Haunt

“Imagine, for a moment, that everything drifts away in a single second. Every feeling is rushing through you. Pain. You feel pain. But not the pain you’ve felt before, but a mental pain. A pain that makes it feel as if a dagger has made a strong gash through your feelings. Disgust. But not disgust at yourself, but at the same time, only at yourself. That your body hasn’t been through enough, but still too much. Hate, but not self hate, or hate at others, but hate at Atropis. For she guaranteed you’d die. You, someone who needs to do so much.

“Imagine for a moment that the only thing keeping you alive stopped. Imagine the comforting hum that has been there for months, not very long, but an eternity to you, vanishes. Imagine that the solidity vanishes.

“Imagine that you're angry and leap at the surrounding people. But you're weightless. You float aggressively and pinch him. The feeling is that of being solid, yet not there. You realize it's his spirit you hit. Everything for you is a spirit. You look over. Nothing is there. You don’t know what you expected. You drift lazily. As you approach the door, you lift your hand, before realizing it may not have a spirit. Yet it does. Everything has a spirit. All things. Even if they are not the same kind of spirit as a living thing. You grip the spirit and leave. You feel a shift and look around. You moved the physical world as well as the spirit.

“Imagine that you go through fixing things. Your hand drifts over lazily. Spirits cut around you. The spirit world can only be interacted with by spirits, yet spirits can interact with both. You drift up. Your old body doesn’t move with your spirit. You see so many spirits. Some come and go. No one seems sad. They don’t seem regretful of death. Death. That’s the first time you’ve admitted it happened to you. They all seem to be preparing. You realize that everything you destroy or hurt keeps its spirit here.

“Imagine you can stay like this forever.”

I look up from the little spirit kids I was talking to. While their body listens to stories or read, their subconsciousness, their spirit, listens to my story.

“Is that what death is like?” asked a little girl.

A little boy raised his hand. “Can spirits be separate from their body? Like, if my spirit turned that door handle, is it possible that the door wouldn’t move?”

“Oh, yes!” I drop a book in spirit. “Here is the most important thing. It is Halloween. Return here every year.” I gesture around. The town has a tradition of taking the kids to the cemetery for a party on Halloween.

“What's a spirit name?” Angina asked. I had talked to her a few days ago when she came to see her mother. She couldn’t see her mother, as she wasn’t there. Contrary to popular belief, spirits spend less time in Cemeteries than people think. We just sleep there, rarely other times. And only your subconscious can ever see them.

I chuckled. Spirit names are hard to explain. “We all have a personal name we must never share, lest the fae take control of us. You may know it, and your subconscious finds this name lovely and finds it the best name. When you die, fae can no longer control your spirit, so you use your spirit name. My life name is Medora, while my spirit name is Kandri. Some people are lucky enough to receive their spirit name as their life name.”

A younger boy raised his hand. “Why do we need to know this?”

“So you are ready for death, dumbass.” said an older girl.

“When you die, you remember everything from your subconscious. This used to happen all the time with me.” said Chrinora, a new spirit.

“Also, there is no rule about unfinished business.” added Ameli, Angina’s mom. You can go to the afterlife and here as you want. There is however, a 30 day waiting period on reincarnation, basically you can’t reincarnate until those thirty days are up.”

“How long have you been spirits?” asked Janelle, a spirit who’d died only yesterday. She came all the way from Spain to see her sister.

I smiled. “58 days.”

Chinora laughed and drained the last drops of her spirit wine. Spirit wine was wine that had ever been drunk. And we never ran out since we could reuse anything. “12 days.”

Ameli glanced down. “3 years and 45 days.”

“Why don’t you use months?” asked a baby who was sitting to the side.

“We only use precise things. Ghost records are enormous, and they rely on us for accuracy. Of course, all subconscious are equipped for ghost hood.”

“Can you tell us a story, Miss Ameli?”

Ameli swirled her cup. I wished I could have wine, but as I died at 14, I had to wait 2,615 days until I could legally drink. Today was my birthday.

Ameli started. “Imagine a thousand little swirly fluttering pieces of wind in the sky, painting a picture unique from different points of view. Imagine seeing, for the first time, the view of a sandstorm from above. Imagine seeing a fluttering of wings and a pull toward it. Imagine seeing a thousand spirits running around through the skys. You see, for the first time, an animal in the sandstorm.You know you can enter. It doesn’t touch the spirit world.

“Imagine yourself watching, knowing you could help, but not caring. Imagine seeing the animal die. In a way, you feel you killed it, despite holding no weapon. You know you could have stopped it. You look down at your hands and walk up to the nearest spirit. It belongs to an alive, but you don’t care.

“Imagine looking at them with anger. Anger at them for surviving, then anger at yourself for not saving it. You feel the regret. It's surprisingly bubbly. But it hurts you, despite being a warm feeling. It reminds you of the death you could have stopped. You hope the animal will choose to stay in Death.

“Imagine seeing it again, for the first time in a year, you run into another dead spirit. You mostly avoid them. They are such a pain. They notice you. And they hold grudges. Imagine it snuggling up.

“Imagine realizing you need to be more active in the spirit community, but not knowing how. Imagine coming to your grave and seeing your daughter. Imagine her spirit wanting to hug you. Imagine walking away, knowing you can never see her again, not until Halloween.

“Imagine the next day, on Halloween, you meet new spirits. Imagine getting drunk and passing out in your grave. Imagine waking up and realizing you have new friends. Imagine realizing that, as a ghost, you’ll never be alone again.” Ameli drains her cup and looks around at all the crying little spirits. It was a moving story.

The next morning I wake up, a bunch of sodas are on the ground and I grab one. Nothing gets dirty in the spirit world the way they do in the physical world. I don’t have to worry about a dirty drink. I sip it and look into the sunrise, drifting silently toward it, wishing I could fly into the sunset, feel the world still, yet yourself moving so fast. I finish my drink quickly and it auto refills exactly the same, with the same properties, the way it always does. I can’t wait for next Halloween.