Le Coucher Du Soleil

• Elliarna Preston, Grade 6
• Short Story
• 2018

The swaying of the overgrown trees cast eerie shadows over the courtyard – everything about Vanheart Manor made anyone's pulse racing like lightning.

I'm sorry! Excuse my manners and allow me an introduction – my name is Victor Vanheart. I am one of the many inhabitants of my manor and for many years mortals have come here to try and obtain evidence of our existence with their ludicrous, 'modern,' technologies. In fact, they have now put a bounty on our heads in order to see who can be the first to capture a photograph of us. The ghosts and I are plenty annoyed; for years we have tried to communicate with them and find some kind of, 'peace,' but it has certainly become an annoyance. If they keep coming here my comrades will probably become mad! However, I – Victor Vanheart – will find a solution to the problem at hand, because this is my manor and it is a place of friendship.

* * *

It is just shy of sundown when I call of the ghosts to the main meeting point, within the rustic yet ornate dining hall, and the humans have arrived. Accompanied by two of my dearest friends, Alfons and Bernia, I lay low in the shadows as we wait for the mortals to enter as so we can try to confront them peacefully for the very first time. I will not attack – I would never dare! There is a great creak as the door opens and the old floor boards give a puff of dust and I give a soft whisper of, "...ready?"

There's no turning back now.

"Go!" I yell, and we all rush out!

No one! Not a single soul, save for a single old piece of dust-covered parchment. I pick it up gingerly and unwrap the silk ribbon it's bound in, to find the finest cursive – delicate and soft. Alfons, Bernia and I all know that this has been written with care.


"To the (potential) ghost(s) of this manor,
My name is Henry. I don't want to take photos of you, even though everyone else does. I just want you to know that – well, even if you
don't believe me – not all mortals are bad. You don't have to think of me as the stereotypical human, and I don't think of you as the
stereotypical ghost! If you believe me, well, maybe you know where to find me.
Kind regards,
Henry."


We break from our huddle around the letter and I stop for just to moment, to think; perhaps, books should not be judged by their covers. Perhaps, there is a chance we'll be able to understand each other – letters can be understood by both man and ghost. I look up to see a figure peering back, smiling. He walks out the gate and off into the distance, and such a small gesture makes our world that little bit brighter.