What Comes After

Marge made herself as small as possible in the corner where the ceiling, wall, and bookshelf met. She knew that none of the living could really see her, but she still felt uncomfortable just lounging on the couch with the rest of the wisps. The way people huddled under a blanket when too many of her kind were together just made Marge feel self-conscious and sad. She missed feeling the warmth and comfort of sitting next to someone while doing… Well, almost anything.

Besides, she really didn’t like the new family’s taste in shows. Some of her dearly departed friends enjoyed it when the people turned the TV on, but Marge thought the shows mostly lacked a storyline. She missed the smell of dusty pages and the feel of her fingertips getting dry as she flipped through the pages of her favorite books. Reading had always been one of her favorite things. Now, she floated above a wide selection of titles she’d never seen but didn’t have the senses to enjoy the well-stocked shelves. 

With a sigh, she pushed away from her corner and drifted along the ceiling toward the staircase and up to the bedrooms. 

She passed Franklin on her way up the stairs. He seemed to be fading more and more each day. He hadn’t spoken much at all since Marge found herself on this side of the veil, but as one of the oldest spirits in the house, his wafting to and fro gave her a sense of continuity. Not that there was much changeover among the wisps. When she first showed up as a young spirit, she’d tried to get to know some of the others. After all, it got lonely with no one to talk to - at least no one that could hear you.

None of the spirits that were here before her wanted to tell her their stories. There were 12 in all. Although, not all of them were always in the house. A few had more than one place to haunt and zipped back.

Some of them got their kicks from the odd practical joke on the more lively house occupants. She was only 19 on the day she stopped breathing and she hadn’t quite shaken the little girl fear of what might be behind the closet door or under the bed. Time has no meaning now and the 30 years she’s been in this in-between state have felt like nothing and eternity.

She doesn’t remember what happened or how she ended up this way. The last time she remembers seeing herself in a mirror she had been trying on a new wool skirt with a matching sweater and trying to smooth the stray hairs of her ponytail. Now when she looks in it, the mirror just shows the other end of the hallway.

The first few years had been the hardest, by far. Watching her family’s grief and the gloom that seeped into the cheerful rooms she’d grown up in. In the end, they’d decided a change of scenery would be their best chance at recovery. And, though it pained her, she had to agree. 

In the long years that followed, she liked to imagine that a new venue had worked it’s magic and her mother started baking again, her father came home for dinner, and her little brother remembered where his ball and mitt had gotten to. She had to assume they were still alive. The running theory was that your spirit energy depended on the memories of the living. That’s why Franklin had gotten so faint as time passed. 

She was still fairly strong although she’d lost the sharp edges she’d appeared with when she first popped into the house. Were her parents still alive? Her little brother’s unruly mop surely had a few greys by now.

I suppose they’re haunting other houses if they’ve crossed over. It’s for the best, I suppose. The house she haunted now looked nothing like the one she remembered breathing in. The black and white linoleum was replaced by an avocado green shag carpet at one point and, more recently, by some kind of plastic that was meant to look like wood. The wallpaper had been stripped, painted, painted, and papered again. Even some of the walls had been shuffled around. 

She let the warm air lift her past the first landing and up to the second floor where she and her brother used to sleep. She still liked to finish the day in her own bedroom even though it had belonged to many since it had really been hers. Besides closing her eyes didn’t change anything for her. When there were little ones who lived in that room, she was always careful to stay out of closets. When they were teenagers, she was less careful, but she never quite felt the thrill some of the others did from being ‘seen.’ It would break up the tedium a little bit, but she didn’t think she could really find fun in making someone else afraid to close their eyes.

There was one room at the end of the hall that none of the living occupants ever stayed in for long. Elizabeth had called dibs on that room when she was just a little thing, moving in with her family. Dibs apparently followed into the afterlife.

While she was settling into the window seat which was the only familiar feature of the room, the pinks and purples of the sunset were just fading into velvety blue. This time of day made her especially nostalgic. Everything was misty and soft with fuzzy edges. She felt more part of the world in that light. Like she fit. 

While she sat and watched the light fade, she wondered what would be next. How long would she continue to linger? One woman had died in the main bedroom about five years ago and hadn’t been seen since. Was she a shadow somewhere she was more closely tied to?

It’s funny. So many of the living think crossing over will reveal the answers. That there will be some large-lettered sign with a tagline for the meaning of life. If anything she’s more confused now than she was then about “where people go after they die.” Maybe someone forgot to give her a copy of the spirit guide or maybe life was just moving from one mystery to another.

While she sat there dreaming, she heard a croak behind her and she turned to find Franklin in the doorway, moving his lips trying to tell her something while he faded from mist into nothing.