Changeling: Earthling Shell

A Story by Abishai100

Portrait of haunting/memory, in this adaptation of the iconic [1980] 'forgetting' gem starring George C. Scott (fiction).

The Changeling (George C. Scott) fanfiction. Happy Holidays (and thanks for reading!),

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There I was seemingly content in my new Homeland-Jersey townhome in a small suburbia area (Echelon) right by a shopping-complex and library and many restaurants and a few nice hotels too in the Garden-State of incomplete-distances readings of roadways-hospitality for securities Earthlings like very-much (Facebook-like!).

Here, I began my novel concept adaptation of my American tragedy, set in New England, in a snowy holiday-season of bad arts for memory-transcendence. I was younger then, married and with a darling-son (Damian); stranded in the snow post-glitch in our rented car for getaway season; my wife and son were killed because of a car-skid in the snow while I tried to make a phone-call to a tow-company (AAA) near the stranded car in the snow. This was the source of my book inspiration now (Facebook-like!).

However, what I'm not going to write about is the tragedy of my wife and son killed in that American Homeland getaway town during the holiday season, but of what I encountered post-funeral for my (personal/private) retreat for mourning and meditation at another nearby guest-house my counseling college-professor friend lent to me, after knowing of my deep sorrow(s) of Earthling-consciousness.

GUEST HOUSE KEEPER: You'll like it here and avoid any undesirables!

ME: Thanx...I suppose.

KEEPER: There's only now one glitch to this hospitality-read, doctor.

ME: What's it?
KEEPER: The previous owner/attendant had a boy in movies/TV, died.

ME: What's it?

KEEPER: He had an accident and was dead while staying here; haunting.

ME: What's it?
KEEPER: There's some 'chatter' that the boy haunts the attic of the place.

ME: What's it?
KEEPER: We believe there's no worry; it's a movie/TV market gossip only.

The keeper was very polite and courteous and was assuring. I didn't believe in ghosts or the like of hauntings on Earth or for Earthlings and simply brushed-away her omen-languages. I stayed in that place, in that snowy New England place, post-death of my darling-son and wife (damn). I stayed for some time in that cold. I started seeing the ghost of that boy the guest-house keeper hinted was rumored to be haunting (wow). This wasn't Facebook-like.

KEEPER: What's it?
ME: I keep seeing tennis balls rolling down the floor, friend.

KEEPER: That boy...who died...he was a fan of tennis...as were his folks.

ME: What's it?
KEEPER: You insist you're seeing tennis balls rolling by on your floors?

ME: Doubt me.

KEEPER: I dare not now...you wish to depart?

ME: Immediately (Facebook-like).

KEEPER: Thanx.

I never looked-back on the guest-house 'incident' or rumors of the haunting-boy. I never remembered those eerie tennis balls rolling along the guest-house floor where I mourned the loss of my wife/son; I never thought to think the tennis balls were simply items rolled out of the closet because of mice. I simply believed it was the ghost of the boy who died there, as the keeper had hinted to me then (damn). I never looked back. I simply decided the ominous idea of the haunting-boy was some alternative (ironic?) medicine for this Earthling, to forget about death (altogether perhaps!). This was my story, and it remains an American tragedy (for the stars).