My Friend Charlie The GhostAll my life he had been there, lying on his back in the crawl space under my room. Before I even learned to say ‘mama’, I whispered his name through the cracks in the floorboards under my bed.“Charlie,” I would say, pointing my finger at the cold blue eyes that stared right through me. Dust had gathered on his face, and I was always afraid he would sneeze and wake father up, but he never did. Even when I took a deep breath and blew so hard that his eyelashes moved, he never blinked, and when the dust had settled he was still staring at me with those X-ray eyes as if something at the back of my head was holding his gaze a
Sta.sh
