by Simon Murik
Skating away from the shore, I started to head towards the center of the lake. I wouldn’t go past that of course—my mom had told me a bunch of times to stay close to the house—but the lake was big enough where I’d have plenty of room to move by just going part of the way out. As I skated around the ice I looked at the homes that wrapped around the lake. They were big and made of brick like ours and it was probably a couple of miles around the entire lake.
When I got about a hundred yards out, I picked up speed and did a couple of simple figure eights and then started practicing different jumps. After about a half hour I took a break and stared at the north side of the lake. The patch of fog had grown into a sort of cloudy gray wall that stretched maybe fifty feet end to end. I skated backwards while staring at it and my stomach quivered when what looked like a thin, gray arm and leg darted in and out of the darker part of the fog. I stopped and stared. A blurry figure, maybe about five feet tall, spun out of the darker part of the fog. It moved like a girl and I thought I could see wisps of long hair, but I couldn’t really see any details about her; it was like watching a thin shadow glide around. I watched as she did a perfect axel and then a toe loop jump and I decided I had to get a closer look at her.
I started to skate towards the fog as the cold air pressed against my face like an invisible ice mask. When I got to around the midway point, the girl did another toe loop and then faded into the thicker part of the fog. I stopped and waited for a couple of minutes but she didn’t come back. I shrugged, skated back to shore, put on my skate guards, and went home.
On Wednesday I was back out there again. Soft white flurries fell from the cold sky onto the ice and made a light sheet of snow that I could easily skate through. The fog from the other day was gone and I could now see what looked like a black metal bench at the edge of the lake. I practiced for a while and when I tried to do an axel my ankle gave way on the landing and I fell face first, catching myself with my thick wool mittens before my face could hit the ice. My arms ached a little as I pushed myself up.
I looked back across the lake; the fog was back.
A second later the shadow girl skated through it.
I watched her do a flip and I started to skate towards her again. When I got to the center of the lake she did an axel and faded into the fog. I skated around on my side of the ice, watching the fog for a while, but she never came back.
I didn’t get to skate on Thursday or Friday, but Saturday afternoon I was back out there and so was the fog. I waited for a few minutes and when I saw the shadowy girl spin across the fog and do an amazing double axel, my skin tingled and I started again to skate towards her. The wind whipped into my face, making my eyes sting, but I still wobbled forward, holding my hand a little in front of my eyes to block the wind. After a few minutes I crossed the center of the lake and when I brought my hand down the fog had disappeared again.
And so had the shadow girl.
But I kept going.
A moment later I skated into the fog. The wind danced around me like it was trying to spin me in a circle and it got really hard to know which way I was going. I could only see a few feet in front of me but in the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a wispy figure twirling in the grayness. When I turned my head, there was nothing there. I called out, “Hello,” but my voice sounded like a high-pitched whisper in the wind.
My tired legs trembled and my heart raced. I kept skating though, and a few seconds later the dark frame of the bench appeared. I skated towards it and when I reached the edge of the shore I saw a flat, white stone under the thin layer of snow in front of the bench. There were words etched into the stone. I knelt down and brushed away the snow.
In memory of Michelle Laser, 1998-2010. May she skate forever.
I turned around and the fog was gone. A gust of wind pushed at my side and I balanced myself by bracing my skate into the ice. Looking over the lake I saw what looked like a few kids around my age stepping onto the ice at the far west side. I leaned forward and started to skate towards them.
And even though it was sad knowing the girl had died so young, I’d be back tomorrow to watch Michelle’s ghost.
After all, she was the only one I knew who could pull of a perfect double axel.
1:27 a.m. Officially the arcade closed at 1:00 a.m. but I’d let a few of my buddies stick around and finish their air hockey tournament. I didn’t mind though. My wild Uncle Sam owned the place and had hired me last week to work the late shift. He’d barely told me anything about the job—Sammy was a gambler and a pretty carefree guy—but it was a sweet gig. Play video games, listen to music, hang out with friends—it beat the hell out of working at the burger joint. In fact, all I really had to do was keep an eye on things, make a note of any games not working right, and close up at night. Easy stuff.
With everyone gone now, I killed the music and started cleaning up the place. Under the red neon lights that ran across the ceiling were six rows of eight games with more games lined up against the wall around them. I grabbed the broom and dustpan from the supply closet and began to sweep up the black, carpeted aisles between the games. As I made my way down the second row my heart jumped when the laser blasts of Star Crashers shot through the arcade. The games stayed on at night but went into a sleep mode where the screens went dark and the sound went off. I set the broom against the racing game, Track Burners, and listened. I was positive everyone was gone, but maybe some kid had snuck in when I was talking with the guys before they left. Rubbing my hands together, I walked over to the middle of the sixth row where Star Crashers was.
The game was on all right, but no one was there.
I pulled the plug out of the floor socket and then went back to my broom. I didn’t know much about how these things worked but I figured it was possible their wiring could get tripped up once in a while and turn them on.
