My name is Aine. Many times, I've been referred to as "The Spook."
I haven't seen the sunlight in years. Who needs sunlight when you can go about your life looking up at the stars, the moon and the endless possibilities?
There could be another reason they call me that.
You see, living while the sleepers sleep and the dreamers dream has other advantages. Allows me to take a real long time gazing over something I admire...
And perhaps acquire. A nice car to drive home in, or a pretty painting to put on my wall, or just some flowers on someone's lawn.
I can't help it. I'm not a bad girl, I just like nice things.
A chisel and a hammer keep my hands busy. I've made things since I was a gurgling infant stacking blocks at the play table. As much as I hate to toot my my own horn...
Beep-beep. Sculpting Siren's Call in solid stone that only time and mould can destroy is satisfying.
I have lived my whole life amongst the never changing glittery sprawl of the big city. I've never even crossed the bridge to the houses on the hill.
Nothing changes in the city, and I would know.
Come in close, I have a secret to tell you...
Oh come on, closer than that. This secret is pretty huge. In fact, let me whipser this to you....
I'm dead!
I died decades ago.
Pfft. One in a billion chance my transparent tush.
Most people get normal deaths. Old age. Fires. Drowning - yes, Jacquelin, for Grim Reaper's sake, I know, I know, you drowned a some big party for your career, big whoop! Even electrical accidents. Me? I have to be unfortunate enough to be stood in the exact place a meteor decides to land.
Lucky me, huh?
This is where I call home now. Stuck with a political climber socialite who's only big story to tell is the day she died in someone's pool, A "sophisticated" bar fly lush with a chip on her shoulder about her daughter, and some middle aged wannabe casa nova who couldn't get a woman in that life or the next, and the many people of Bridgeport that take that final sleep.
Some say I have a kiss that is out of this world, not that anyone would find out.
The only guy I get to see that I'm not sick of the sight of is this guy. Don't remember his name, but he had the dumb idea to open a bar in a mausoleum. Not exactly the smartest move, since most of his customers don't exactly have money--that is true, you don't take it with you when you die. And, he is alive. No one is going to want a kiss from the dead.
One day, I'm going to follow that road and never look back.