by Simon Murik
When I accepted that he was with me in spirit as I lay in bed thinking about it, his voice filled my mind again.
“I love you, son. I will always be with you looking after you but it’s time to move on and be a man. You don’t need my help anymore. Take care of yourself.”
This was a lot to take in and at first I thought I’d dreamed it, but when I sat up in bed to collect my thoughts, I no longer felt that he was with me. At least not so obviously as he was before. He was right; I’d done all the right things and was ready to move forward and become the man I am today. Without his help I may not have followed the right roads, even if I did stray a few times, and would not have ended up where I am now—happy and content with a loving family, a fantastic job, and many wonderful friends.
He was no longer there giving me hints and suggestions but I felt him. I felt him in my heart and knew he was around, watching out for me. That gave me comfort and I always smiled when I thought of him and the things we did together. I occasionally talk to him and I feel a warmth that lets me know he’s still with me. I will forever treasure the time we had together and look forward to seeing him again.
I sat against the wall, knees scrunched up and my blankets pulled up around my neck. I couldn’t stop shivering even though I wasn’t cold … I was terrified. My eyes wouldn’t focus and I couldn’t take them away from my bedroom door, waiting for it to show up again. I had a feeling this was it, this was the last time, and he was coming for me. I just wish I knew how something like this could happen. Nobody believed me; I didn’t believe it myself for a while.
“No, no, no, no! Please! Go away! Go away!” I couldn’t believe what was happening. I’d talked to my friends about this and they thought I was crazy. Even my parents didn’t believe me.
“What am I going to do?” I mumbled to myself. I could feel that he was almost here and my heart sank; no one would be here to help me. “How could this be happening?”
The temperature dropped and I knew he was close. I couldn’t take his torment and cold touches again. I shut my eyes, not wanting to face what I was sure was going to happen.
Crocodile tears started running down my cheeks as I thought I’d never see my family again. I could feel the evil emanating off of it stronger than I ever had before. Why me? I thought. What did I do to deserve this? I never even used to believe in ghosts and now I have one haunting and hurting me? I wanted to get up and run—wanted to scream as loud as I could—but I couldn’t move or talk. All I could do was watch.
I couldn’t stop shaking and my tears made it hard to see, but I was thankful for that; I didn’t want to watch. Each time he got closer and closer. I didn’t know what he wanted, and I didn’t think I’d be able to get away this time. He looked so evil—like he wanted to hurt me or kill me.
I don’t know how I knew it because he never talked, but I knew who he was and where he was from. He came from the early nineteenth century and had lived in Boston. His clothes were smelly and he wore a top hat. His name was Charles. And he was an evil son-of-a-bitch; he’d made sure I knew that right off the bat. Seemed like this had been going on all my life and not just the three months it’d been since we moved here. I loved the old house and my room at the back. I loved it because it was so private, but now maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.
The first time I had seen him I’d thought I was dreaming. It was just a glimpse of a tall man dressed in old clothes and a top hat. Then I began to see him more often and he would leer at me and come closer. It drove me nuts—he couldn’t be real. I didn’t believe in this kind of crap … but then he touched me. It was cold, so cold, but I couldn’t do anything to stop him. The last time he visited, I woke up with him lying on top of me; I opened my eyes and his face was right above me. I couldn’t move and couldn’t breathe and then he kissed me with his dead lips. I can’t get the memory of it out of my mind and I knew this day would come.
He was getting close; I could feel the room getting colder as he got closer, just like it had all the other times he came when I was awake. I began to feel faint and I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and as much as I wanted to just fade away, I couldn’t. I watched in dreadful fascination as his ugly face floated over to me and I was helpless to even move.
Somebody help me! There was no one who could hear the screaming in my mind. Oh, God! Oh, God! No! No! No! He was getting on the bed again, lying down on me with a big grin on his face. Please, let me die! Don’t let him do those things to me again! Please, God, help me!
“You must come with me, my love.”
I knew this was it. I couldn’t see anything but him. I tried to move, but he held me still. My muscles were going numb and it was getting harder to breathe. His cold, dead hand was over my mouth and nose and I could feel myself slipping away. I couldn’t die like this! I didn’t want to be with him in some other … what? What was this? Was I dreaming? No, it’s too real, I thought. I know he’s here. I wondered if anyone would know what happened to me after I was gone. There are no such things as ghosts! But I knew better. There were, and this one wanted to kill me.
It was peaceful and I started to drift off to sleep. It didn’t hurt this time, though, and he began to look familiar, like I’d known him before. Maybe I was supposed to be with him. I wondered what it was like on the other side … I wouldn’t have long to wait. My eyelids were getting heavy and I could hardly open them. I started to feel warm—comfortable. Goodbye everyone, I’ll miss you.
No! I can’t! This isn’t right! I can’t die like this! I had to resist. I had to run. I tried to move again but couldn’t. I looked at him and he looked really pissed off and got off me. I had no idea why. I could move and I jumped out of bed and ran to the stairs. Something tripped me and I fell—he got me after all.
