My Encounter With Ghosts

Sceneries go blurred as the train moves at an extraordinary speed. It’s beautiful really, the vast infinite expanse of barren land with maybe a few cacti and palm trees stealing the show. It’s as beautiful as the ruby ring on my finger or the little speck of dirt visible on the tip of my flat baileys. Everything seems more beautiful and appealing than looking in the ghost’s eyes that sits in front of me. It’s been like this for the past hour, with me constantly shifting my focus from shrubs to shrubs while the ghost’s intense stare cuts through my skin. 

It was hard at first. Quite horrifying when I first saw the ghost of my mother, sitting beside her own body but her gaze fixed on me. It was more appalling to realize that ghosts see humans naked; even after years, it’s hard not to bring up my hands to cover my body. But one thing you should know about ghosts is that they all come for revenge. And if you don’t help them get one, you’ll be the next asking a human for the same. We are called The Clairvoyants, those with the power to see things beyond human vision. It could be your neighbor, your teacher or even your roommate and you would never know. 

My teacher, Mrs. Perez, was a Clairvoyant. Engulfed in the flames of fear after seeing a ghost, I ran straight down the street. Running and pushing through a mass of people, caring too little to look at their faces until a strong pair of arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me to a halt. I couldn’t breathe. The world suddenly seemed like a giant transparent ball that just won’t stop spinning, sucking me under. Mrs. Perez's voice seemed like a distant hum but to this date, I clearly remember her expression when I pointed my finger towards my house and gagged the word ‘ghost’. She stirred me back to the direction of her house, made me sit and patted on my back until I calmed down. 

“You’re only sixteen. Too young. It’s not possible.” She whispered, walking across the room, her skin pale. 

“What’s not possible, Mrs. Perez?” I squeaked, still unable to find my real voice. 

She sat down in front of me and gently rested her bony hand on my knee. I was too dumbfounded to even speak as she webbed a whole new world in front of me…a world of ghosts and revenge and murder and moksha. 

“I know it’s a lot to take, dearie. I was twenty five when I saw my first ghost. But you should not forget how fortunate you are to be a Clairvoyant. You can help people this way, see? You can help them break free of the monotone cycle of birth and death.” 

I was too young, too naive. I simply nodded. 

Now that Mrs. Perez sits in front of me, I know little what to do. My mind tells me to let it be, ignore the ghost and maybe this is all a big bad dream and it’s soon going to be over. But a speckle of truth still lingers. The inevitable horror that no matter what I do, I couldn’t simply run away. 

Fortunately, my mother’s revenge was quite an odd yet a simple one. She had died on the day of her 20th anniversary with my step dad. Flashbacks remind me of her brightening eyes and she twirled in a gorgeous off shoulder dress in front of me. 

“What do you think, Annie?” She had asked, almost tripping over her words; her excitement beyond control. 

“You look like the most beautiful woman on Earth, Ma. You look so pretty, I don’t even have words.” I still remember those lines perfectly as I pulled her into a tight hug. 

“Okay, shh. I am going downstairs. Your pa is waiting.” So she went giggling and blushing in the magnificent dress Mrs. Topez, our neighbor, had specially made for her. The next thing I know is a loud shriek and soon my first ghost encounter. My mother had caught her leg in the entanglement of the dress, rolling down the stairs towards her death. 

That very night, I sneaked to Mrs. Topez’s house. Tip-toeing through her spotless white tiles and extravagant furniture, I made my way to her grand wardrobe. Mrs. Topez was an international fashion designer. A few days ago she had gotten a huge opportunity and was assigned to design a dress for none other than Sophie Marceau. It was a masterpiece, a shimmery floor length gown made of thin cloth but not exactly transparent. Any lady wearing that would look no less than a goddess. And there I was, entering her wardrobe with a big pair of scissors in hand, ready to cut a giant hole as per my mother’s instructions. 

That night I couldn’t sleep. The guilt kept eating me up. But that’s what you learn being a Clairvoyant. You learn to do the worst. You learn to keep believing that what you do is for good. You learn how little choice you have. 

I finally look into the ghost’s eyes. 

“What do you want?” 

“You know what I want.” A raspy voice whispered from a far end in my mind. 

I shift my eyes back to the dull scenery. 

“I can’t do it.” I finally say. 

“You don’t have a choice.” Mrs. Perez's voice echoes. 

“I won’t do it!” I yell back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You want me to kill my husband! I won’t - I can’t do it.” 

“So you care more about that little cheater than the woman who took care of you. Who was there with you, all this time, holding your back. Yet you support that filthy thing of a man.” She replies, her voice oddly calm. 

My hands go up to cover my ears. “Just go away. Just go away.” I yell, shaking my head vigorously.” 

“You have helped so many, dearie. What happened now? You helped each one that came to you then why not me?” 

“Because no one told me to murder someone! I’ve shattered dreams, burned down homes, humiliated others in public, but- but murder someone? No, I won’t do it.” I say, my voice as firm as I could make it. 

“So it is then.” Mrs. Perez’s voice lingers, her eyes cold and brittle. “You’ve left me with no choice, dearie. I love you, remember that. I’ve always thought of you as my daughter so I shall not bring you to my world but you must suffer. Upon the holy Styx, I Camille Jacques Perez, with all sincerity and mind, curse you, Annie Martin, that may your life always remain submerged in guilt of what you have done and may the footsteps of death always follow you.” 

“NO!” I screamed as the thin being of ghost flickered and crumpled into whisps, leaving nothing but the odor of regret behind. 

After a few minutes, I force my feet to straighten and stand up. Clasping my still shaking hands, I make my way to my husband’s cabinet. 

And there he sits. A glass of wine kept on a stained table in front of him as laughter paints his face, his arm loosely hung over another woman’s shoulder. I scoff, capturing his attention. His smile dwindles a little yet he makes no attempt to remove his arm. 

“It’s time to go.” I say, my voice sounds unnatural to me. 

“Ah, yes!” He says standing up on his feet and kissing the lady on the cheek before grabbing my hand. 

“Who was she?” I ask, taking a slight peak behind my shoulder. 

“None of your business.” 

I purse my lips, straining myself to formulate any reply. 

The smell of smoke irritates the air as I look out the car window, my hands folded neatly in my lap. A jumble of thoughts rack my brain, grazing through every possibility, no matter how wild. I try to stop, but I just can’t. A scream slithers up my throat, but I manage to keep it there. Keep it pressing down further. 

That night, I brought a knife from the kitchen. 

The next morning, there were cops. Someone had murdered my husband while I was out of town, unfortunately missing the train we were supposed to be travelling together in. 

After two weeks, a funeral was held. All his ex lovers were invited.