I began sweeping again and the laser blasts started right back up. I ran to the game to see the plug back in and the game going. Somebody was in here and having a good time messing with me. I quickly stepped past the games to the little flight of stairs that led to the manager’s booth that overlooked the arcade. Inside was a monitor that recorded all the visual and audio that went on in the place and I could rewind it and see who the little brat was. When I got inside, I stopped and looked through the window at the floor below. I couldn’t see anyone and had no idea where anyone could be hiding. It didn’t matter though; the monitor would show me what I needed to know. I went up to it and tapped the reverse key on the keyboard. The video started to rewind and I went back a full ten minutes. I hit play and watched.
Nothing happened for the first four minutes, but at the 5:27 mark a high-pitched distorted noise like a record being played in reverse screeched out of the monitor’s speakers. Space Crashers’ screen flipped on and within the screeching and laser blasts I swore I could hear a kid’s voice twisting and turning. Thirty seconds later I showed up and pulled the plug.
Right after I walked away the monitor blacked out.
When it came back a few seconds later the game was going again.
Maybe I just needed some sleep. I shut everything else down and went home.
The next night at 1:07 a.m. it all started again. I went through the same process. Check the game, see no one there, unplug it, game goes back on as soon as I walk away, weird noises on the monitor. The same routine also went down on Wednesday, but on Thursday when I went to the monitor, I slowed the audio down.
“It’s your turrrrn. It’s your turrrrn,” scratched out of the speakers in a voice that sounded like it belonged to a little kid trapped inside some dimension made of static.
Goose bumps popped up on my arms and my back broke out in a cold sweat.
I closed up the arcade and got the hell out of there.
But the next day all I could think about was what I’d heard on monitor.
That night when the game went on, instead of just unplugging it and walking off, I walked right up to it and looked
at the screen. It was set on two-player mode and the second player light was blinking. I swallowed hard, pressed the “fire” button, and started playing. For the next five minutes I swerved and spun my ship as I blasted alien attackers and asteroids before a missile blew me up.
The score at the top of the screen showed “Player 1 - 68,314, Player 2 - 62,005.”
I stepped back and waited for the game to go to sleep. When it did a few minutes later, I ran to the booth and checked the monitor. I watched myself play and as soon as my game ended I swore I heard a little chuckle come out of the speakers.
Hurrying out of the booth, I closed up the arcade and went home. I had the rest of the weekend off and Sunday night my Uncle Sammy called.
“Hey, Shawn. Haven’t had a chance to talk to you this week, but I wanted to know how everything’s going at the arcade?”
My mind swam with the image of me playing a video game against an invisible kid from a static dimension. “Everything’s good,” I said.
“OK, great. So have you met Bobby yet?” Sam asked.
“Um, I don’t know,” I said.
“Well, he’s the ghost kid who comes in after we close. He used to come in all the time and play Space Crashers but he died in a bad car accident about three years ago and his ghost has been coming in around closing time ever since. He’s a nice kid; just play a game with him and then he’ll go away for the night.”
I rubbed my forehead. “OK, yeah, sure, Bobby. No problem,” I said.
“All right, great!” Sam said. “Well, keep up the good work and always remember to take the trash out at night. I’ll talk to you next week, OK?”
I shook my head and half-smiled. “Sure thing, Sam.”
“OK, kid. Be good. Bye.”
There was a click and Sam was gone.
The next night Bobby showed up at 1:11 a.m. and we played our game. After we were done the game machine stayed quiet, and I finished cleaning up and left. We then played every night for the rest of the week and then the rest of the month after that.
And I still haven’t won a game.
My time with my grandfather was special, all the more so if it was time spent in the mountains where we would go for walks and he would tell me tales. He taught me how to read poetry, how to tell stories, how to read signs in the wilderness, and just generally filled up my time with him with magic tales of a time far different than my own. I think he enjoyed telling me about his life through his stories and it always felt great when he put his arm around my shoulders as we walked. I learned a thing or two about nature in this vast world of life lessons he made our own.
It was very difficult for me when I heard my grandfather was ill; I’d just thought he was sick and would get better, but I found out that he was dying. I didn’t know how to come to terms with that, but when I was told he wanted to see me in the hospital, it finally sunk in and hit me hard. I didn’t want to see him that way and have that be my last memory of him. I wanted to remember him as the kind man who took time with me and made part of my life a very precious one. This was the man who taught me a lot of things about life.
I hated hospitals and when I got past all my feelings of what I dreaded in a hospital, I found myself at his door. I didn’t want to go in and stood there for a few minutes not wanting to go into his room. When I did finally go in, he was asleep. I was shocked at just how old and frail he looked.
It’s been many years since that visit to the hospital—one I’ll never forget, nor will I ever forget what happened afterword. He wanted to see me to give me an old pocket watch that he’d had handed down to him from his grandfather. I knew it was old but it looked almost new; they’d all taken very good care of it and I vowed to do the same. He died about a week after my visit and I was hit hard by his death. I just couldn’t seem to come to terms with it and all I did was mope around.
About a week after he died I was lying in bed trying to read a book when the watch, which was sitting on my nightstand, clicked open. I was startled but just figured I hadn’t closed it properly before and the tension had popped it open. I closed it back up, turned off the light, and went to sleep.
