apparition - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
The apparition was no more than a distortion of the light, a human cut out of colours that weren't right. Where it moved the things behind it appeared bowed, as if looked at through a mild fish-eye lens. Then as quickly as it came, it left, without leaving so much as a foot impression in the fall mud.
I think of ghosts as frightening, menacing. The apparition that day wasn't either. It was a small child, a boy I think, dressed as if off to Sunday worship. At first I thought him my neighbour's child and raised my hand in greeting, but when he turned his face wasn't familiar at all. He looked at me as I were a favourite uncle carrying a fresh loaf of bread, still warm from the bakers. His mouth formed the briefest of smiles before he was gone. I wish for the sake of my mind there was a rational explanation, such as tree cover or somewhere to hide, but the child was in the middle of the town square with nowhere to go...
I'll never know if it was simply the heat, a capricious desert sun, or if she was really there. Her form shimmered and waved, but then everything did that day with every lick of moisture in the ground being sent skyward. She walked like she were painted onto the horizon with a fine brush, the artist constantly touching up and making alterations.
Leaving the professor busied by candle light at the desk in the main room, Dick Colton cautiously tiptoed up the stairs. At the top he stopped dead. From an open door at the end of the hall issued a shaft of light. In the soft glow stood a girl. Her face was toward Colton. Her eyes met his, but un-seeingly, for he was in the shadow, and her vision was dazzled by the light she had just made. Her face was softly flushed with sleep and her dark eyes were liquid under the heavy lids. She was dressed in some filmy, fluffy garment, the like of which Colton did not know existed. Nor had he realised that such creatures as this girl who had so suddenly stepped into his world, existed. He held his breath lest the sweetest, softest, most radiant vision that had ever met his eyes,
Where an instant before there was no-one at all now stood a girl, no more than seventeen and as fresh as a rain-drop. She stood in flowing white linens that no money can buy anymore. Despite the fact that she must have trekked through the bush to get to that spot there wasn't any dirt on her. She stood barefooted in the mid-morning sun, almost translucent. Then she pointed across the river to the far bank. I followed her gesture and there in the reeds was a boat. It was our way out of here, I turned to thank her and where she had been there was no trace of a person. I hurried to the spot she had stood on and the grass was not even pressed down.
At the tree-line a woman appeared and vanished like a coin in a magic trick, there one moment, gone the next. She wasn't ghostly, not transparent in any way or frightening. She wasn't one of the many ghouls that haunt this parish. I can only think her some kind of apparition, for nobody of her description lives within fifty miles of this point. She was dark, her skin as brown as the acorns in the trees, and she was dressed in a plain cotton smock more suitable for nightwear. We roused the sergeant, sent in the tracker dogs, but nothing. Whoever she was she left no scent or prints of any kind; now the vicar is all set to perform an exorcism on the trees themselves.
Tom held his hand out toward the stranger, a gesture of friendship he made as easily as breathing. The man paused before reciprocating, holding out his waxy fingers, so pale in the moonlight. He nodded his head so far forward his face disappeared behind the brim of his top hat. As Tom's hand closed around the strangers he felt a small buzzing sensation, like a thousand electric ants on his palm. Before he could withdraw the stranger was gone, not walked away, but vanished, leaving his fingers to close around nothing at all.
Everyone says she was never real, that a knock on the head can do strange things to a person, but I know what I saw. When my eyes opened she was there, everything behind her a blur. Her voice was clear, her tone soft, as she urged me to stay with her. I still recall her face, eyes as blue as the sky that fateful day, skin as white as the clouds and hair the same hue as the bark of the woodland trees. Where her fingers fell, love soaked in, and though that makes no sense at all it's true. It's like she'd distilled it, purified it and it let flow right from her skin to mine.