Lessons in Ghosting

Sensitive Content: Death as background, including a description of how somebody looked after they died.

I saw my first ghost when I was seven years old. He was very tall, with long, dark hair and clothes that looked funny to me at the time. Looking back, I should have been frightened, but I wasn’t. Once he understood that I could see and hear him, he spoke very kindly to me. He’d listen to me when everyone else was too busy, and he’d play with me. I think he was just happy to have someone to talk to. I remember he also always wore this real big hat. I thought that it looked cool, so I didn’t question it at first, but being the curious child that I was, I couldn’t help but ask the question. 

It was the only time he ever lied to me.

It didn’t bother me so much as it surprised me. But I was used to adults telling little half-truths and white lies when they felt it was appropriate. Thing is, with him, you could tell. He was really bad at it. And it’s not a ghost thing (I should know). I have to imagine that he was bad at poker when he was alive as well.

“W-Well,” he stammered, “it’s just my favorite hat, is all.”

His eyes had gone wide for a second when I’d asked the question, followed by him looking down and away from me. Then he shook his head and changed the subject. At the time, I figured I must have surprised him with the question, so I dropped it for a bit. 

“A bit” here reads about a week. I just couldn’t hold my curiosity so long, and it was the one thing he refused to even acknowledge, let alone talk about. So, when we were playing tea party, I made the rule that there were to be no hats at the table. He wasn’t thrilled and insisted that he be able to keep his hat. 

“No,” I said, “Rules of the table,” I said.

We went back and forth for a couple of minutes. I even knew at the time that I was going too far, but felt that I was too far in to back out. He cursed. Loud. I could hear a glass break in the kitchen. He tore off his hat, and shouted at me:

“THERE! Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted to see?!”

The back of his head was a bloody mess, his skull caved in and his hair forever matted by the dried blood. 

I gasped. 

He flinched. Hard. Looking back now, I think he expected me to scream and run crying out of the room. When I didn’t do that, he started to turn around, only to be nearly knocked over by the power of the strongest hug I was capable of giving at seven years old.

He gasped. Sort of. I mean, he’s dead, so, no breathing. But he made the sound. I kept apologizing to him, though even now I don’t really know whether the apologies reflected regret or sympathy. Maybe both. Maybe it didn’t matter. He patted my head, came down to my level, and gave me a big hug, reassuring me that everything was all right. I looked up at him:

“How…?”

He pseudo-sighed. “It’s how I died. I was sleep-walking one night, and I bumped hard into the railing above the staircase. It broke and I fell all the way down and hit my head.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. We had discussed death before, in general terms. I knew, for example, that he was dead, and a ghost. But there were never any specifics.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he replied, “Every time I think I’ve made a friend, they see what happened, and they become too afraid to be around me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I said, “and now,” I continued, with a smile growing on my face, “you don’t have to be afraid of me, either!”

He grinned at me, we laughed, and we went back to our tea party.

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I know. You’ve picked up this story because you want the perspective of a ghost, and I go and start by telling you a story about something that happened when I was alive. I get it. I’d be annoyed, too. 

However!

I told you that story so I could tell you this one.

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I was twenty-three when I died. A brain aneurysm. Quick. It was a while before I even knew that I was dead. Apparently, that’s normal, especially in cases of sudden death. I have been told that the transition is easier for people who are aware of what’s happening, but ‘easier’ means nothing without a frame of comparison, and I have none. Regardless, by the time I realized I was dead, the house — this house — MY house – was occupied. I didn’t recognize who they were, but I was furious. 

I’m better now. More calm.

Apparently, this is a thing that happens to all ghosts once they realize that they have died. I was never this possessive when I was alive. I didn’t just want that first family out, I wanted them GONE. 

…I have been told that it’s a control issue. 

And, I mean, that makes sense, right? We do it when we are alive, too. When everything seems to be falling apart around us, we latch on to something, ANYTHING, that we have the slightest control over just to get some grounding. So, when new ghosts realize for the first time that they are dead, are near to incapable of interacting with anything or anyone, and grief, denial, hopelessness, helplessness, and loneliness all sort of hit at once, you are going to cling on for dear…life? Death? Existence. You are going to cling on for dear existence to the only thing that you might still be able to claim as your own. Your home is your sanctuary, your haven, and nobody should be allowed to take it from you. 

