The Afterlife of Jordan Stone

The graveyard was quiet at night, and so cold. Not that they could feel cold anymore. Or warmth. Or anything. An eerie mist crept along the mossy ground and curled around the tilted gravestones. They perched atop their own gravestone, so old the letters carved in the stone had faded, as the fog crept closer and wrapped around their ankles like a cat, greeting them like an old friend. 

It was easier to enter the world of the living at this time of year. Samhain was close and the veil was thinning. Spirits, both well-meaning and malevolent, crossed the veil as easily as pushing aside a curtain. The ghost spent most nights this time of year in this world, simply observing. The world of the living had changed vastly since they had been a part of it. The mourners who came to the cemetery no longer spoke in terms they could easily understand. No mourners came to their grave, not anymore. Everyone who would ever remember them had died long ago. 

The hinges of the rusty old gate squeaked horribly as a new patron entered. They frowned. It was midnight, the witching hour. Far too late for anyone as young as this person seemed to be out. Far too dangerous an hour to be out this close to Samhain without protection. And this person had none, not even a flimsy shield around their energy. Their vulnerability would attract spirits that would seek to trick or even possess her, for it was a woman they could see as she came closer. A young woman, not much younger than they had been when their untimely death had cut their life short. 

Spirits smelled the living like a shark smelled blood, and within moments dark spirits surrounded the girl. They were not supposed to interfere with the world of the living. They were supposed to follow the rules and observe without manipulation. But evil spirits hardly ever followed the rules. They had decades and sometimes centuries to become bitter and hungry. Once they tasted their first human soul, they became addicted to it, gaining their strength from absorbing souls. And these spirits had been starving for a very long time. 

The girl was completely oblivious to the ghosts around her as they jostled and fought to be closer and waited for the perfect time to pounce. The ghost pulled their legs up and hugged their knees to their chest, indecisive. They could not sit here and watch this young girl become prey, as they had. There was not much the ghost remembered about their life anymore, centuries had eroded the memories like the words on their gravestone, but they remembered their death. Every ghost did. They remembered feeling hunted, cornered. They remembered the feeling that washed over them when they realized they would not escape this time. They could not let this happen to this girl. 

So they stood and pushed off their gravestone, floating closer to the girl. The evil spirits tracked their approach, wondering if they were another ghost they would have to fight for the right to the human’s soul. The ghost could not take on this many spirits at once, especially not one that had increased their power by consuming souls. 

So they did what ghosts do best. They haunted. 

They ran the tips of ice cold fingers along the back of the girl’s neck, and she shivered as she glanced over her shoulder. They braced themselves and floated right through her, giving her a shuddering full body shiver. But the girl made no move to leave. The ghost needed to do more. They reached into her mind, just a little, just enough to know her name. 

They put their mouth up to her ear, breath tickling her skin, and they whispered, “Clara… run, Clara…”

The girl whimpered now, head whipping around to try to find a culprit she would never be able to see. 

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” she demanded. 

“I am nobody… listen to me… run.”

“Why should I listen to you?” the girl crossed her arms over her chest like a petulant child.

“There is much you do not know…” the ghost whispered, floating closer and then away, “It is the witching hour and the veil is thin… it is dangerous for you here.”

“You are…helping me?”

“Yes…”

“I can’t leave. I need to see if someone is here. Someone I used to know.”

“You have no protection now…I cannot stop other spirits from entering you, possessing your body and consuming your soul… that is what will happen if you do not run, now.”

“How do I protect myself, then? If what you say is true, I will leave tonight and come back tomorrow with protection.”

Had humans always been this stubborn?

“You will need a black crystal, charged under the light of the moon…fill your pockets with salt…call on your ancestors to protect you…now, RUN!”

Finally, Clara did as she was told. She ran, nimbly dodging roots and headstones as she fled from the cemetery. The spirits shrieked and followed her, but she was already outside the gates. There were many limitations to being a spirit in the living world. They could not travel too far from their burial site. The gate rattled with the fury of a dozen spirits throwing themselves against it. 

