Here's ANOTHER one...(The Designer was becoming boring to me).

The story of the meaning of GHOST READERS!
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The other day, my elder brother ( TheBlessedMan ) complained (anonymously) to me about ghost readers that daily plung into social medias. These are people that actually see your posts, read them but do not comment on them nor make any reaction on them. So, I took some of my time to reflect on these people. I asked myself, ''what would stop a person from responding to a post?'' Well a couple of answers popped into my head.
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Some run from the irrational stress of typing.
Some feel that their response may not be fitting perhaps due to a lack of self-esteem.
Some end up appending a response that they observe others giving.
Some ignore to respond out of pride with the mindset - a puny piece, doesn't require a response.
Others act in arrogance, i've seen better.
While the rest would just ignore it completely in ignorance; with the mentality, 'can anything good come out of Israel?'
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A writer who is oblivious of this may just get fed-up; that is, if s/he gains encouragement from the response of the reader. Considerably, if a writer gains his encouragements from his readers, it bears a manifold of advantages and disadvantages. Advantageous, if the readership is responsive; since, it gives a drive to continue. Disadvantageous, if the readership is not responsive; since the drive has fizzled out.
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Therefore, writers shouldn't base their encouragement only on their readership. It should soar beyond that. Writers should write because it is what defines them. Their readership should be, however, an important stepping stone amidst other important stepping stones. The readership shouldn't be disregarded because they are the ones who immortalise and animate the stories, articles, poems in their minds. The readership completes the process of writing. For what is the purpose of a piece if it has no reader? Nothing.
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Dear readers, you see how very important you are? It is my appeal that you encourage writers wherever you see one. And promote their works by reading, commenting sincerely and sharing with others. Stories are to be heard; lessons are to be learnt.
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This is the voice of the one who has to speak when it has not been said.
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God bless you all as you don't GHOST READ this GHOST READER and RIDDERS anecdote or you would be rid by the GHOST RIDDERS.

GHOST READER and RIDDERS
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DEDICATION:
This anecdote is dedicated to all GHOST READERS.
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:
I recognise the power of what a complaint in agony can cause.
I recognise my elder brother (EddieGrodo, not TheBlessedMan o) who was the originator of the complaint that blessed me with the imagination of this anecdote.
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COPYRIGHT:
©2018 by Agbator I. Anthony (Emperical Ink)
bluewheelsskaters@gmail.com
+2348141514080
+2347013122987
+2349057934064
No part of this story may be reproduced by any means without the prior permission by the author.
Anyone who wishes to repost this story to any other online forum, Facebook group/page, blog or any other website should endeavour to acknowledge the author's identity and kindly notify the author by sending him a mail or call the above numbers.
God bless you all.
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FOREWARD:
To the non-ghost readers who have come across my first anecdote, TheDesigner that proposed huge sense of humour, I assure you that this particular piece is written in the plainest expressions I could make.
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MATURED CRITICISM IS  ALLOWED

What to expect from this anecdote:
* FLASH FICTION
* MYSTERY (Paranormal...not really!)
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ATTENTION:
If you are the type that judges a story by it's first updates (which I sometimes do until I read ATTENTIONS like this) then I won't be surprised if you worry me to make updates often (every hour).
(This is my SECOND work on Nairaland which is the reason behind my not entirely copying an author's introduction.)
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DISCLAIMER:
This is not an abandoned project like The Designer. It's a finished project. It's a FLASH FICTION.
Updates would be made everytime I'm worried to make updates...even if it's every MILI SECOND.

Hmmm...
You've come here again to write another story when you've not finish The Designer.
It's unfair...the same place you stopped on facebook was were you stopped again.
You will just be raising people's hope.

You better go and complete The Designer story, or else... (like your signature implies... Enough Said!

