ruin the mood," I mutter with a small huff. "I only come here to get away from all that, you know."

"I've heard other spirits talking about you. How they always want to tell you stuff and be around you. I think you were meant to be one of us."

"Probably," I shrug, lightly gnawing one part of my snack. "My mom was an alcoholic. Killed my twin and almost me too. Screaming about how we were changelings."

"Spirits like troubled souls."

"So do readers, given all the books centered around them," I remark dryly. "You'd be hard pressed to find a good book that isn't centered around some kind of tortured past..." I trail off as I notice the lights are brighter, music faster (even if it's quieter), and that we're spinning more quickly.

"Do you even want to go back?" She asks. I'm starting to get concerned about the lights blurring and fading into white - everything's starting to fade to white. But...Despite how my heart is racing and my head is throbbing, her question is appealing. Spirits often try to entice the living to their graves - no doubt she's trying it with me. But the question is still valid. Do I want to go back?

I look back down at the candy apple in my hands, bright red as the world dissolves into whites and grays. I was in such a good mood. But this spirit wants me to go to a dark place. I mean, it's nothing new - lingering spirits are, by nature, dark entities and a stark contrast to the bright carnivals they cherish so dearly once a year. Because they tell me things, I've always felt obligated to return the favor, and venting helped me cope with the foster homes and fits of anger.

"Well?" She prompts, arching an eyebrow as I look at her.

"You want me to say 'no', so that I can die."

She giggles and it's surprisingly cute. "You're smart. But I can tell you're still contemplating it."

"What if I tell you I do want to go back?" I ask as the carousel slows to a dead stop. But I already know the answer. The lack of color, the weightlessness. The small glimmer of relief as my heart doesn't beat and my head doesn't heart.

"Well, I'd say the razor would dictate that it's too late for that," She replies airily. "Same thing happened to me, you know?"

I nod, watching the bloody color of my candy apple ooze from slashes. Now I remember. This carnival was never actually real - just a lovely dream of mine. "Can...can I ever go to the carnival again?" I ask.

"I do all the time," She assures me. "After all, now that we're ghosts, we do have a quota to meet."

"What kind of quota would that be?"

She simply smirks at me, interlocking her fingers with mine as we stand and I let the now colorless candy apple roll to the stark white floor. "You'll see."