💜I Named The Ghost Regret | A Short Story
The first time I noticed the ghost, she was sitting quietly at the foot of my bed. Not in the way ghosts appear in stories, with rattling windows or cold drafts or some dramatic shift in the air that makes you instantly aware something supernatural has entered the room. There were no signs like that. The night was ordinary. The streetlight outside the window hummed softly, casting pale orange light through the curtains, and the house was as still as it always was at that hour. She was simply there. Patient. Familiar. Waiting. I didn’t scream when I saw her. I didn’t even sit up. Instead, I stared at the faint outline of her shape in the half-dark and felt a strange sense of recognition settle into my chest. It took me a long time to realize why. Eventually, I gave her a name. I called the ghost Regret . Not because she frightened me, but because she refused to leave. Other ghosts have come and gone throughout my life. Memories of people who once mattered drift in and out like fog...