GHOST READERS and RIDDERS
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PROLOGUE:
It began after his father died. Four-year old David pointed to his father's ghost saying, 'mummy, see daddy; shebi you said daddy has travelled?'
Mrs. Donald, was jerked into shock as she looked towards where her son indicated; one second she seemed to really see her beloved husband. Then she blinked as if to confirm her doubts. As a blink went simultaneously within a second, he seemed to have vanished. Then tears started to pour from her eyes; she was very sure her emotions had conspired with her imaginations to give life to her dear husband.
'Mummy, why are you crying? Daddy says you should stop crying.' David said with curiousity and concern evident in his voice. His eyes moistened with incoming tears.
Sniffing, Mrs. Donald dabbed her eyes with an handkerchief which stood ready in her hands. 'there is nothing wrong, David. Daddy is not back yet. He would spend a long time where he has gone to.'
David was confused, he could see his dad, but his mum didn't seem to be able to see him. 'but mummy, daddy is here now.' he said as a matter of fact.
'No, David, there is no one there. That is only the television.' Looking closely, she saw the frame of her beloved husband and herself looking back at her. She sighed in relief and said, 'oh, that's just a picture, David.'
He was about to speak again when his ghostly father, placed his fore-finger across his lips. David understood the signal, it meant silence. However, he puzzled on everything. Ever since, he had kept his ghostly encounters to himself.
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STAY TUNED for PORTION ONE

AnjaliSwift:
You better go and complete The Designer story, or else... (like your signature implies... Enough Said!

I can't even believe you're agitating for The Designer update sef. Don't forget that you were the one that discouraged me from completing it. And now you're here claiming one thing one thing.
Don't be scared anyways. This GHOST issue is a complete one. I assure you!!!
Don't tell/show Gbemy anything!

Bluehaven:
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT:
I recognise my elder brother (EddieGrodo, not TheBlessedMan o) who was the originator of the complaint that blessed me with the imagination of this anecdote.

Hmmm...So you can recognise me as your EGBON on here?!
I thought it was only physically.
Okay o!
Thanks for recognising me and making good use of my complaint o!

Ol'boy...this one looks promising o...
Don't bother making me this ship's Captain for I'm entitling myself as one.
I love paranormals...or mystery...anyone sha, as long as it is depicting adventure.

EddieGrodo:
Ol'boy...this one looks promising o...
Don't bother making me this ship's Captain for I'm entitling myself as one.
I love paranormals...or mystery...anyone sha, as long as it is depicting adventure.

Egbon, you're the boss man o.
Do as you will...your wish is my command.

But, EddieGrodo, I don't understand o...the way you and AnjaliSwift made it snappy to this anecdote without my mentioning you.
You guys had to wait till I invited you during The Designer.
Olagbara o!
Welcome sha!
Sip your Agbara and tune in.
*winks*

GHOST READERS and RIDDERS BEWARE...watch your back!!!

GHOST READERS and RIDDERS
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PORTION ONE
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David had always known that there was something wrong with him. Something that sets him different from others. He had learnt long ago since after he started becoming conscious of himself that he couldn't trust his experiences with others. No one ever seemed to believe his stories; not even his mother, the only woman he had ever loved. Aquaintances always looked at him with an expression of absurdity whenever he ventured to share his story. He knew having a friend was useless, since a friend should exercise some amount of trust. As a result, he had fabricated a new story about himself. Whenever he felt compelled to share something about himself, he was always formal, and disconnected as he recounted the fabricated story of his live. A story that was as similar as mundanity could accept. Most times, he kept to himself. He was a perfect prototype of a nerdy introvert. Consuming volumes of books to find answers to his personal questions. Ones that he had barely begin to understand. One thing was certain - he could see ghosts.
Last night, he met a rather strange man. His eyes were lit with intelligence. He almost bumped into him while he was engrossed with reading an enlightening post on his news feed on Facebook. The little friends he had on Facebook valued him for his deep insights during various discusses. He never replied their chats though. Not out of pride, but a reluctance to share his complexity which would eventually confuse them. The topic of the post was ''Spiritual Absurdities''; so far, he could garner that the writer was making an attempt at describing the natures of ghosts and trying to seperate them from spirits. What he saw so far, was interesting and promising.
'Hello, could you concentrate on where you are going?'
He looked up, and muttered a quick sorry. As he began to move away, he heard his name, ''David Donald.'' he paused, as if unsure, then looked back.
'I'm sorry but, how do you know my name? I've never met you before. If I may ask, who are you?' David asked the man as he did a quick feature sweep with the aid of the street light to determine who he was. His hair was receding into a crescent shaped baldness. The skin folds beside his eyes suggested that this man had spent a majority of his life smiling. David, nonetheless, identified this type of smile with falsehood. As if to approve David's suspiscions, his face lit up with the very same smile. David hated him immediately.
''Well, my name is of lesser importance in comparison to what I am. I'm remotely called a ridder, my ancestors before me where also ridders. And I'm not alone. My greatest accomplishment was killing your father. He was a hard nut to crack, but when I did crack him. He was so easy. He was my nemesis as I was his. Now I am your nemesis. Be thankful that this is not my essence.'' he said all these with a sneer accentuating his countenance.
David was infuriated, then he lashed out with a punch to dent the man's face. 'Woosh' it went. Almost loosing his balance, David was shocked at what he just experienced. One moment the man was so real, the other moment he wasn't. Then he vanished completely, leaving a sinister laughter that ended with the words, ''when the time is ripe, I would come for you. You are not much of a competition yet.'' the voice ended in his head.
''You are a coward, ridder, or whatever you call yourself. Why not come out and face me?'' David shouted into thin air.
Then he felt eyes looking at him with amusement. With embarassment and anger fuelling his heart, he walked home with giant strides. It all now made sense to him. Everything seemed to fall in place now. He knew he had to talk to his father's ghost once again. The last time he did was when he was ten years old. Now he was twenty. His father had hidden the truth from him. He wondered what his mother knew about his father's death. Pulling up his hood to dispel the nightly harmattan cold, he began to plot what he knew would either be his doom or his victory.
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THE END!!!
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I'm Joking...someone cannot play with you?!
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STAY TUNED for PORTION TWO

