Ghosts and Robots

Date: 1/22/2019

I’m floating through a nice, 2-story home that I’ve never seen before. I watch over a little girl, probably about 8 or 9 years old. She’s my daughter (I don’t have a daughter) and I’m dead. A ghost. Something is off about her too. She’s artificial - a robot, but with the consciousness of my daughter and somehow we’re able to talk to each other almost telepathically. There’s a knock at the door and I know it’s trouble. “Don’t let them in, lock it,” I tell her. Without hesitation she goes to the door and locks it. “Lock the back too,” I say, nervously looking through the house for other entrances. “Are there any more entrances?” I ask her “No daddy, I locked them all!” She says as she runs upstairs. The girl runs into her bedroom to hide. I stay in the hallway as I hear someone jingling keys. This person knows us. The door opens downstairs. I fly into another room and grab a pair of scissors from a desk, then move back to hide in front of my daughter’s room. I will protect her however I can. An eerie silence washes over the house. After a long moment of suspense, heart pounding with sharp scissors in my hand like a dagger, I feel someone’s presence right beside me. I twist around to see a woman, dark, long, messy hair. She wears a white gown straight out of a horror film. She looks at me with a terrifying expression and stabs me in the chest with her own pair of scissors. The woman is another robot. It’s the girl’s mother. I stumble to the floor, scissors still in my chest. “How are you.... you died!” I say, completely shocked, and paralyzed from the wound. (I guess ghosts can be stabbed?) “Your family’s DNA is on file now. Anyone can make you all into robots.” This wasn’t her real mom, but a copy. A bad copy. I woke up to the sound my my dog whining to go outside and pee.