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Rose Quartz - A Halloween Ghost Story

Hello and Happy Halloween! In honor of it being Spooky Day, I decided to write you a little ghost story instead of a traditional blog post. Have fun and be safe tonight!



It is a still October night outside your windows. The wind barely shuffles the drying leaves as it curls gently through the rising mist. You closed your drapes before you slept, and now, at the witching hour, you dream.

You dream of rising from your bed, slow and quiet. Slipping shoes on over the bottoms of your flannel sweatpants. You thought you heard a noise downstairs.

Cautiously, you creep down the hall, keeping your steps to the runner in the center just in case. Your hands are empty, and you trail them along the wall.

Something shifts downstairs. No sound, but you feel it in the air. You stop. Listen.

The hairs on your arms prickle.

Stillness settles once more, as though nothing had ever happened, and you step softly forward. To the top of the stairs. You peer quietly around the corner.

A woman stands in your home. Her back to you, she lifts the framed photographs on your mantle one by one, examines them, and places them back exactly.

Before you can decide whether or not to make a sound, she stops moving. Without turning, she says, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You swallow.

“Come down here,” she says.

Stiffly, you put one foot in front of the other until you stand at the bottom of the stairs. Your mouth feels dry. You reach behind you and grab a vase, holding it tight to your back because you’ve seen enough horror movies to know that even makeshift weapons can make a difference.

The woman waves a hand, and the vase dissolves.

You swear.

The woman turns around and looks at you with dead, white eyes. You stumble back a step.

“There will be none of that,” she says. “I’m not here to harm you.”

Your heart pounds as she approaches you, face tattooed in ancient things. From inside her robe-dress, she draws a pendant. A translucent pink crystal on the end of a golden chain. “The spirits guided me to this place,” the woman says. “They told me you were to be the bearer of this talisman.”

She holds out the necklace, and you stare. “What is it?” you ask.

“I sense that you think very little of yourself,” she said instead.

You say nothing.

“Yes,” she says. “You have doubts about your beauty. About your power and your worthiness.”

You don’t speak, but you know she’s right.

She clicks her fingers and a flame appears. Hovers in her palm. She runs the necklace through it. “This promotes self-love and can facilitate a journey toward realizing your own worth. It is yours.”

Before you can react, she drapes the necklace over your head.

You sit up in bed, wide awake. The night outside the window is still and misty. Your heart is slowing.

You listen hard for any sound from downstairs. Nothing.

It was just a dream, you remind yourself. You run a hand over your face and down your neck.

It catches on a chain.

You pull a rose quartz pendant out from under your tee shirt and stare at it. It absolutely had not been there before.

The woman’s eerie face swims in your mind, and you remember her words. You finger the pendant and wonder if it truly has the power she said it does. You look up at the full moon outside, through the veil of mist. You think that maybe, pendent or not, it could be time for you to start loving yourself a little more.

Ali MosleyComment