Hello! Today as a writing prompt I tried to put life into a story that I don’t remember. While not at all accurate accurate and i gave her another name- there is truth about the night I was diagnosed with diabetes on Halloween night within the creative writing today. Enjoy- and shout out to the people who do remember this night. May the ghosts not haunt you.

–October 31, 2000–

Ghosts swayed as people passed. Haunting the hallways as they should on the one night they can be seen and not feared. They seem to only be welcomed when they appear as creatures of fictional, hovering sheets that scream boo as clumsy children dressed as Superman and Cinderella scream and giggle in response. 

    Nobody wants to deal with the real ghosts. Metaphorical or the lost souls. Neither are welcome. The secrets that haunt you or the hole in your chest that used to be filled by somebody whose long gone now. People especially dislike when their ghosts gain a voice. A chance to be heard. I don’t know anyone who wants to get haunted…especially by their worst fear. 

    I suppose that is what it felt like for my parents. I imagine what it would feel like- carrying a pale and lifeless one year old into the emergency room on Halloween night – haunted. I was basically a ghost anyways: pale, scary, and nearly dead. I, however, had never felt safer. Tucked gently in the strong arms of my father. He never showed much emotion. Not from a lack of them- but rather an excess in self-control. He’s where I get any of my composure from. The rest of my emotional structure- I inherited from my mother- which would prove to be brutal as sensitivity isn’t really valued in the world I was born into. Her sensitivity- like my own – wasn’t doing her any favors in the moment either. 

    “Olwen. Olwen Bancroft,” she managed to get my information out between sharp sobs. The nurse at the check-in widened her eyes in alarm at the sight of a ragged couple carrying what appeared to be a lifeless doll. With one seamless movement and without another word she lifted the desk phone to her ear, the cord making a small thud as it slid to the ground. “I’m going to need a stretcher stat to the front entrance of the E.R. we have an unresponsive child that just came in. Hurry,” she managed a meek smile as she gently hung up the phone, more for my parents than for any real representation of how she felt. “We will get her taken care of right away. Don’t you worry.”

    In moments such as these- the ghost can’t be ignored- their presence is chilled and icey. My parents locked eyes for only a second and they knew this halloween- they got tricked in the night’s gamble of Trick or Treat.