The first thing I did when I woke up every morning was to check out what time it was by looking at the watch he gave me. I always set it in a certain position; it gave me comfort and purpose. I was very exact about it. This morning when I reached for it, it had been moved and was turned over. I just sat looking at it, wondering if I’d done something in the middle of the night I didn’t remember. After three nights of the same thing, I figured it wasn’t me anymore and it was starting to make me wonder how it was being moved. Each night I went to sleep wondering what would happen. I even took to setting it on certain things, putting books or pencils around it, and even covering it with a washrag one time. It always ended up in the same spot every morning.
Still, I didn’t put two and two together. I thought I was being pranked but had no idea who’d do it or why. I tried pretending I was asleep and stayed awake to see who was doing it, but every time I closed my eyes for a moment almost dozing off, when I looked, it was moved. It became so commonplace that after a time I didn’t pay much attention to it, which in of itself was rather weird. I should have paid more attention. I also didn’t notice specifically when this stopped happening but felt much better about it when it wasn’t moving around.
My grandpa always chewed a very fragrant gum, Black Jack if I remember right, and I always loved the smell on him. I think I loved it so much I started smelling it in my room occasionally. I didn’t think much of it because it reminded me of better times and I smiled whenever I thought I smelled it. I came home one day after school and found one of my geography books open to a page that my grandfather and I had looked at shortly before he died. It was of the area where he had his cabin and where we used to take our walks. He was teaching me how to read that type of map. I thought this was kind of weird too, but again, I didn’t think too much of it—it was just some strange coincidence.
Another time I came home from playing baseball, something my grandpa had loved, when a book on my bed that he’d given to me about pitching opened to the page where he had had me read about throwing a drop. I stood there wondering what was going on; I actually looked around the room for some dumb reason. I knew I wouldn’t see anything and think I did it just to buy some time to take this in. I’d been noticing little things that had something to do with my grandfather but in reality, each time it happened it just made me sadder that he was gone.
I even asked my parents if they were playing jokes on me after I told them what had been happening and they just laughed and smiled at me. I went back to my room and my mom followed me, startling me because I didn’t know she had.
“Don’t tell your dad, but Grandpa always loved you a lot. Maybe he’s trying to talk to you.”
I looked at my mom like she was crazy and said, “What? Are you kidding? How would he talk to me, he’s …”
She just smiled when I couldn’t finish the sentence. After she left I sat down on my bed and thought about it. I couldn’t make heads or tails of it and had never believed there was life after death. I don’t really know why I didn’t—just didn’t seem to be something that I’d ever really thought about much. While sitting there thinking, I figured there’d be no harm in at least entertaining the thought that maybe there was life after death and that the ghosts of people could be around, but I was skeptical until I heard a familiar voice in my ear. So real it was like he was sitting right next to me.
I heard, “That’s right, son.”
I jumped at the voice and waited to hear more. I even asked out loud for him to say something else. After a time I thought maybe I’d heard his voice because I’d been thinking of him and my mind just wanted to hear it again. I didn’t know what to think, but I liked the idea of believing there were spirits of past loved ones. For a couple of months nothing else happened and being young, my mind moved on to other things.
The only thing I’d notice
d during this time was that whenever I was trying to figure something out, it seemed like his voice in my mind would tell me what to do. I know we all had inner voices and you basically talked to yourself and your intuition would lead you one way or another, but now the voice I heard wasn’t mine anymore; it was my grandpa’s. I thought it was just me making that happen so I had fun with it and it was actually a comfort.
I had a big test in two days so I was planning to spend my extra time studying in my room. I got everything set up on my desk—all my work to research plus a drink and a few snacks to keep me going. As I sat staring at my work all I could do was think of my grandfather and why he seemed to be on my mind so much. I knew I’d been feeling his presence, but I just thought that was because I missed him so much. What my mom had told me was a nice thought, but did I really believe in ghosts? I kind of sat on the fence on that one and figured I was just making mental adjustments for him being out of my life. It couldn’t be any other way. Even if there was such a thing as being a spirit, why would anyone hang around what they’d left? If there was life after, wouldn’t there be a better place to go? I was uncertain, but if I dwelled on it too much, I’d never get anything done.
I’d been having strange dreams about my grandfather since he passed, dreams where I was older and we did things that I’d never seen before. Some of the dreams were of things we’d shared but with subtle differences, giving me a strange feeling—almost like he didn’t die. I never paid a lot of attention to them because dreams were weird to begin with and I wasn’t going to try to make any sense of them. I just knew I felt a little odd the next morning when I woke up, and those were generally the days that something reminded me of my grandfather.
I thought long and hard over the next few years about what I was experiencing and these were just a smattering of all the things that happened. A moved item, suggestions in my head that made me make the correct decision, smelling him in my room, hearing his voice, and at times feeling like he was sitting right next to me. It gave me comfort, but I began to think that I couldn’t accept his death and was subconsciously keeping him with me by manifesting these occurrences. I was young and had no experience with matters like this, so it took some time to put it together. He was there with me and making sure I was OK and doing the best things for myself as I grew up. When I made that realization, something else happened that changed my life.