GHOST READERS and RIDDERS
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PORTION TWO
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David got home quite disoriented. He was unable to purchase the pack of tea bags his mother had asked him to purchase from the Mallam by the corner that ended the street where he lived. He only remembered when his mother asked him, ''David, where is the pack? You didn't see it to buy? What took you so long?'' She asked all these with her back turned to him. She had assumed correctly that the person who enterred was no other person but her son. Noticing the silence, she turned to face her son. She saw something she had never seen on her dear son's face, dread.
''What is wrong? What happened out there?'' her voice was laced with concern. She wiped her wet hands with a kitchen towel, then dropped it beside the sink. Then she moved towards him, feeling his face with both of her hands. As if trying to accertain if his true face hid behind this expression of dread.
Willing his countenance to being blank, he declared, ''there's nothing mummy, I'm ok.'' quickly fashioning a lie he added, '' the Mallam has run out of stock, he says he should have them by tommorrow.''
Confused and bothered, she inquired, ''are you sure all is well with you?''
''Really mum, I'm ok,'' he tried a smile, but he failed. Then he added, ''good night mum, I'm filled. I won't be eating any more thing tonight. See you tomorrow. Brighten up mum, all is well.''
''Good night, sleep well. Say your prayers.'' she said, not certain if he was fine or not. Suddenly, she no longer felt hungry.
As she locked down the house, she mused on the last five minutes. She missed her husband. Perhaps things would have been better if you didn't die so soon, she thought within her as she lay on her bed. Usually, she would stay up for a couple of hours, dwelling in the reveries of her past before she was finally claimed by sleep. This had been the recent development with her since the past month. She felt the vaccuum created by the absence of her husband.
David shut his door and secured it with the series of clicks that indicated that the door was locked.
Switching off his phone to wade of distractions he began the process of summoning the ghost of his father. First he switched off the lights. He was not afraid of the dark, in fact, he felt more comfortable with darkness. It was his comfort zone. The only light in the room was the one that filtered through his parted window cotton. The beam of the moon light. He sat on his bed, facing the window, he closed his eyes.
What he was about to do was not actually a summoning but rather a release of a part of himself. He had learnt all by himself how to close down his gift - the gift to see and commune with ghosts. It had been impossible at first; he had burst through into success when he was with his dad, while he was nine years old. He was angry with his dad, leaving his mum and himself all alone; coupled with the fact that nobody except himself was able to see and hear him speak. In his anger, he shouted at his father, ''be gone, father, I wish you were not real.'' he said it with so much resolve that he meant it and nearly belived it himself. As if like magic, the ghostly effigy of his father flickered and then completely vanished.
He was amazed, and wasn't too sure of what he had done to make it happen.
After some more repeatition of such instance, he was able to filter out what really to do to close the ghostly world away.
Ironically, now he needed that world. He simply had to believe in that which he had lock out for so long. His father was not the only ghost he had locked out; he had technically locked out the entire ghost world when their apperances where becoming too disturbing and imposing even sometimes they seemed to also pokenose.
Heaving a long sigh, his mind settled and got down to focus. Since he needed his dad badly now, more than ever, it was easier.
He willed himself once more, a feat that he achieved by recollecting the myriads of experiences he had had with his father's ghost and other ghosts. Then he felt the presence, his surrounding was more accomodating, and strangely familiar. It had been a decade, yet he still had his gift, his breathing softened as he gently opened his eyes.
There stood his father clad in the clothings that he last saw him in. He knew it was merely the projection of his mind. However, there was this aura of light that saturated his figure.
''Father,'' he said, ''why didn't you tell me the truth?'' Tears treatened to burst from his eyes and he gave in to them. He had always been staunchy, bearing all pain with a hard countenance. Now, his face softened. He couldn't even bear to be angry at his father. He had missed him this much.
''I'm sorry, my son. You were too young for it then. You couldn't have understood the full complexity of the situation. When your mind was ripe enough, i was ready to spill the beans, but you had shut me out completely. I prayed, hoping that a day such as this would come. Not too late, but a time when you are really ready for the task ahead of you. I've done my part as best as I could, I wish I had done more, but God understands best. Nonetheless, it is now your duty; you have to pick up from where I've stopped.'' the ghost moved closer and continued, ''In my inactivity, I have watched you. And I know you can accomplish what I couldn't.''
In between sniffs, he paid close attention to his father's ghost. Curiously, he asked, "What couldn't you accomplish, dad and why? Was it what led to your death?''
''Patience, my son, all would be told. Pay attention as I tell you a story.''
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It Continues...
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STAY TUNED for PORTION THREE

