This Isn't a Ghost Story

Terry didn't really believe in ghosts. He never had. He couldn't understand why anyone dead would want to come back to this place. If there was life after death, it had to be better than this. 

He sat in the small common room of the inn he was staying at. The night was dark and cloudy, and rain pelted the roof of the inn, creating a soothing pattering. Although nature seemed to be decidedly miserable, the inn was rather pleasant. A warm fire danced in the sizable stone hearth, and all of the road weary travelers were talking and laughing with one another, finding comfort in good food, good company, and good dicing. 

Despite the pleasant atmosphere of the common room, Terry looked rather sullen and put off. That was probably because of me. Because, although Terry did not believe in ghosts, he had been followed by one for a good month now, from town to town, as he tried to evade its influence. Oh he always claimed he had different reasons, maybe even managed to convince himself he did. But he was running from the ghost as sure as he walked on two legs. The ghost always found him, wherever he ran. And yes, the ghost that so stubbornly pursued poor Terry was me.

Terry was right about a few things. For one, life after death is remarkably better than this one. Five out of five stars, would recommend. However, just because he didn't understand reasons for returning didn't mean they didn't exist. In all fairness, I didn't know why I was back here either. I couldn't remember who I used to be. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, or who I was sent by, or even if I was sent by anyone. I didn't know anything except that there was a glowing core in me, almost a hot coal in my center, that said to me I needed to help this man. I just had to figure out how.

Terry sat away from the rest of the inn patrons. He was slumped at a small table and was fiddling with that golden pocket watch he always had with him, kept in the pocket over his left breast, near his heart. He was pale from sleepless nights of tossing and turning. The fire he sat next to cast shadows over his already sunken face. This man was in a wretched state. I would have felt bad, but he had been that way even before I started following him. Something was wrong, something that had happened before I had even arrived. I had a feeling that was what I was supposed to fix. 

I floated down next to him, pouring myself a cup of tea. His eyes widened and he looked like he might sick up. Poor man. In the early days, I couldn't even move a safety pin. I had to resort to whooshes and slight creaking of floorboards. But slowly I got stronger. More real in a way. I had started to make out parts of my form sometimes, when it was very dark. But the fire was burning, so nothing was seen except a floating tea pot. 

"How has your day been?" I asked cheerily. It was the polite thing to do. He stared at the saucer that was being lifted by itself. I took a sip of the tea. It wasn't bad.

Terry shook his head a few times. Probably trying to wake himself up.

 " That won't work I'm afraid," I said smiling. "You're completely awake." Had he tilted his ear in my direction? Maybe he was starting to hear what I was saying. He shook his head again, this time in a more scoffing manner.

"You know," I said, taking another sip of tea, "You really should be having fun with those men over there. " I motioned to the ring of men, who were watching a game of dice, laughing and making good natured bets with one another. Yes, he definitely turned his head to listen to me. That was good. He turned away again, strangely not looking nervous. He looked...sad? Almost a mournful regret. That was new. 

He pulled out his pocket watch and clicked the tiny button on top. "Oh!," I exclaimed delightedly, "It opens!" I leaned in close to see what was inside. On one face, there was a clock. That made sense, it was a pocket watch after all. And on the other, there was a small portrait of a girl. She seemed to be maybe thirteen or fourteen, and she had long beautiful black hair and brilliant green eyes. She was beaming through the picture.

"Who's that?" I asked Terry softly. "She's very pretty."

He sighed and closed the watch again. I was slightly surprised to see teardrops start to fall down his cheeks and onto his lap as he closed his eyes to rest by the fire, the heat warming his face, but never drying his tears.

When he woke up, the fire was out. The common room was dark and deserted, everyone else long gone up to bed. It was almost the breaking of dawn. I was waiting for him. Now that it was dark, I could see my wispy dress that swayed every time I moved. A dress! It was so pretty. I hadn't been able to see my dress before. I had spent most of the night dancing in the room, watching the phantom dress sway and ripple.

Terry's eyes found me floating in the middle of the common room, a respectful distance from him. I didn't want to scare him. Only talk. His eyes saw me I could tell, but he made an effort to pass my figure by, pretending he did not. 

"Terry?" I asked, "Can you hear me?" 

He was frozen in his seat, staring right at me. I cleared my throat and asked again, a little louder. "Terry can you hear me?"

He didn't respond. Slowly, he got up and moved against the wall, keeping his face towards me. I rolled my eyes. What on earth did he think I was going to do to him? 

"Terry, I know you can hear me! Why won't you answer?" I asked again, frustration rising. It had been a month now. A month of him full of fear and guilt and running. Always he was running. I wouldn't let him run this time.

Terry shook his head, still inching towards the stairs. Surprisingly, he spoke. "No, I can't hear anything... In fact it's very silent." I stared at him incredulously. Was the man delusional? He must have been.

I floated closer, folding my arms across my chest. "That's absolutely ridiculous, how could you respond if you didn't hear what I said." 

Terry stopped inching towards the stairs, and something almost like a smile tugged at his lips. " Yup. Don't hear anything at all."

I frowned, and wrestled with the urge to stamp my foot on the ground like a child. "That's not how it works, you can't just..." I trailed off. This conversation felt familiar. It felt real. The way he spoke was like a parent playing hide and seek with a small child.