My dad found me at the foot of the stairs—one leg broken and barely breathing. The ride to the hospital scared him; it made no sense because he was unwilling to accept the truth. I couldn’t blame him; I didn’t want to believe it either. He didn’t really want to think about it because all he cared about now was getting me some help. I think he held my hand all the way there but I kept slipping in and out of consciousness and I’m not sure.
Waking up, my body felt numb and heavy. I thought I was dead. I didn’t want to see and kept my eye closed; I didn’t care, nothing mattered anymore. I’d take a look in a moment; there’s no hurry.
My dad must have noticed me stirring and said, “Hi, hon, we’re here. How do you feel?”
Oh my God! Did he get dad too? I thought. No, that’s not fair! I heard his voice again sounding like he was far away and I just had to look.
“Dad?”
“Hi, Jess, Mom’s here too.”
“But … what?”
I saw motion in front of me. The scream came out before I even knew I was screaming. “Please, let me die. Get this over with and quit teasing me!”
“Jessica? I’m Doctor Matthews. You’ve had quite the bump on the head. How are you feeling?”
I opened my eyes again. My parents were smiling at me and it was a doctor, not him. I must not have actually screamed. He looked so kind. It was so good to see my parents. Was this over? God, I hoped so. Just as I was feeling better, and safe, a cold chill passed by my bed. “No!”
“Jess?”
“Let her sleep. She needs that the most. Her body needs to heal, and sleeping is better than any medicine.”
“But she looks afraid!”
“You’re right, Mrs. Calader, but she could just be reliving the accident; when she feels better she’ll be more aware. She’s on a pretty heavy sedative right now. Give her some time.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
After the doctor left, my mom and dad walked to the side of my bed and starting talking but I didn’t understand a word they said. Both of them rubbed my arm and started to leave. My mom turned and blew me a kiss, at least I think she did but I was so tired and drugged up I don’t know if I was dreaming that or what. I don’t k
now why but I tried to fight falling asleep; something was bothering me and I couldn’t quite tell what it was. I knew the whole ghost thing was something that made them all look at me funny, but I knew what I had seen—no matter what they said.
As I thought of what had happened, I started to get cold again and it took me a minute to figure out why. He was back! I struggled to fight against the drug and open my eyes. I was shivering and my heart raced a mile a minute but I managed to get one eye halfway opened. I tried to find the call button but my arms didn’t work and I waited in terror for his next move. He reached his hand out as he stepped towards me and I felt cold to the bone. Was this it? His hand neared my mouth, but the drugs won and I started to nod off. Just for a split second before I passed out it almost looked like a nurse was taking my temperature. I didn’t know what the hell was going on.
I awoke sometime later wondering why he hadn’t taken me. The drugs had worn off a bit and the room looked different—stark and bare. Had everything been a dream or had he really been there? I wasn’t sure, even as he appeared again at the end of my bed. I gave up and just closed my eyes, wondering what was real or if I was even awake; I couldn’t tell anymore. Whatever happened happened … I didn’t care. I’d either wake up in the hospital or I’d wake up dead.
I was traveling home, alone, from my uncle’s funeral. He and I were pretty close since my father had passed some years ago when I was a child and he pretty much raised me. His death was sudden and unexpected and it hit me like a ton of bricks. He’d been my second father and I was the son he’d never had … he had four daughters and enjoyed teaching me all the “boy” things he couldn’t with his daughters. Not that he didn’t try; he did—until they found out what boys were and slowly drifted away leaving just me to spend our “boy” time together.
He taught me to hunt and fish and play sports, at least the ones I was interested in; he showed me how to be a man as I grew up. My mother appreciated it since she had my sisters to raise and didn’t know quite what to do with me as I grew up. I missed my father terribly, but having my uncle to help me grow up was something special for me. I will always have wonderful memories of him but his passing left a large hole in my heart, and I missed him.
It started on my way home from the funeral; I was so upset that I almost ran off the road. I was driving, lost in my thoughts about my uncle, when out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a figure. This startled me because I was alone. When I had a second to glance over, I thought I saw my uncle sitting next to me and smiling. I looked back at the road to make sure I was still in my lane and to try and understand seeing what I thought was my uncle but when I looked back, the seat was empty. I felt a weird shiver run through me and got goosebumps and my hands started to shake on the steering wheel. I’d heard about stuff like this but had always thought it was all nonsense. When you died, you died. You didn’t go to any place special, you just stopped existing and were absorbed back into the quagmire of the earth. At least that’s what I’d grown up believing.
I got home a bit shaken, put my keys on my key hook, and sat down to reflect on what I thought I had seen. After some time I convinced myself that what I’d seen was just me in a place where I missed him so much that my mind made him appear to help me cope with his loss. It was still weird, and I was left feeling a little off. I chalked it up to grief and what your mind does to handle it. I certainly didn’t spend much time on it once I came to that conclusion. Ha, little did I know!
