Ghost Dreams by Vanessa Allen
“Do ghosts dream, uncle Jeff?” He sat on the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her. It warmed Jude like an angel’s wing filled with sunbeams. It was then that she realized that her previous musings that all ghosts were cold were false. She supposed it depended on the ghost.
Jeffrey’s gaze was straight and aimless as he replied, “Yes. At least, I have. But they’re not quite dreams. Just memories.” His jaw was set and his lips were tight, making Jude wonder what he’d dreamt about the previous night, if he’d slept at all.
She imagined her uncle standing in a moonlit nursery, looking down at a crying infant who could be none other than her father. He would sing to the baby in that soft, silvery voice, quieting him with the same song he sang when he was barely two. Or perhaps he would be baking cookies with his mother, and she would speak to him as if he were a young boy in spite of having the adult appearance he had now. And he would smile at her, weak and tired, having the cruel knowledge of her eventual death, but she wouldn’t notice because she was just a memory. Her face was blurry and Jude wasn’t sure if she was seeing through the teary eyes of her uncle or if she simply couldn’t conceive the face of a woman she never knew.