Fragments Gallery
Ghost Stories: People
Recently I’ve wondered why those ghosts have held on here for so long. I’ve wondered this since I found out that, supposedly anyways, in order for the souls of the dead to remain here they need to have some strong attachment to life. I want to ask some of the friendlier, less dour, ghosts but I'm unsure how well they would take such a question. I really don't want to especially annoy one and find myself haunted by an irritated ghost for the rest of my life. Besides, for all I know that's not even the reason why they remain.
The truth is I really know nothing about their situation… for lack of a better word. Neither do I really know too much about them. It seems that as a general rule they don't talk about their past. Whenever I even hint that I'm curious about how they came to be here they grow stony and change the subject.
From their garb I can sometimes, sometimes, guess at the era they come from but little more than that. I'm not even sure if they lived around here or if they came to this town, to this house, after their deaths.
When it comes to the ghosts I feel as though I know nothing.
Maybe every town, every city, has a house or place like this; a place where the dead linger on. Maybe those people who stay behind as ghosts like to gather and stay in the same place. That thought sends shivers down my spine, but who knows? I certainly don't.
Last week while I was working I ran into an especially irksome problem which I couldn't seem to solve. In frustration I rose from my desk and left the room. I'm assuming that break in my routine is how I saw what I saw. The ghosts were just doing their own things since they figured I was busy and would remain busy for hours.
I'm going to step back and explain something quick-like before I move on.
Before I met my ghosts I'd seen the movies and read the stories; just as I’d assume you have. I know how many different views there are on what ghosts can and cannot do. Some ghosts in those stories are horrors who only wish to hurt humans, while others are just sad, lonely souls. The ghosts I know fit more into the sad lonely category.
My ghosts can't throw objects around the room, just like they can't pull my hair or carry me screaming into the night. They can't physically touch anything; that fact lets them walk through walls I guess. Neither can they influence or possess people or animals; at least they can't to my knowledge. When I see them their forms are weak; imagine an old school black and white film character projected onto glass. They kind of look like that, even with the film grain and spots. The conundrum of it all, at least once you can get past ghosts being real, is figuring out how they can speak and how I can hear them. If they can't physically influence the air how can I hear their voices? I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Anyways I'm going to return to my story about last week now.
I left my office with the intention of getting a fresh cup of coffee but instead I ended up stopped dead in the hallway just a couple steps away from the door. At the end of the hallway, in front of a small window overlooking the street, stood the ghost of a young boy who rarely talked but I saw quite often. I knew from the other ghosts that his name was Edmund.
I'd never seen any of them paying attention to the outside world before so seeing him stand there, intently watching the street below, was the first shock. The second was the look on his face.
I was incredibly curious so as quietly as I could I crept down the hall. I managed to get almost right alongside him without him seeming to notice me. If the boy had possessed water in his body, or a body for that matter, I'm sure there would have been tears streaming down his face. However his expression alone was enough to break my heart. He appeared sad, incredibly sad.
I must have looked too closely at him because within moments he had noticed me and sunk through the floor. I stepped closer to the window to see if I could find what had upset him so much. Out through the window I could see the normal small town street stuff; you know assorted vehicles, bikes, trees, fences and other houses. In spite of all that which I could see through the small portal I instantly knew what Edmund had been staring at.
In the street below a group of the towns kids were playing a game of street hockey. As I watched a puck shot into the net and the boy who had scored ran back to his own side of the street whooping. I could plainly see the joy on his face as he celebrated with his team. Meanwhile the other team was obviously determined to have their own victory.
Somehow kids playing hockey had, in spirit, made a ghost cry.
I watched those kids play for a minute as an idea of what Edmund had been thinking of formed in my mind. I think that Edmund had longed to join that hockey game down there, but of course he couldn't. And he never could. He could never play with another child, beyond the ghosts who lived here. He couldn't even talk to anyone besides those who dwelt here. He was trapped in this house in some ways. Sure he could leave, they all could. They could probably even find someplace else like this, or even someone else like me who was open to the idea of ghosts. I guess what it all came down to was, why would they?
The truth is I'd never entirely accepted them as people before I saw Edmund standing there. They were just... there. But when I witnessed Edmund at that window my perspective changed. Even though he no longer lived he still felt the same basic desires as the living. He wished to play games with other children, run screaming through the streets. That little ghost felt alone.
How could I not see him, and the others, as people after witnessing that?