The Salad Bar Specter

3 min read

Story Premise 3 min read (584 words)

"I remember the night it all started with a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. My friend Jenna had invited me over for a sleepover, and our other friend, Marcus, was joining us. We were all excited, planning to grab dinner at the new bistro downtown before heading back to her […]"

I remember the night it all started with a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. My friend Jenna had invited me over for a sleepover, and our other friend, Marcus, was joining us. We were all excited, planning to grab dinner at the new bistro downtown before heading back to her place for movies and ghost stories.

As we were about to leave, Jenna’s mom asked her to grab an old family photo album from the shelf. She flipped through it, pointing out relatives I’d never met. One in particular caught my eye: a sepia-toned portrait of a gaunt, bald man with deep-set eyes. ‘That’s my Uncle Gerald,’ Jenna said. ‘He passed away a few years ago, but he was always the family storyteller. Creepy, right?’ I nodded, feeling a strange unease as I studied his face, as if those eyes were following me.

We headed to the bistro, a cozy place with warm lighting and red leather booths. We ordered our drinks and took a trip to the salad bar, loading our plates with greens and toppings. When we returned to our table, I glanced across the room and froze. There, three booths down, sat an old man who looked exactly like Uncle Gerald. Same bald head, same wrinkled face, same hunched posture. But he was alone, staring at a menu, not eating.

I nudged Jenna. ‘Hey, is that your uncle?’ I whispered. ‘The guy in the corner?’ Jenna squinted and shook her head. ‘No, my uncle’s been dead for years. But he does look a lot like him, doesn’t he?’ I shrugged it off, assuming it was just a coincidence. But as we ordered our food, I couldn’t help glancing back. The man had moved his menu aside, and now he was staring directly at our table. His gaze was unnerving, and I noticed his hand seemed to pass through the edge of the table as he adjusted his fork.

When we went up for more salad, I walked past his booth. Up close, he looked even more like the photograph, but translucent, like frosted glass. I could see the pattern of the booth upholstery through his body. I stifled a gasp and hurried back to our seat.

‘Guys,’ I said, my voice trembling. ‘That old man is see-through.’ Marcus laughed, but Jenna’s face went pale. She turned to look, and the man gave a slow, deliberate nod. Then he pointed at me, and his lips moved, forming silent words: ‘You can see me.’

We left the restaurant in a hurry, but the image of that ghostly figure haunted us. When we got back to Jenna’s house, her mom asked about dinner. Jenna mentioned the old man, and her mom’s smile faded. ‘I showed you that photo of Uncle Gerald this afternoon,’ she said. ‘He always said he’d watch over the family from the other side. But he never visited anyone before. Why would he show himself to you?’

The question hung in the air. That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every shadow in Jenna’s room seemed to move. And just before dawn, I felt a cold breath on my neck, and a whisper: ‘I just wanted to thank you for seeing me.’ When I turned, there was nothing there. But the next morning, Jenna found a note under her pillow, written in shaky handwriting: ‘Tell Emily she’s the first to believe. The rest are always blind.’

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