A Medium Roast Haunting

Being a ghost wasn’t as bad as you might think. But when I first started it was definitely a learning curve. The trouble I ran into is there wasn’t really anyone to show me the ropes. There are lots of dead people of course, more of them than there are living people actually. The thing is though most of them don’t stick around. When someone dies, usually there is someone there to collect them. Sometimes it's a family member or an ancestor. Other times it is some messenger like an angel or a Valkyrie. They get up out of their bodies and poof they’re off to their mead halls or pearly gates. Even when there is no one there waiting, some recently deceased seem to feel pretty certain about what they need to do. They go and take care of their unfinished business, fly off to say goodbye to a loved one before crossing over, or sometimes, literally walk into the light. That last one is pretty spooky, even being a ghost.

There are two other kinds of dead people around. Firstly, there are the ghosts who don’t know they’re dead. They tend to be stuck in their “death state” as the Spiritualists say. They live out the immediate circumstances of their demise over and over. Usually they eventually go mad. If you have ever watched some ghost bro getting scratched after doing the equivalent of poking a spirit in the side until the spirit slaps him it was probably someone who can’t stop reliving their death over and over. Lastly, there are people who snap back to reality one day and discover much to their confusion that they are dead. It’s like when someone hears a loud noise and suddenly realizes they have been staring off into space for 15 minutes. The problem is you can’t remember where you are, how you died, or even who you are. It’s damned confusing. As you may have guessed I was in that last category. With all the coming and going it gets kind of lonely. I think that is why those of us who are really stuck here get so interested in the living. There just isn’t much else to do. 

When I first snapped awake I was in what appeared to be an old brick building. The floor I was on was empty and wide open. It looked like I was at least 3 stories up and in the downtown of a small city. Through the front windows I could see several other three and four story brick buildings creating a square around a small municipal park. A white gazebo and a statue in the center were the only adornments. Several small groups of street folk were in the park doing their best to keep to themselves. I made my way around the building's perimeter, noting the new windows, paint cans, and other indications the place was being renovated when I came across a bathroom. Looking in the mirror I appeared to be a youngish woman in my very late 20s or early 30s with stringy hair and several tattoos. One of the tattoos was of the logo planet from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. You know, the green planet sticking its tongue out with the words Don’t Panic underneath? I thought that was cool and smiled. I was wearing a Garbage band tee, a pair of loose fitting jeans, and the kind of street boots that were good for walking in the rain. If I am being honest, my first thought was “Hey, I don’t look half bad for a dead chick” followed immediately by “wait, what the hell is going on?” Unlike the other windows which were all modern two pane side sliders, the one in the bathroom was original. It was one of those old school windows that opened out on a hinge. The glass itself was frosted and had a blue tint and a sheet of chicken wire created embedded into it gave it a honeycomb effect.

“Neat” I said out loud.

I knew that sort of glass was invented out of necessity during the industrial revolution but there was no denying it looked cool. The window was set high on the wall and I couldn’t see properly over the sill. I tried to use the toilet as a step stool but my foot went right through the toilet. I yelped. Don’t misunderstand. Somehow I was perfectly aware I was dead. I knew I was a ghost. But since I wasn’t sinking through the floor I guess I just assumed I was solid. I stepped out of the space being occupied by the toilet and tried again. This time I was concentrating and I was able to clamber up just like if I was alive. After a few minutes of exploration I figured out that things like floors, walls, or the ground are automatically solid. I have to concentrate to pass through them. Things like people or furniture on the other hand are incorporeal to me by default. I have to concentrate to sit in a chair or stand on a toilet. I learned to do all kinds of stuff eventually but I am getting ahead of myself a bit.