Clara came back the next night. The ghost could see that she had done as asked, a faint forcefield of energy surrounded her figure. It was weak, but it would discourage spirits who would rather focus on an easier target than bother with the effort of dismantling her protection. 

“My name is Clara Stone.” she called out, “I call upon my ancestors to protect me tonight. I call upon my grandmother, Sharon Stone. I call upon her mother, Elizabeth Stone. I call upon Catherine and Anne. I call upon Jordan Stone.”

With this last name the ghost felt a strange tugging sensation in what would have been their stomach, had they still had one. It was at first, gentle, dismissible, but it grew stronger as Clara spoke. Strong enough to pull the ghost off of their headstone and towards the girl. 

“Ancestors, please protect me tonight,” Clara asked. 

And the ghost remembered, a few puzzle pieces drifting back into their empty memory. Their name was Jordan Stone. They had been a witch in life, and killed because of it. And now they would answer the call to protect one of their own. One of their sisters, one of their descendents. 

“I am Jordan Stone,” they said, “I offer my protection to you, Clara Stone. In exchange I ask only one thing: remember me.

Clara gasped, “That voice, you spoke to me last night.”

“I did.”

Clara tilted her head, “But I could not see you then, why can I see you now?”

“Because you called upon me. Because I answered the call.”

Clara gazed at her for a moment, “You are so young, is this how you died?”

“Ghosts appear as they did in their last moments, yes,” Jordan confirmed.

“I will remember you. I promise,” Clara vowed, “If you protect and help me tonight, I will tell your story.”

The memories of the living were not as potent as human souls, but Clara’s remembrances would allow Jordan more power than they had in decades. 

“Now, tell me, child,” Jordan said, “Who do you search for?”

“I want to talk to my mother. She died recently, and she is buried here. Do all people come back as ghosts?”

Jordan shook their head, “No. I do not know why some do and some do not.” they said, truthfully, “There are some things in life we are not meant to understand.”

“Do…do you think my mom is here?”

“If she is, I have not seen her. But show me her grave. Perhaps we can coax her across the veil.”

Clara did as told, crossing the cemetery with Jordan floating close behind. They stopped at a headstone, freshly cut and not yet tilting or sinking into the earth. 

Eliza Stone

Beloved wife and devoted mother

According to the dates listed, Eliza had died within the year. This was probably her first Samhain. Her first opportunity to cross the veil. 

“Is… is she here? Do you see her?” Clara asked, voice equal parts hopeful and scared.

“I do not. But do not give up hope yet. I will call to her and she may come.”

Jordan braced themselves. It had been a long time since they had called on another ghost. With no memory of those they had known in life, they hadn’t needed to. 

They projected their voice across the veil, “Eliza Stone, I call you. Cross the veil and visit the world of the living. Your daughter is here. Clara is here.”

Nothing. 

Then, “Clara?”

Eliza’s spirit was weak, flickering in and out, but it was there. 

“Mom,” Clara sobbed, “You came.”

Eliza smiled warmly, “Of course I did, sweet girl.”

Clara turned to Jordan, “Thank you, Jordan. I will keep my promise. I’ll tell your story.”

Jordan placed a hand over their heart and bowed their head, “Then I shall be forever grateful. If you should need me again, you should only call, and I will be there.”

“Thank you for protecting my baby,” Eliza said.

“How did you know?” Eliza hadn’t been present last night, Jordan was sure of that. 

“It’s a small cemetery,” Eliza grinned, “Word travels fast.”

Jordan nodded to her. 

Clara came back the next day, with two bundles of flowers and two candles. She visited her mom first, arranging the flowers around her headstone and then lighting the candle. Then she visited Jordan and did the same. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, though she knew it was broad daylight and Jordan could not hear her. 

When Jordan crossed the veil that night, it was to find a small votive candle and a bouquet of flowers arranged around a clean headstone. The moss growing over it had found a new home in the earth around it and the stone had been washed of dirt and grime. It was still old and faded, but now the epitaph was visible. 

Here lies Jordan Stone

When In doubT, Call for tHem

and they shall come