Spirit World

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains mental health issues, mention of suicide, and a child's death.

“Welcome to Spirit World,” the guide greeted the group of kids and adults alike.

I slid my keycard over the sensor and opened the double doors.

The guide ushered the group down the hallway, more like a hospital than a zoo—we were told never to use the term zoo—and the presentation continued. As he told them the history of containing ghosts from all over the world, I watched closely at pockets, looked for cellphones or recording devices that were snuck in. Not that Spirit World was a secret; there were billboards, commercials, even merchandise. In fact, it’s that latter bit that made security so important: merchandise. The company, Transcendence, was intent on keeping the profits within their walls.

“In a moment,” the guide continued, “you’ll put on the goggles you picked up at the entrance. These catch energy signatures our naked eyes can’t.”

The kids fumbled with the goggles, looking for switches; some already had them on. That was fine; they did no harm—didn’t change normal vision at all.

We neared the inner door, where I took point again.

The guide turned to the group, “Has anyone ever seen a picture of a lion?”

Hands shot up.

“What about in person?”

A few hands. The guide motioned to the smallest of the volunteers. “What was that like?”

“Scary.”

“Yeah, scary! He was in a cage?”

The child nodded and wiped his nose.

“Still scary?”

He nodded with jackhammer energy.

“Now, I know that many of you have seen ghosts in pictures,” the guide spoke in a kind, kindergarten teacher tone, “but seeing something in person is always a bit different. If you need to leave, just raise your hand, and we’ll take you to the waiting room, where you will be forced to eat cake and watch cartoons.”

The children smiled, excited by the prospect. One child’s hand rose with a grin; their parent chuckled.

“Okay. Goggles on.”

As I readied to open the next secure door, I noticed Dr. Mira had just arrived, staying in the back of the group. Though around my age, her hair had gone completely white after the death of her husband a few years earlier. She smiled at me, but there was a pensive quality to her gaze. I was not looking forward to whatever talk she wanted to have.

“Here we go!”

The doors opened to what might be best described as an aquarium without water. Behind the thick glass barriers were fully furnished rooms of all different time periods: Ancient Egyptian, Victorian, Modern. But no ghosts. The group rumbled with confusion.

The guide spoke into his collar communicator. “Control, activate the GSA Goggles for Group Delta.”

I confirmed the request, “Control, go for Delta activation.”

A green light on the side of the goggles illuminated, making a sea of bobbing green fireflies as their eyes widened at the spectacle: ghostly images of the deceased moving about in their enclosures. Unlike specters of films and stories, they did not glow—more like a combination of smoke and ink streaking as they moved.

I was an ex-bomb squad and a bomb tech. For better or worse, my fear was not what other people experienced, which made me an ideal candidate for running daily security in what was ostensibly a ghost menagerie.

“If you have trouble focusing, just try to view them in your peripheral vision. Do you know what that is?”

No one heard the guide; they were too overwhelmed.

A parent walked closer to the glass. I kept a keen eye on them—not so much out of worry, but that I wanted Dr. Mira to notice. “Can they... can they see us?”

“Yes,” the guide said simply, “but they aren’t bothered.”

“Can they talk?” another asked.

“It takes a huge amount of energy to speak, even more to move an object. It’s why hauntings are both so rare and dangerous.”

A tiny voice whimpered, “Are these ones dangerous?”

“No. They aren’t.”

“Where are the dangerous ones?” a parent asked directly.

“There’s a separate facility across the grounds.”

A young girl carefully approached and placed her palm on the glass. I moved closer to her, again more of a show than actual concern.

The girl was viewing a ghost we called Miss Havisham—unable to find her true identity as we had been able to do with others—an elderly lady from the 1800s. Her head tilted as she stared off into nothingness; a vague expression of despair consumed her. Strange, I had never noticed that pattern on her dress...

“Are they happy?” The child’s sad tone indicated she was already aware of the answer.

My gaze met Dr. Mira’s.

#

Home was the Lower Ninth Ward, about 10 minutes outside of New Orleans, where Spirit World was located. Many of the houses were still under repair from the most recent hurricane. Nobody understood why I spent so much time, effort, and money in reconstructing the house after its near-total destruction.

How long had I been sitting in the car? I inhaled deeply and headed inside.

Opening the door, I instantly saw her sitting at the kitchen table: Mira.

“Did you break into my house?” I asked calmly as I took off my coat.

Mira gave a knowing smile and held up a pair of GSA Goggles, my GSA Goggles, or more accurately, goggles I had stolen from work. “Did you break into my house?” she returned.

I sat across at the table.

“I saw her,” she said. “Daughter?”

I considered denying everything, like a child with crumbs all over their shirt after being asked if they got into the cookie jar. Better to get it over with. I nodded. “Abbie.”