That’s what you hold onto, anyway. But time heals all, so they say, and it probably helps that you can’t really do anything to the living – slam some cabinet doors, move some glasses, open a closed door, speak through electronics (don’t do that too often, it’ll take a lot out of you). The most you can do is scare them, and no matter how good that might feel at the beginning, after a while, it starts to hurt. It will hurt in ways that you thought you couldn’t hurt anymore. Because that reaction, that look on their faces…that isn’t directed toward some mysterious unknown, it’s directed at YOU, whether they know it or not. Dead or not, that can wear you down.

So, if you are anything like me, you start to begrudgingly accept the presence of these intruders. You also meet a couple of ghosts who aren’t tied to any one spot who, for lack of a better phrase, teach you how to ‘ghost’. I learned a few things from them that have helped me immensely that I will now share with you, dear reader.

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As ghosts, we have a fully accurate memory of our own lives. The story I told at the beginning was almost entirely accurate, and the only reason it isn’t entirely accurate is I let my memories of my feelings at the time dictate how I told the story. I was seven, and on the shorter end of the scale for that age. My friend? He was thirteen, and on the taller end of the scale for his age. Everything else is entirely accurate, though, and that is a ghost ability. I could absolutely not do that when I was alive.

As a ghost, your memory about anything else from the time you were alive is spotty at best. Even if I remember hearing about it, even maybe caring about it, if I wasn’t there or it didn’t actively affect my life, it is really hard to remember. Forgetting something doesn’t hurt nearly as much as almost remembering it. You can make new memories, though. It is possible to sort of just let time pass without being aware of it, but where’s the fun in that? I am as caught up on pop-culture and the news as the people who live in my house are. That is to say, maybe not completely, but enough that I know when I am, and where I am. I only space out when there is nobody in the house. I don’t like being alone.

As a ghost you are not dressed in the clothes you died in, you are dressed in the clothes you are buried in and the vast majority of ghosts just have to deal with it. I have heard tell of some ghosts who can change their clothes, but it takes A LOT of energy and focus. Oddly enough, it is easier to change your appearance – not easy, easier – than it is to just change your clothes. I’ve been able to do it a little, mostly hair length. Hair color is harder. I think it’s because when you are alive your hair naturally grows. I think if I wanted to I could change the length of my nails as well, but I don’t really want to. I was buried in a navy blue dress that is just the right length for twirling. I never wore dresses when I was alive if I could help it, but it is my favorite color and includes the best feature of a dress, so it’s alright. I’d be pissed if I couldn’t twirl, though.

Okay, those three are the immediate and important things. Everything else is in no particular order.

If your cause of death was visible, it will be visible when you are a ghost. Some ghosts hide it for various reasons. Some don’t want to see it themselves, some, like my friend, didn’t want others seeing it, and for some others, it’s just naturally covered by the clothes they were buried in. Some ghosts like to show it off, which can be interesting if it’s not completely gruesome. Most, it seems, don’t care either way. Mine was invisible, at least as far as I can tell. Nobody has mentioned anything out of the ordinary, anyway.

For an adult to see a ghost, it has to be a skill that is practiced. Some can do it, some can’t yet but want to, some can but DON’T want to, and some never will. Children and animals can always see us. ALWAYS. Most imaginary friends are actually ghosts. It’s sad when they forget.

As stated above, our ability to interact with the living world is very limited. When I was alive, I used to think that ghosts could do anything. It takes so much energy to move doors that if a ghost is doing that, they have been there for a very, very long time and are very practiced. Cold temperatures come naturally, we don’t have to work for those. I’ve been told that entering dreams is a possibility, but I have never personally met anybody who has been able to do it. We can hit objects with relatively little energy. We cannot hit the living. Wind sounds are easy, words are harder. Radios and Ouija boards make it easier – not easy, easier. 

Be good to the people in your home. I know I said earlier that I used to not be, and that it’s normal not to be for a time, but if you are tied to a house, and the house doesn’t get lived in and gets demolished…

I don’t know what happens to ghosts who lose their tie to the earth. Nobody will talk about it, which tells me it’s either really bad, or nobody else knows either. Don’t take the chance. Make sure your house remains. If you can keep it around long enough for it to become an historic house museum or something like that, that’s all the better. But by that time, you’ll have probably calmed down already anyway.

Play with the kids and don’t hide who you are. I can speak from experience, it makes the transition easier. 

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Well! I think that’s everything I’ve learned as a ghost so far. Keep an eye out, I’ll be in tou…

OH! Wait!

I forgot one.

The only people who can read what a ghost has written is another ghost.

So come on by sometime! I’ve told you a bit about myself, and I think it’s only fair that you return the favor.