The bathroom was on the opposite wall from the one pointing toward the square. As soon as I looked out I knew where I was. This building was on a hill that sloped down the back through a few other buildings and parking lots to another much larger park. In the center of that park was a lake and around the lake was a crushed rock walking path. The path in turn was lined with sycamores and a variety of non-fruiting Bartlett Pear trees. To the left rising up from another hill was a white columned dome topping a distinctly U.S. government square capital building. I was in Olympia, WA. Specifically in one of the old brick buildings next to the Governor Hotel that lines Capital Blvd. I was looking out at Heritage Park. From this distance it wasn’t a very good view, but it was enough for me to know where I was. For a moment I was exhilarated with this victory, but only for a moment. I stepped down from the toilet and walked aimlessly around the empty half finished room. I was glad to know I was in Oly, as Olympia is known locally, but why did I know that? Was I from here? Did I die here? 

I was interrupted from my reverie by something familiar, something I love as much as I love fog rolling in from the Salish Sea, in fact, the one thing that makes mornings worth it most of the time.

“Is that coffee?” I said sniffing the air. My nose led me to a floor vent along the front wall. It wasn’t blowing air but the scent emanating from below was unmistakable. I took a deep breath, held my nose like I was jumping into a pool and slipped through the floor. I floated gently to a stop as my feet touched the bottom floor. My body was mostly inside of a large cooler filled with brewed teas, non dairy milks and whipped cream. I extricated myself from the cooler and realized the first floor of this building was a coffee shop. It was goth themed with posters calling for democratic socialism, worker’s rights, and racial justice intermingled with paintings of antler sporting skeletons and odd curios. The entire space was being overseen by a life sized framed photograph of Carolyn Jones, the original Morticia Addams. The shop was empty save for the barista, a person who seemed to defy gender in their appropriately goth ensemble of black lace and combat boots, and you.

“So that’s the first time you saw me? Did you recognize me?”

“I didn’t. But I was immediately interested. I could be corny and say I was drawn to you if you like.”

“You are such a dork!”

“Alright alright, anyways…”

You were sitting in one of the mismatched chairs reading a well worn copy of House of Leaves. One of my favorite books I suddenly realized. My own irritating lack of a past was starting to weird me out. I walked through the counter and over to you. It was early fall then and you were sporting a corduroy jacket, chunky cat eye glasses, and the sort of black pleated skirt that definitely fit the vibe of this place. Your rough cut two tone blue hair screamed queer, a fact that was confirmed by the patch on your jacket reminding the world that the first pride parade was in fact a riot. I smirked to myself. What the hell, you couldn’t hear me anyway. 

“That book looks good on you, or is it the other way around?” Just as I was about to roll my eyes at my own corniness you looked up. Your nose and eyebrows wrinkled into confusion and you looked back and forth around the shop.

“Shit” I said.

“Did you hear me?”

You reacted again. 

“Hello?” you said tentatively.

The barista looked up from their phone for a minute. You waved sheepishly. They looked back down.

You checked the time on your phone. Muttered to yourself that maybe it was time to head home and then walked right through me. Literally. I felt your warmth and judging by the way you shivered you must have felt my lack of warmth in turn. Nobody else reacted to me the rest of the day. As the barista locked up for the night I realized I didn’t know where else to go. So I stayed at the coffee shop. 

Time passed. The season turned to winter and you wore a coat made from swatches of cloth in a chaotic pattern. Your drink changed from iced matte to hot cocoa. Whenever you were in I would talk to you. One afternoon you came in with a medical boot on. By then I could read surface thoughts. I knew you had been in a bicycle accident. I was learning to influence emotions by then as well. I could send warm feelings with little effort. Especially to you and the baristas or other regulars I saw almost everyday. I liked being the resident ghost of a coffee shop. I got good at it too. I discovered that I could experience coffee in a way. It wasn’t really drinking it but I could put my hand into it and feel its warmth and taste the flavor. It was even better like this than when I was alive. I was always cold. Even in a heatwave from the moment I woke up until we left together I was cold. So you can imagine how good a hot cup of coffee felt. I taught myself how to move things around. I caught your cup from being knocked over several times. I knew you could tell occasionally. You even started saying thanks. I would help out the baristas too sometimes. I would clean a dish or move stuff around at night to help with the haunted goth vibe. When the staff noticed they had a ghost they started leaving me a cup of coffee when they locked up for the evening. It was a good system. Around Halloween I would get more creative, moving decorations or trying bigger stuff that took more out of me. It took time to recover but could really be worth it. My favorite prank was during my last Halloween there. I managed to stack up several of the books from the little lending library case up like the books in Ghostbusters. That one got the attention of a regular whose drink of choice was a rose maté. She always said hello to “the spirits of the building” when she would sit and sip her drink in the store instead of taking it to go. She couldn’t sense me or anything but I appreciated her politeness. When she heard about the book stacking she laughed.