GHOST READERS and RIDDERS
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PORTION THREE
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''Once, a young boy grew under the tutelage of his father, carefully he was taught the rules of engagement and disengagement in his young life. His father was always calm and gentle whenever he taught him of the cruelty of human race. ''Listen,'' he'd say, ''life is a bed of roses; mixed with its fluffiness, its pleasant fragrance and, importantly, its thorns. The thorns helps to define the importance of the rose. The thorns makes you careful - careful of the dangers and deceptions of the world.'' Whenever his father spoke like this, he gave life to his words and lessons by making gestures that demanded the concentration of his son. And so, this young boy grew to become a man, a man in the footsteps of his father before him. He loved his father dearly; a man of strength, discipline and love. His father was also his mother, he never set his eyes on his mother. He was told that his mother died at his birth. As she died, she pleaded that her husband take great care of the child. So he did; he also taught this boy the subtleties of the kitchen.
As he grew, his lessons grew too.
One night, while he sat down with his father after he had cleared the dishes used for the night's supper. His father called him into confidence.'' Mr Donald's ghost paused to create a dramatic effect of attention, then he continued; ''I'm that young boy. And today, I also call you into confidence. You share in a bloodline of guardians. We are mostly called Readers - Ghost Readers. It is a gift and also a curse. The man you encountered, the one who gave you such a terrible scare; his great grand father was once like us, a Ghost Reader. Until he tilted the balance of goodness and he became what you saw today - evil. Our gift is the ability to see the ghostly world, and being able to communicate with them. Our purpose is important; the world brims over with so much restless ghosts. Our duty is to help them find rest. There are different ways in which this is accomplished: sometimes we have to practically help the ghost's family financially, so they can find rest. So many men who are fathers out there are restlessly and tirelessly trying tooth and nail to earn comfort for their families. Another way we do our job is by helping some other ghosts to complete their unfinished tasks that still bind them to this world. Fundamentally, these duties project our name. We read the surrounding for ghosts and help them on their way to eternal rest.'' he paused to allow all these sink in. As he made to continue, David asked, ''so, what balance of goodness did the ridders tilt?''
''Yes, I was coming to that. The first ridder bore the name Justus, he was wholly good at first, then things went awry when he went too far. According to his name, he became too just; so driven by his emotions. When cases of ghost were assigned to him, he could go to the extent of taking the life of those whose deeds interrupted the lives of the innocent ghosts. When he first did it, he claimed it was a mistake due to an overflow of emotional discharge. He was pardoned, but reprimanded strongly to either work on his emotions or to retire into inactive duties if he couldn't help it. It happened again, he tried to hide it. When a fellow Reader made a move to expose him, he silenced him with death. Since he could no longer be managed. He was forced to reclusion.''
Mr. Donald seemed disturbed with the story, but he forged ahead. He had to finish what he had began. He was uncomfortable with the fact that a human person could be so comfortable with taking the life of a fellow human. He continued,
''Justus was subtle and very crafty. He broke out of reclusion and eventually became a threat to our kind. He also became a danger to ghosts. He flamed up in anger when he was recluded, and when he eventually broke out, he was an inferno ready to consume all that stood on his path. He suddenly developed an uncanny hatred for ghosts. Since he had the gift which was bestowed to him as been a true born of our kind, he still continued to posses his gifts. However, he used it to his own neferious devices. He gained control over ghosts and he started to use them for his ends. He would rip out the goodness from them and subject them to his bidding. He was practically a devil. Since he understood the importance of communion with people of alike mind, he extended his tentacles; sharing his gifts with more evil people that shared his passion for evil. And so here we are, struggling to battle this evil. Our kind are quickly dying out. It's becoming difficult to bring in people to join our side. There are few good people in the world. Now, it is your duty to continue from where I've stopped. You have a lot to learn to crown what you have already learnt for yourself. You have an overflow of potentials waiting at your beck and call. As a matter of fact you exhibit more charisma then I did in my days.'' Mr. Donald paused as if to regard his son in his greatness.
David was not in the least taken over by what he felt were lofty words, then he asked the question of whose answer he pinned for. He asked bluntly, ''why and how did you die?''
Mr Donald glanced at the time, and replied, ''my tragic death was the lot marked out for me. I was destined to die at that exact moment. I know you are very curious to know more about the details surrounding my death; go to bed now. It is late, I would continue tomorrow.
''But dad, I want to hear it all.'' David insisted stubbornly.
''Come on, son, you know I'm a ghost and I no longer require sleep; but, you need it. Good night, my son.''
That night, David slept soundly.
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It Continues...
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STAY TUNED for PORTION FOUR