I floated over to him. He didn't seem terrified anymore, but he hadn't relaxed either. He was still tensed up, as if ready to sprint away at any sign of danger. "Terry," I asked, "' Do you know who I am?"

His almost smile vanished and he looked away too fast, shame filling his eyes. 

"You do." I said. It wasn't a question.

He looked at me, and there was pain. Pain poured out from his whole body. His eyes looked guilty and horrified at the same time. "I-", his voice cracked, "I do."

"Can you tell me who I am?"

Terry turned away cursing. " Why are you making me do this?" he whispered to the sky. "Haven't I suffered enough?" I didn't realize there could be so much emotion in a voice. Anger, sorrow, pain, regret, loss, rage, terror. They were all there. A wave that came crashing down in the still and abandoned room. 

Nobody answered his question. I don't think he expected anyone to. I didn't either. 

"Please." That was all I said. One word.

He seemed to shiver. "Your name ..." he moistened his lips, but his eyes grew softer. " Your name is Meredith. You were my daughter."

snap.

Memories poured into me, like water rushing through a broken dam. Golden memories streaming across my mind. I remembered the farm, the gardens, the ducks, and the cows. I remembered the cold winter nights holed up listening to stories told by a father. No mother though. She was long gone. I remembered climbing trees, catching light bugs, and running with the other kids. And I remembered the lightning. I was learning to ride a horse with him, and it had started to rain. Bad rain. There had been purple lightning that day. Purple. An incredible color. An awful color. I remembered trying to get home trying to follow him, but not being able to see the way, the water collided so fast with my face. Then a huge flash, and deafening boom. I only remembered being weightless, thrown into the air by the horse, then nothing. 

Suddenly I gasped, as if I had been stuck underwater for ages. I heaved in a deep long sucking breath, and put my hand to my mouth, eyes already streaming. 

"Papa?"

He wasn't Terry anymore. He was Papa. He was safe. He was home. 

He nodded almost hesitantly, but eyes flowing freely as well.

"Yes Meredith," he said, not without great emotion." I'm your Papa."

I ran at him, and was surprised to find I didn't run right through him. I collided with him and buried my face in his chest, sobbing. I saw through my tears that my dress wasn't wispy anymore. It was so solid. Like me. Like Papa.

 "I am so sorry." he said over and over again. "I'm sorry for running from your Mere. I couldn't believe it was you. I'm so sorry." 

I finally pulled away from him, wiping tears from my eyes with the large sleeve of my dress. I still felt a burning in my chest. A pulse, that told me there was still something I needed to do. As much as I wanted to stay, this wasn't about me. It was about him. I could help him this one time, for all the times he had helped me. I needed to do this.

I wiped away a few more tears and looked him squarely in the face. "Papa, there are some things you need to know." I said in a shaky breathe, trying to figure out what he needed to hear.

"I need you to know it wasn't your fault. I don't know if you thought it was or not, but I'm telling you now it wasn't'."

He was silent so I continued, my voice a little stronger.

"Second, I need you to know that I'm happy." I smiled at him, spreading my arms outward. "I'm really happy. So you don't need to worry about me anymore."

There was still silence.

"Finally, I need you to be happy too. I need you to still live a good life, cause you got a longer one than me, so you better make some good use of it." I put my hands on my hips to emphasize the point. I did that a lot when I was alive.

Papa gave me a watery chuckle and placed his hand on her head. " Is this real?" he asked, half to me, half to himself.

I nodded. "I sure hope it is, otherwise we're both going crazy."

He laughed again and I laughed with him. I didn't think he’d laughed during the whole month I’d followed him.

"Live a good life okay Papa? Promise me?" I held out my hand, mimicking a serious face "And I mean promise. Shake on it."

He looked bewildered and amused, but held out his hand and grasped mine in a firm shake. The weariness had gone from his eyes. I knew he would be okay.

"I think I have to go now Papa." I gave him a long hug. " So be good. Mama says she's fine with you gambling a little, as long as you don't waste all of your money."

Papa laughed again. It was such a strong sound. I could have listened to his laugh forever. " You girls. What will I do without you?"

I looked at him seriously. " Your best. You'll do your best."

He nodded. "My best. I can do my best for you Meredith. You and your Mama." 

Dawn was starting to break. I felt a great release, a breath that was finally let go. He would be okay. I could feel every fiber in my being relax. It was done,

Papa watched the rising sun alone. I was gone by the time the first golden rays illuminated his tearstained face.

Terry didn't really believe in ghosts. He never had. But he did believe in that the world was strange. And he could accept that some strangeness he couldn't explain. Sometimes, you just had to call strangeness a ghost.

He chuckled as he walked up to a table of people playing cards. They all greeted him, some more drunkenly than others. They were all good friends by now. He had stopped running from the ghost. But it hadn’t really been his ghost. It had been Meredith. And he would never run from her.

A warm fire danced in the sizable stone hearth, and all of the townsfolk were talking and laughing with one another, finding comfort in good food, good company, and good gambling.

Terry still felt lonely and he still felt sad at times. It didn't go away. He doubted it would ever go away. But it was better now. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't hopeless either. Sometimes, when his soul faltered, he remembered his daughter stubbornly telling him to shake on it, and he would laugh.

And somewhere, someplace, he knew she was too.