The Dead are Watching

by Debra Robinson

“Yes, I just released a book,” I said, “and what about Penny and Dane?” I thought it was pretty odd that the app would immediately spell out my brother’s, his wife’s, and my sister’s names! The screen flashed “burning,” then “kill,” then “death” again, then “airplane.” My brother and his family did a lot of flying. I was now growing a bit uneasy. What were the odds of a random-word generator app posting my entire family’s names out of the blue like this? And mentioning my new book? Pretty slim.

  “Who is this?” I asked. And then the screen spelled “James,” my deceased son’s name! I suddenly felt sick. How is this possible? I mean, James is a common name, but Dane and Penny? And Brooke? And book?

  “My God, it says James!” I cried out. Now all three of us in the room grew quiet as my mind raced, trying to calculate the odds and discern the possible ramifications.

  “James! Is it you? Do you know what happened?” The screen then spelled “car,” “kill,” “bottle,” “innocence,” “brain,” “backpack,” then finally “Ben.” Dear God! Now I spoke out loud to James, or to whatever random, crazy thing had nailed so many facts in our lives.

  “Yes, James was hit by a car on his motorcycle by a drunk driver. He had his new backpack on, the one his best friend Ben gave him just weeks before in California. His skates were in it, and he landed on them, on his back. His brain swelled; that’s why he died.” It almost felt as though James was giving info he knew would guarantee our recognition. James’s old dog, Leia the black Lab, had finally died just weeks before, at age fifteen and a half. Now I asked about this.

  “Do you know what happened to Leia?” I waited. The screen flashed the word “Leah,” and I lost my breath. James, my husband, and I had called her Leah from the time she was a pup. No one else would know this but us. Now my eyes filled with tears. Then the screen word changed again—“ground.” I swallowed back the tears and confirmed this.

  “Yes, we buried Leah out back, in the ground.” Local laws be damned, we wanted this canine family member near James’s other pets who’d had their final resting places in the backyard. I glanced at my neighbor Tammy. She was speechless and had a strange look on her face.

  “James, are you okay?” asked my husband. I added a few other questions: Was there a heaven like we thought? Would we see him again? Was anyone with him?

  “Linda,” flashed the word on the green screen. “Who’s Linda?” I said under my breath, wondering about this random name that didn’t match anyone in James’s or our lives. Tammy whispered, “It’s my mom.” Her mom had died recently. We stared at each other.

  “Honey, are you okay?” I asked again, desperately. “Waves,” spelled the app. “I don’t understand, what is waves? Are you coming in and out in waves? Is it hard to talk to us?

  My husband glanced at me. “I just bought a waves program for recording. James would understand all about that.” Since James and his dad had recorded in our music studio for years, James certainly knew the computer programs. Most of the things that had been spelled out made it seem as if James had been watching, as if he was reporting them to us now. If this even was him! How was this possible? I’d thought this ghost app was a joke! My husband, who’d switched places with me during our exchange, now said his finger had gone numb, and he had to quit. I could relate to that feeling, that’s why I’d had him take over for me. All three of us were uneasy. I couldn’t believe this. It was getting late and Tammy and I hadn’t had our walk yet. Just in case this was for real, I decided to tell him one last thing. “I love you, James. Even more than ever. Nothing has changed.”

  “Yes it has changed, nothing is the same without you,” added my husband sadly. “I’m going now. My finger is asleep.” He handed the phone back to Tammy, who was quiet. We were all pretty quiet.

  We went on our walk, both deep in thought, not understanding how something that we’d thought was a joke could be so accurate. It felt as though James was there with us for a few minutes. Tammy felt her mom had been there too. We discussed it a little, and later that night, I wrote to my ghost hunter friend Brian to explain what had happened. Brian, ever skeptical, suggested a test, with flashcards, asking to have the app spell out what was on the flashcards. He thought it must be a random coincidence. But I didn’t see how it could be, considering that of all the words given to us, almost every one was a direct hit.

  Disturbed by this, I told a few people, and one even thought it could be something evil, something that had listened to enough of my conversations to know just what was going on. I’d already thought of this and didn’t even want to go there. I texted my brother, asking if they had a flight planned anywhere. Luckily, he said no, not until September. If it was James, it seemed he knew what had happened, kept up on our lives, and, at least occasionally was here with us. September came and went, and my brother flew to the Virgin Islands and returned safely, leaving me relieved but still wondering.

  Could James somehow use this phone app to get messages to us? Maybe it was just a string of random words—just coincidence. There’s that word again. Too many coincidences I still don’t understand. And I’m afraid to try it again, yet I long to. I still miss James so badly. If James somehow stays aware of us here on earth, he would’ve watched us bury his old dog out back, he would’ve known about Ben and the backpack, about what the bottle meant; his killer’s drunkenness, which led to James’s death; about his brain, and my new books. Just thinking about this is overwhelming. There are no words. May you rest in peace, my sweet boy.

  While nearing the end of this book, I started thinking about what I’ve learned, what conclusions I’ve come to. The more ghost stories I sought out, the more stories seemed to crop up. Friends called and messaged me to tell me they had one to share. I have enough to fill another book, but this book is full. The experience of seeking out others’ stories to learn more about my own has enlightened me; on the one hand, I can see the similarity between theirs and my own experiences. But on the other hand, I understand that just as people are similar yet different, so will they be after their deaths. I realize the saying “as in life, so in death” seems totally accurate, and we are as individual after death as we are in life. I’ve learned some people retain their quirks, some their sense of humor, others their crotchetiness. Most of all, I’ve learned we are as interconnected in death as we are in life. And I think I’ve also learned that I will never be able to stop searching for answers … or for spirits.

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