‘Ghosts do not exist, Melvin. It is preposterous.
‘There is absolutely no evidence for it,’ snapped Darcy. He flicked the remaining crumbs from his sandwich off his suit pants. ‘You’re a twat, and there is plenty of evidence for that.’
Melvin gave a silent chuckle, his chubby, rosy cheeks filled with warmth and life.
‘Sure ghosts are real. You can’t prove they don’t exist, Dee. For all we know, I could be a ghost, or you could be a ghost…,’ Melvin scanned his eyes around the park, looking for another example. ‘Or that little girl could be a ghost.’ He pointed to a small child just off to their left. She was sheltered underneath the shade of a tree, holding some object in her hands.
‘She’s not a ghost, Melvin.’
‘Go on, prove she’s not a ghost then.’
Melvin didn’t need to push Darcy any more than he already had. With his fists clenched, Darcy stood up and stormed off in the direction of the little girl, intent of proving his point. It was only when he reached the small girl, that he realised he didn’t know how he was going to prove his point.
‘Are you a ghost?’ asked Darcy. As soon as he heard how stupid his question sounded, the well of rage within him drained itself. The little girl raised her head slowly, her jet black hair parting ever so slightly to reveal a haunted and pale face.
‘My brother is dead,’ she whispered.
‘I am so sorry,’ Darcy said automatically. ‘What about your parents? Is someone here looking after you?’
She shook her head, the black hair unmoving despite the warm spring breeze. ‘Father is an infantryman and mother is a nurse. They’re both on the frontline in France.’
‘I’m sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you say—’
She raised her hands, offering the object she had been holding to Darcy. It was a green and red hat, maybe a military cap of some sort. It looked very old fashioned. Without thinking, Darcy took the hat from her and inspected it. The patches of red colour felt cold and wet to the touch. An icy shiver emanated down his spine.
‘My brother was wearing this when the shell landed. It’s all I have left.’
Darcy dropped the hat and let a cry out. His hands were stained with blood. He spun around to scream to Melvin, but the park bench was empty. He turned to face the little girl, but she and the bloodied hat were gone. Darcy was completely alone. To get a better look, he raised his hand to the sun to shield his eyes. To his alarm, no shadow was cast on his face. Darcy fell to his knees and screamed, irate and shaking his fists to an empty sky.
He would spend the rest of eternity trying to work out what was worse; the fact that Melvin was right, or the fact that he had been proven wrong.