Bluehaven:

Egbon, you're the boss man o.
Do as you will...your wish is my command.

Ol'boy...come here. You didn't tell me that Nairaland would block or ban me if I mark attendance na.
Imagine a whole TWO DAYS went by without my being able to make comments/posts.

Lemme try if I can lengthen the audience aburo.

I'm inviting you all here

judy743 (f ),
donweasley (m ), Ofez (m ), mereeam(f ), kizrey (m ),
IamNanas (m ), maryamcy, ADEBAYOGBENGA,
Sheguama , hidhrhis (m ), Chimaobi84 , disguyz (m ),
eddykisses1 ( m ), Gerardo88 (m ), Chumzypinky ( f),
Fasinaomolade , Shawen99 (m ), Iambees ( m ),
felix00 ( m ), dadayung1 ( m ), Abimloaded ( m ),
ebonyyettie , Olaiyadoam( m ), scarra ( m ), ceecaro( f),
shangzwayne (m ), Fannycfo , skubido( m ), Stanleyafam ( m ), Oyinprince ( m ),
Favouritetega (f ), SammieLowkey(m ),
Doubleprof1 (m ), okafor200 ( m ), teefeh25 (f ),
Cymaxy(m ), damibigmo (m )

EddieGrodo:

Ol'boy...come here. You didn't tell me that Nairaland would block or ban me if I mark attendance na.
Imagine a whole TWO DAYS went by without my being able to make comments/posts.

I thought you knew.
I thought that was thhe main reason of your not marking attendance at The Designer's.
The MODs are very sensitive when it comes to mentioning Nairalanders.
Sorry for being blocked sha.

You better go and complete The Designer story, or else... (like your signature implies... Enough Said!A

Literature Lovers come and see o.

