The Ghost Wore a Kimono

She stood at the foot of the bed. I could make out her shoulder, the way her elbow was bent, her regal posture. Her face was indistinct but even so, a swirl of hair moved about her head. She was a ghost, dressed in a kimono, and I was fascinated and also thrilled to have awakened from a dream and to find her standing in my bedroom on a warm and sultry night in Florida, of all places.


 It is difficult enough for an insomniac such as I am to achieve so much as a dream state, definitely not a good thing for a writer of fiction, and here I was, blessed to be seeing a ghost, a creature straight out of story and legend.

There was nothing threatening about her at all and minutes passed and though she was perfectly still, I could see various aspects of her shape shimmering in the moonlight, but I wanted more from this vision, greedy person that I am, and so I hopped out of bed the better to see her features, at which point her body faded into a lampshade.