Day 2
I return to the point at which I had last seen this wonder. It lingers in the same position as it was when I had gazed at it last. I creep closer ever so wearily, the wood on the floor bends and yelps with creaking to accompany each cautious tread. I feel a certain indescribable depression emanating from this being. It has no apparent distinctive features yet I feel it has distinguishable focus on myself. At this point, my thoughts seem to be forcibly halted. I had a likely blackout since I awoke on my desk in my exclusive research barge having written this:
Ghosts are not the everyday formation of free-flowing energy that you may find on your front doorstep. Ghosts are in fact living organisms compiled of a certain form of unpredictable energy, the existence of which may only occur in conditions of drastic rarity. These unlikely circumstances arise in the event of an interrupted perfect death. You see, in the scenario of a flawless demise the "soul" will always depart from it's host body in the instant before death, thereafter the host vessel will be physically rendered useless by the cause of demise. The soul and it's host vessel are linked until one ceases to exist, however if by some phenomenon the body is rescued from infliction at the very point of the soul's departure it will continue to live without an in-cling of a connection to it's forfeit soul. The host vessel will then continue to function, programmed on the knowledge that resides in the brain as if it were robotic, nobody would ever know that the soul had left the body. The "soul" on the other hand will not transform into the perceived "spirit" and follow the theoretical path. The soul is fated to proceed existing in the terrible tragedy of desultory, the reason why most ghost suffer from great depression, uncontrollable rage and a killer's intent.
Day 3
I revisited the domain of this ethereal individual, it is nowhere to be seen. I decided to scour the wreckage for any sort of sign as to the whereabouts of the apparent ghost. I acquired a frayed page from an old diary, it read:
21/03/1782
On this fine day, I found myself in the midst of the great gushing waves of water, glistening as the warm egg-yolk rays of the sun intercepted vision. I was gesturing a sign of goodbye to my wife, whilst I set sail into the expansive frothing broth-like brew of churning liquid. The vessel that had given me the ability to part from port was known as the 'Meralda'. She was a brilliantly carved and crafted example of a trading ship. The sails glowed as if they were weaved from the finest, cream silk and the deck had been extensively polished into a great gleaming mirror.
My fellow crew members and I have set forth on a journey to the arctic barrens in the land of Japan. We have acquired this plan as a means to swindle and exchange our various rarities from half the world away, the rarities range from the distinctive design of jade statues pillaged in Egypt to the once lost pages of an ancient language gathered from historic tombs.
Walter Cunnings
Today I had another blackout, I had awoken on the front deck of my barge with a horrific, throbbing heada...
This was all that had been written, the page had drops of blood scattered along the bottom. There is still no knowledge as to what had happened to Jennifer Orgberry.
Daniel Klonaros