JaeSharp, Eniolar0, SOFP, PascalBenz, IAmKingOluDav, Jage, Exclusive7, Neez, OluaFolabi, OlufemiWhit, Kaybeeeee, AprilWise, LyndaEli, AnjaliSwift, FolaShadee, Sensitivity1254, AndeBenzy, PrinceFaFem, Black56, LetFlex, KelvinCoke, and KingKaspa.

Oya serve yourself and enjoy as you scroll away.

Saviet paper no dey o!

Bluehaven:
Literature Lovers come and see o.

JaeSharp, Eniolar0, SOFP, PascalBenz, IAmKingOluDav, Jage, Exclusive7, Neez, OluaFolabi, OlufemiWhit, Kaybeeeee, AprilWise, LyndaEli, AnjaliSwift, FolaShadee, Sensitivity1254, AndeBenzy, PrinceFaFem, Black56, LetFlex, KelvinCoke, and KingKaspa.

Oya serve yourself and enjoy as you scroll away.

Saviet paper no dey o!

I am now here and ready to be disappointed with my fingers uncrossed.
Embarass me by disappointing my proposed disappointment.

Bluehaven:
The story of the meaning of GHOST READERS!
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The other day, my elder brother ( TheBlessedMan ) complained (anonymously) to me about ghost readers that daily plung into social medias. These are people that actually see your posts, read them but do not comment on them nor make any reaction on them.
God bless you all as you don't GHOST READ this GHOST READER and RIDDERS anecdote or you would be rid by the GHOST RIDDERS.

It is of prime importance for every author to be aware of what audience he is addressing before beginning to let his fingers crawl on the key pad. No writing can have universal appeal and, therefore, we do not expect everyone to react.
However, the lack of a reaction is a reaction whereof.
Evidently, my reaction already depicts disinterest to this piece of yours.
I'm trying not to be a ghost reader which I'm tuurning a new leaf from.
But do know this, if a reader doesn't make a most fitting reaction, such one ends up misleading the writer. The writer then continues to write with a different motive. The writer should keep the readers in mind as he writes without working on who is commenting or not.
Factually, I would prefer higher numbers of views on my work than fewer comments.
Chumzypinky, SmartestPopQueen, TheBlessedMan, et al are great writers that don't mind what you or your elder brother (EddieGrodo) have in mind concerning "GHOST READING."

ezeudo152:
You better go and complete The Designer story, or else... (like your signature implies... Enough Said!A

Threats upon threats...
Abeg o...the spark of that one don die.
It died because no one was there to keep the spark flickering.
I hope you understand?!
Besides, the number one reason I've stopped with it is because I find it appalling to myself. The former reason is just the second and least reason.

EddieGrodo:
Lemme try if I can lengthen the audience aburo.

I hope you weren't blocked this time?
LoLz...

Jage:

I am now here and ready to be disappointed with my fingers uncrossed.
Embarass me by disappointing my proposed disappointment.

At least, with the comment you threw, I believe I've disappointed your disappointment.
LoLz...
Oya keep your fingers crossed sharperly and feel relaxed. Let Daniel massage your reading spirit.

Jage:

It is of prime importance for every author to be aware of what audience he is addressing before beginning to let his fingers crawl on the key pad. No writing can have universal appeal and, therefore, we do not expect everyone to react.
However, the lack of a reaction is a reaction whereof.
Evidently, my reaction already depicts disinterest to this piece of yours.
I'm trying not to be a ghost reader which I'm tuurning a new leaf from.
But do know this, if a reader doesn't make a most fitting reaction, such one ends up misleading the writer. The writer then continues to write with a different motive. The writer should keep the readers in mind as he writes without working on who is commenting or not.
Factually, I would prefer higher numbers of views on my work than fewer comments.
Chumzypinky, SmartestPopQueen, TheBlessedMan, et al are great writers that don't mind what you or your elder brother (EddieGrodo) have in mind concerning "GHOST READING."

What to do?!
Thanks for your review...Enough Said!!!

DIMIZZY1:
First before i start lemme introduce myself (my humble self) i'm Dimizzy, i'm not new here, i'm a FULL TIME GHOST READER ...I REMAIN DIMIZZY

I feel obliged to invite you to this anecdote.
Here's what being a ghost reader is all about.
*winks*
Munch Away!!!