The next morning I arose and went into the kitchen to make breakfast. Just as a kind of memorial to my uncle, I decided to make his favorite breakfast, which was one of mine too. I fried up some bacon and then cooked a couple of sunny-side-up eggs in the grease. The toast popped up almost at the same time the eggs. I sat at the table and dug in. As I leaned forward to take a bite, I saw my uncle again. He was sitting directly across from me and as soon as I looked at him, he disappeared. I couldn’t take another bite.
I couldn’t move and kept staring at the chair I had seen him in. I began to sweat and feel somewhat nauseous so reluctantly, I stood up, went to the sink, and threw some cold water over my face. I felt better, so I headed into the front room and sat in my easy chair, doing nothing, just sitting there and thinking. I wondered if I was obsessing over his death. Maybe I couldn’t handle it as well as I thought I did and my subconscious was letting me know I wasn’t really doing well with his passing. I could think of no other reasons why I would be seeing him or his ghost. It made me wonder but it also started to spook me. What if ghosts were real? If so, why was he showing up? Was there something he needed to tell me? I had to leave that line of thought or I thought I might lose myself in it. I’d just try to pretend I hadn’t seen him.
I watched a movie I had recorded on my DVR the night before and after, feeling pretty good, I went in and got ready for bed. I always read for a bit because it helped me to get to sleep a little quicker. I was lying on my back, reading, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and froze in a panic. What the hell was going on? I just knew that if I looked over I would see my uncle again and I couldn’t handle that. It didn’t matter; I had to look, and sure enough, there he was.
It was weird and frightening to see him in my bed, especially so because what I had originally taken for a smile of pleasure was actually a sad smile; as soon as I realized it and started to look in his eyes, he disappeared again. Suddenly, it seemed like the house decided to make all kinds of noises, which I’m sure it always did, but now it sounded different, almost ominous. My heart raced. I wanted to run but I couldn’t move a muscle as I lay there in scared confusion. It seemed like hours before I could finally move again and I jumped out of bed and left the room. I wandered the house without having a clue what I was doing or what I should do. I was now consumed with trying to understand and figure out why I was seeing his spirit. My first thoughts kept bringing me back to my subconscious trying to send me a message.
I never knew I fell asleep, but I woke up on the couch as the sun was rising and I could hear the chitter of birds in my back yard. It was so normal; last night seemed like a dream, and I tried to carry on believing that. It was almost like the feeling of dread you get when you know you might get hit with a football. I sat until the sun had fully risen and my front room was bathed in sunlight. What do I do now? I thought. I sighed and started to rise off of the couch and there he was again, sitting in my easy chair. My legs gave out and I fell back on the couch. I shivered in fear and no longer cared why it was happening; I just wanted it to stop.
I looked back over and he was still there. This surprised me because he’d always disappeared when I looked at him. As I watched, he looked like he was trying to tell me something and against my better judgment, I tried to read his lips. I could see that he was struggling and as soon as I thought I was beginning to make out what he was saying, he looked to his left almost fearfully and disappeared. What am I doing? I asked myself. Do I really believe that my uncle is trying to talk to me from the “other side?” I don’t believe in that stuff … do I? I didn’t know anymore and I just sat huddled, feeling very alone.
If there was an afterlife, what did it mean? Do we move on to another place? Do we get to be with those we loved and lost in our lives? I didn’t know, but this was sure changing my mind, unless I was really losing touch with reality. I started shivering, shivering so hard my teeth chattered. I had to do something about this one way or the other or I’d go insane.
I felt a little foolish but I decided to call my mom and see what she would say. I could just imagine, and I was sure it wouldn’t be good. I got up my nerve and called.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Mom. It’s me.”
“Hi, son, how’s things?”
Moms always seemed to know something was going on—must be a mother thing. “I, ah, have to tell you something.”
There was a short pause and then she said, “Go ahead.”
That was a strange answer for her; she was never
that abrupt. “I’ve been seeing …” I couldn’t finish.
She waited and when I didn’t continue, to my surprise and horror, she asked, “Your uncle?”
“How … how the hell did you know?”
There was a slight chuckle and she answered, “I’ve seen him too.”
There proceeded to be a long discussion about life and death and what it means, but then she summed it all up by saying, “There’s something I think he wanted you to have but I forgot what it was. Maybe he’s trying to tell you.”
“You have no idea?”
“No. I just know it meant a lot to him for you to have it.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me years ago that if he died before me to make sure you got it. I don’t think any of us knew he’d go this soon and I’ve totally forgotten what it was he wanted you to have. I think he knows that and is trying to tell you.”
I thought for a moment and had no clue what he could have wanted me to have. I hung up and I saw him again in my sliding glass door. It looked like he was literally in the door and now he was shaking his head, looking sad. I stood and watched him, trying to figure out what he wanted me to know. I could see his lips moving but it was unlike any language I knew; I just knew he was trying to talk to me. For a brief second, he looked tired, and then he faded away.