text: Down near the brook at the edge of town, an old woman sat on her honey-yellow cloth sofa watching a rerun of ‘Bewitched’ on her cable television. The woman picked up her crinkled sudoku book from under the side table and eased her mind to its repetitive deduction. Each day, she enjoyed toast paired with orange juice for breakfast, then sat on the sofa to read the Sunday paper. She would flip past the articles heading straight for the comics, her favorite entertainment, besides the sudoku on the back page, of course. This afternoon, however, contained a change of routine to the grandmother’s delight. She was expecting a visit from her granddaughter for her monthly check in, as the grandmother’s mind became more unstable each day. She felt a deep connection with the girl, as she was reminded of herself in her younger years through the child’s felicity and youthful bliss. This also made the woman angry that her mind was leaving her soul with not a trace of that joy left to savor. The bulky box which sat on the chestnut-brown stand shut off as the program reached the credits. Still waiting for her visitor, the woman reached for her midday medicine accompanying the cup of water waiting on the table next to her. As she took hold of the water, a tired creak was heard from the hall. The cup once in hand crashed to the ground, the water seeping into the carpet below. The old woman’s eyes squinted down the dark alley of the hall as she fixed a gaze that would not falter. Just as she gave up the staredown, a figure emerged from the doorway and her eyes fixated once again. The specter was a shadow with no owner and moved with the stride of a small child. It glided through the air, slowly, toward the woman imprisoned on the honey couch. “Stop! Get back!” cried the old woman. The shadow became clearer now, as it stood barely an arm’s length away. Still, it remained, watching the woman closely. The harsh buzz of the doorbell rang, accompanied by a short knock at the door. The grandmother jerked her head towards the noise, then back at the figure, no longer to be seen. “Come on in sweetie!” she cooed. The door creaked open as a dainty little girl shuffled in carrying a Pepto-Bismol-pink bookbag. The girl’s golden eyes were wide with glee and her ponytail bobbed as she walked. The grandmother quickly wiped the fear from her epiphora and gave her granddaughter a half-smile. Despite the efforts to hide her previous terror, the little girl noticed her grandmother’s fright and hurriedly rushed to her aid. “Gramma, what happened?” she inquired. “Oh, nothing honey, my show just spooked me a bit. Don’t you worry.” replied the grandmother encouragingly. The image of the specter reappeared in her imagination, but the woman focused instead on her visitor, ignoring the vision which haunted her decaying mind. “Taken your mornings yet?” questioned the girl as she zipped open her pastel bookbag, pulling out the regimen of pills which followed the old woman’s morning prescriptions. Just as quickly as the girl’s brows tensed with worry, they were erased by her heartened smile. She was valetudinous for her grandmother and would not allow the woman’s indigent mind to be stripped by concern. The grandmother started, “Don’t you ever go out?” gulping down her first dose. “What?” the girl responded as she checked off a calendar and closed her bag. “You don’t need to come down here for me honey, I can do this myself.” The woman insisted. Despite the new acquaintance of the phantom, and not to mention her crippling psyche, the grandmother wanted more for the girl. She wanted her to get out of the desolate town, to have a life outside of shoving pills down her crippling grandmother’s throat. “Gramma, coming here is my favorite part of the day. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Replied the granddaughter in earnest. “Mine too baby. I’m grateful for you.” said the old woman, still restrained from exposing her hopes for the girl. The girl, with intent to start a meaningful conversation, asked “Aren’t you afraid of anything?” “What’s there to be afraid of?” the grandmother responded playfully. The granddaughter was taken aback by her elder’s unexpected confidence in the fearful. “I don’t know, like spiders, snakes, ghosts...” The woman flinched in her seat at the specter’s timely mention and hesitantly responded, “Well I suppose a phantom might trouble me. What about you, what’re you afraid of?” “Losing you.” The girl responded abruptly; her eyes consumed with apprehension. “I told you then, and I’ll tell you again now: someday I’m not gonna be here no more. And you’re gonna get along just fine.” The old woman answered. But the girl didn’t want to think about how someday she wouldn’t be around. She loved what she did and never wanted to let that go. Her lips parted in order to react to the grim statement but shut again in the absence of a response. She was only able to respond with a short, “Okay.” The girl rose from the cushion to give the old woman a gentle kiss on the cheek and headed for the door. Still sunk in the sofa, the grandmother watched as her little girl shuffled out solemnly. A phantasmic shadow formed and lingered behind the girl as she disappeared through the doorway. A month passed since the girl last visited, and the woman sat again on her wallpaper couch, watching a program until the TV shut off, patiently waiting for her granddaughter to arrive. After an abrupt round of sudoku, her mind faltered and the old woman shivered as a gust of wind burst through the window. She could feel the dying presence of something other than herself. The girl never returned, leaving the old woman clueless to the girl’s end. Her heart failed her--despite all the love she gave--in a series of unsteady palpitations. The woman continued to follow her routine each day, mindlessly waiting for her visitor, who appeared only in the form of a phantasmal specter.