“Just like in Ghostbusters! That was my favorite movie as a kid! Sounds like your ghost has good taste.” 

“See, she gets me”, I’d thought smugly at the time.

The baristas started calling my Zuul after that. It was as good a name as any. I love Segourny Weaver, and Rick Moranis for that matter. A goth coffee shop ought to be haunted and my antics helped give some publicity to the shop. Meanwhile I looked forward to the days you would visit. On those days I would just sit next to you and hope that you could feel my appreciation. Sometimes I would talk or even touch your shoulder. You always reacted. Once the shop got a reputation for being haunted you started talking to me too. It was usually just whatever was on your mind. You told me about working as a librarian and the struggles you would see. You told me about your mom passing away and feeling alone now that she and your wife were both gone. I told you that you weren’t alone. That I was with you. That I would be with you until the end.

This is how it was for four years. Until…

“Until my accident.”

“Yeah.”

I guess we will never know exactly what happened. I just know that I felt the truck slam into you. I could see your body rolling on the curb getting covered in mucky snow until you came to a stop moments later. One moment I was at the shop listening to some obscure 60’s improvisational jazz that one of the barista’s liked to listen to while roasting beans and the next I was there. Looking down at you as your breath went shallow and your spirit started to loosen from your body. It was horrible. We were on 8th Ave, just a few blocks from your library. Your bicycle was resting on its side a few feet away. The cream colored writing that declared it a Trek was scraped in a hundred places displaying battered aluminum pipe underneath. It was mangled and doubled over at horrible angles. Your body, it was much the same. I could feel the moment of transition arriving. I looked around expectedly. There should be other dead people or spirits arriving to take you wherever you were meant to go. But no one came. Where was your mom? Where was your wife? They should have been here, I thought angrily. 

“To hell with them.” I half said half sobbed to no one. If they weren’t here I would be. You weren’t going to get stuck in your death state. You weren’t going to wake up confused in an empty building somewhere either. Someone was waiting for you, I was waiting for you.

It didn’t take long. You sat up from your body and looked around confused.  Your eyes landed on me and suddenly you were crying.

“Annie?” you said.

“Oh my god Annie! It’s you!”

You were hugging me and crying before I knew what was happening. I was about to say something when you just stopped. 

“But if you’re here, then that means…”

You turned and looked down at your body. Your hands dropped to your side.

“That means I ‘m dead.”

Your voice was flat as you said it. Your fists clenched. You turned back to face me, your face a mix of emotions and embraced me again.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just glad you’re here” you said burying your face into my neck. 

“I’ve missed you so much;” and then we were kissing. 

As our lips met memories coursed through me like electricity. Your wife, Annie Taylor, was here to meet you. She was me, and I was here. I leaned into the kiss as it all fell into place. I had died during the pandemic. As my breath left me I was staring at you through an iPad screen. I knew that I was dying but no one was allowed to be with me. Everything was wrong. I got lost. Somehow though the image of your face drew me to you. Drew me to the shop where I could fall in love with you all over again. I looked into your eyes as light surrounded us. I could feel a sense of soaring as the world seemed to be rushing further and further below us.

“Are you ready ?” I said.

You looked into my eyes. 

“I love you.”