“Not many people have the fortune of a loved one staying with them. I see why the temptation would be so great.” There was true empathy in her voice, which was comforting, but where was this going? “Your wife left soon after?”

“Immediately after.” I stared at the table, concentrating on the imperfections in the wood, doing anything I could to not break down in tears.

“You know Transcendence has a contract with the government.” Then, memorized from years of experience, “All ghosts are to be reported and placed into Spirit World immediately for community safety.”

I nodded.

“She’s beautiful. Her snapshot...” She trailed off in thought. “She must have loved you very much.”

A snapshot: the term for the presentation of a ghost. It’s not known how or why, but they seem to choose their appearance based on a moment of peak importance.

After a substantial pause, she continued. “There’s a problem at Spirit World.” She stood. “Have you been to Elysium?”

A kind name for what was a prison next to Spirit World, a place to house the more dangerous ghosts: haunters. “No. I’m aware of it.”

“It’s hard to miss.” A cement, cube-shaped building with no windows. She took a deep breath. “The ghosts are evolving. The snapshots. They’re... changing.”

Miss Havisham. Her dress pattern. Maybe it wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed, but she had altered it.

“And it’s more than their appearance.” Mira began to pace. “Their moods, their... power... They’re getting difficult to contain. And the other day... they made physical contact. They killed a researcher.”

“Then we have to keep them locked up—or what are you saying? You want to destroy them?”

“Ghosts are energy. Energy can’t be destroyed.”

“Then what? Release?”

“There are ghosts in Elysium that are not violent; they’re just disturbed presences. Confused. Lost. Yes, they slam doors and make noises, but it’s out of confusion and grief, not violence,” frustration and sorrow cracked her voice. “But being in there with the others... We’re creating monsters. If we release them now, maybe some will ascend, maybe others will revert to their peaceful snapshots.”

“And maybe some will kill.”

“We’re reaching the threshold. The evolution is causing a chain reaction—like a plague, infecting them all. Soon, they’ll be too powerful to hold, and they’ll be loose with or without our help—but we may be able to mitigate the damage.”

“I don’t know what you’re asking.”

“How far do you think you could get in?”

“Elysium? The observation deck.”

“What if you had to?”

“The observation deck.”

Mira marched to the table and grabbed the goggles. “How far?”

I reached out. “Don’t. Please.” I could feel it; she would leave with those goggles, and I would never see Abbie again.

“You used to be in the bomb squad. I saw your toolkit—something I’m sure you used to hotwire these goggles.”

I just nodded, seeing where she was going.

“These ghosts are a bomb—a bomb of undetermined magnitude. If we don’t defuse it, I don’t know what will happen.”

I built this house back up from the rubble because that’s where Abbie was. Nothing would move me from this spot, and nothing would ever take her away from me again.

As she waited for my response, I had already devised a plan.

#

That night, I arrived at Transcendence with Mira. Spirit World glowed with life. Elysium stood like a tomb, a void, the edges only barely illuminated by the night sky.

There was only a skeleton crew at night; the flash of security clearance, which we both had, was enough to move through unhindered. I carried my old bomb squad toolkit. Mira, two goggles.

At the inner door, I crouched down and looked to Mira, who handed me my goggles and put a second pair I hotwired on herself.

Abbie. She stood in front of me. Her smoky form couldn’t conceal her nervous expression.

“I’m so proud of you,” I let her hand hover over mine. There was no feeling, no air or movement, but it was something that brought her comfort.

“When we go in, I want you to keep your eyes on me. Okay?” I stood and gently wiggled my hand for her to see. “Just keep looking at my hand.”

I gave Mira a nod, and she opened the inner door.

With a startling hiss, the doors opened revealing the observation deck—much like Spirit World’s, but the cells were empty of furnishings and filled with ghosts—some terrible, almost creature-like. They pounded against the glass; their screams, though muffled, were powerful enough to be heard.

Mira dashed to one of the cells, her hands laid flat against the glass. In the corner, curled in a ball, was a ghost—shaking, afraid.

“I’m going to get you out,” she repeated to it. “I promise.” She looked back at me with a desperate expression and tears streaming down her face.

Upstairs, on the opposite side of the room, was the control center: our destination. It was helmed by one, thankfully disinterested guard.

Abbie screeched. She had looked away from me and seen the horror of the others. She dashed to a corner away from the cells, and I instantly ran to her. Her form rippled like a school of fish thrashing in the water.

“It’s okay, Abbie. It’s okay.” I tried to calm her, reaching out, my hand passing through her. “They can’t get you. You’re safe.”

The ghosts spotted her. Her existence outside of the cells agitated them even further.

“Abbie...” I looked from Mira back to her. “I need you to do something. I need you to do something, or they’ll take you away from me. Do you understand?”

This seemed to upset her, which would hopefully prove useful, as much as it pained me, but without intense emotions, she may not be able to use physical force.

“I need you to go through that door and open it.” I pointed to the security entrance. “Do you understand?”

