Nocturnal Breeze

Maria awakes with a start. It’s four in the morning, the infamous hour. She always wakes at the same time. To-night feels different. She can sense a presence in the room. She feels a breeze brushing against her face, a rustling sound like a swish of wind.

“Who is there?” she whispers. Her voice refusing to find expression in the dark.

She braves it to turn on the bedside lamp, scared to remove her hand from underneath the safety of the bed clothes. She turns on her phone and sets it to record. The room becomes very still. She is on high alert. Her heart is beating fast. She hears it again. This time louder. A strangled scream escapes from her throat, and in moments her sister, Yvonne, is by her side, comforting, reassuring, calming. But Maria is beyond calming.

“You must believe me. I feel a presence in the room. There’s a rustling noise, a cold breeze. Do you hear it? Can you feel it? My phone is set to record. Wait here, to listen back.”

The two sisters snuggle together under the covers like old times when they used to sneak into each other’s beds. Listening back, Maria calls out,

“That’s it. That is the noise. You must hear it too."

“I don’t hear a thing, Maria. This is crazy. You cannot lie awake every night waiting for noises, for breezes, for signs, for him to come back. It is not going to happen,” her sister responds, a hint of irritation lacing her voice.

Maria plays the recording again,

“I hear it because I believe in spirits. You cannot hear it because the spirits know you don’t believe.”

Yvonne wished she believed. She wished she had Maria’s faith in the spirit world. She was too much of a realist, too connected to the sciences where all truth had to be proven, had to be supported by evidence.

“Can we try to get some sleep and talk about this in the morning?” pleads Yvonne.

Maria gives in with a sigh but is determined to record for the remainder of the night. Though it was now past five, and the world was beginning to wake. Yvonne leaves early for work the following day, leaving Maria to listen back to her recordings. There was no doubting that intense rustling, swishing noises were audible whatever Yvonne thought. This must be his spirit coming back to tell her something, thought Maria.

Their father had passed away suddenly that summer. There was no warning, no farewell. Maria had never envisioned it to be like that. She always thought she would know when his time had come. They would have time to talk, time to say goodbye. She kept hoping that he might come back in a dream. Tell her where he was, what it was like, whether he was happy. So far, that had not happened.

Every morning, she awoke at four, the time he had passed away. Maria firmly believed in the supernatural, cosmic space. She believed people existed in past and future lives and once passed, they remained very close to loved ones. Now, she was in search of her father’s spirit. Her recordings are very real to her. She listens back throughout the next day convinced that Yvonne doesn’t want to admit she had heard some noises.

Later, on her morning walk, Maria passes by the corner house nearby. They always go all out for holidays like Christmas, Easter and Halloween. This Halloween is no exception. Maria stops to take it all in. Orange, green and white shine through the black and grey and lily whites. Paper Jack O’ Lanterns hang from the trees. The steps are adorned by large pumpkins looking on with happy, smiley faces. Skeletons lurk in every corner. A graveyard to dead pets covers one patch of green with a bigger patch dedicated to dead family and friends. All are remembered by small grey headstones set into the grass. Ghostly white sheets sway in the wind. A blown-up plastic hand extends from the roof as if entering an upstairs window. Two witches with purple and orange hats struggle to cling onto the sides of the chimney. Dark scary faces peep from behind the bushes. Ghosts hang around the shed with delight.

It got her thinking about childhood Halloween times and the barmbrack with its hidden treasures all wrapped in wax paper, the golden ring for marriage within a year, a coin for good fortune, a pea for no marriage that year, a stick for an unhappy marriage, a rag for bad luck and poverty. The ring was the coveted treasure. Hands tied behind their backs they would delve for apples floating in a pan of water or clamour to bite an apple hanging from the ceiling. A few scary masks might appear. But trick or treating was unknown, and garden decorations did not exist. Maria’s favourite part of Halloween was their trip to the local cinema. Their dad who loved the big screen would bring herself and her sister and four brother to see the Halloween special. The Green Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, Hocus Pocus, The Little Prince, Mary Poppins and Jungle book were amongst the movies screened on their Halloween visits. She loved the darkness of the cinema. The mystery around how the actors got onto the screen fascinated her.

Maria thinks how lucky they are to have those magical Halloween memories. Maybe she should cherish those more rather than chasing his spirit. Leave him to rest in peace with his beloved. Cherish the joyful times, stop tracking noises in the night. But the breeze, the swirling wind, were palpable and audible. She has her recordings to prove it, regardless of what Yvonne thinks. Though for now, she is willing to park them, be fully here, stay in the present moment. Perhaps, some night when she is least expecting, his spirit will come to her dreams. Until then, she will have to be content with the mysterious nocturnal breeze.