Abbie nodded, then slid away from me and passed through the closed door. All that could be done then was wait, wait to see if she could summon the strength to press the lock release.

#

As I waited, I watched Mira leaning against the cell.

“Who is he?” my tired voice creaked out.

“Edmond. My husband.” She stroked her hand down the glass slowly. “He was schizophrenic. He took his own life. A year later, the hauntings started.”

Edmond continued to shake in the corner.

“The hauntings were... extreme,” she explained, “but nothing as extreme as when he was alive. I didn’t have a choice. People knew. I had to turn him in, and I thought... at least he would be here where I could see him.”

I nodded.

“You have to understand,” she continued earnestly, “this isn’t just about him.”

“They’ll hunt them down. They’ll lock them up—worse next time.”

“I can’t just let it happen, though. Something is better than doing nothing. It has to be.”

I looked at the door. Her concerns might not matter if we couldn’t get out of this room.

“How did she die?”

“The hurricane.” I hoped that would be enough, but Mira looked on for more to the story. “The weather was bad, but... It hit so quick, and...” I battled the tears—battled the memory. “A gust of wind—Jesus, the noise... it toppled the house. A beam... it...” The tears could not be held back. “She was pinned, her throat was bleeding. Legs, waist, crushed. God, she screamed. I put pressure on her wound and sent her mother out to find help. Abbie... she was in such pain... Her screaming... I don’t know how long it was, but... I told Abbie I loved her, and I lifted my hand from her wound. She bled out in a matter of seconds.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Her mom came back... minutes later. I don’t know when. She tried, but... Nothing. There was no one. I didn’t tell her what I did. I don’t know that I even accelerated it that much. Still...”

I exhaled, deeply. “One day, while I was picking through the wreckage of the house, Abbie arrived. I could just see her out of the corner of my eye. I spent every penny I had to rebuild.”

Click! The door opened. I sprang to my feet. Abbie waited on the other side. I looked back to Mira.

“Go,” she nodded.

“Come on,” I motioned to Abbie.

We ran down the hallway, then up the stairs. One more door to the security room. Abbie glided ahead, knowing what to do, and swiftly opened the second door.

The guard looked up with more confusion than shock, so I closed ground on him quickly and knocked him out.

Mira had already acquainted me with the purge procedures, so I went right to work. The last step would take some effort beyond buttons and codes. I unscrewed the back plate of the box that housed the release mechanism. A rainbow of wires was twisted and grouped around. I opened my toolkit and sorted through them.

Before too long, I was done.

I peered out the security window down to Mira and gave her a thumbs-up; she returned with a wave. I hit the plunger. An alarm rang out. Soon, there would be no going back.

“Stay by me.” Abbie curled around behind me.

The cell doors released, Elysium and Spirit World, and one by one, the ghosts found their way out.

Edmond approached Mira. I watched as they were reunited.

But Edmond’s form had changed, and he released a terrible roar and lashed out. He hoisted Mira into the air and slammed her against the wall.

Abbie and I ran back down to the observation deck.

By the time we got there, Edmond was cradling Mira, confused, his form changed back. Her body was broken. She coughed blood. Even still, there was peace in her eyes.

We kept our distance, but it was obvious she was absolving him and giving him her love. And after a moment, she died.

Edmond looked up at us, pain attacking his entire form, then fled in fear.

The observation deck was silent. No cries. No pounding on the walls.

I went to Mira’s side. I wondered, would she return to this place as a ghost? Perhaps she would haunt it for all time, keeping it empty, keeping ghosts free, at least from this place.

#

Abbie and I left Elysium. I was in no rush. It was only a matter of time before I was caught, but that was okay. Abbie would stay with me, and even without the goggles, I would see her in the corner of my eye.

And then, a terrible, animal-like scream. It was the old woman, Miss Havisham. Her hair was let loose, floating all around her as if she was in water. Her eyes were ravenous, locked on me. I had never seen a ghost as clearly as I saw her. Her anger. Her betrayal.

She darted at me, screaming, hair and dress flying behind her. Swirls of her smoky form left behind, unable to keep up with her speed.

Just before impact, Abbie stood between us, and with a warrior shout, created a shockwave that pushed Havisham back and me to the ground.

As Havisham rose, she could see Abbie squared off between us, prepared to make another attack, and so she retreated, her gray cloud disappearing into the night.

Abbie returned to me.

I put my hand out for Abbie to hover over. She did. And then she wrapped her fingers around and held my hand. I could feel the warmth of her, the life of her.

She smiled and slowly started to fade. I watched as she went—until every last bit of her had vanished. Had I kept her? Had my memories and guilt imprisoned her?

There was no emptiness in her absence. I understood the peace in Mira’s eyes. There was pain, but there was release. Abbie was free. And if I took the time, perhaps I could free myself, too.

The End