Ghost Writing on the Wall

“Hello, is anyone there?” Edward spoke out loud to the ghostly presence he sensed, but couldn’t see in his apartment.

One night, he sat writing in his journal. He wrote about the despair and emptiness of his life. He wrote about the excitement of possibly having a ghost haunting his apartment. He left the journal open on his desk while he got up to get another cup of coffee. Glancing back at the desk, he thought he saw the pages turn. Was that his imagination? When he sat back down the journal was open to a different page than the one he had stopped writing on. Perhaps the wind flipped the pages over, he thought. 

He finished his entry and his coffee, then went to bed. The next morning, there was a message written in pen on the wall: 

 “​I understand your pain, it’s not unlike my own.” 

So, the ghost responded to the written word not the verbal. He typed up a response on his computer and pinned it to the wall below the ghost’s message. 

 Dear Ghost Haunting my apartment: 

I know you are here somewhere. I sense your presence. I’ve noticed perfume and wind stirring from time to time. Some days, I feel another presence and that alleviates my loneliness for a little while. You don’t have to be reticent with me. I won’t spook and bolt out of the apartment if you materialize. 

I am hoping you will appear in front of me as a beautiful apparition in a diaphanous sheer gown. I could use the visual stimulation as I haven’t been near a beautiful woman in years. However, beauty isn’t a prerequisite for my wanting to interact with you. Who were you in life and why do you stay here? 

Of course, if you are a dude, don’t bother with the diaphanous sheer gown. We can keep this on a level of man-to-man interaction. I hope you play chess or something.

Shall we move our “cohabitation” to the next level by revealing yourself to me and let’s be friends. 

As you know, life is too short. Is there a happy medium for us to meet at all? 

Signed, 

The Occupant 

Dear Occupant: 

I’ve haunted this building for many years. I don’t feel lonely, but I do feel the lack of purpose. Why am I here? I don’t know. I have no memory of who I am. 

In all my years here in this building, this apartment seems to draw me more often than the others. Maybe I used to live here? I avoid the basement entirely. It frightens me to even mention it. 

Signed

The Ghost 

Dear Ghost: 

I must admit it thrilled me to prove myself right about your existence. As soon as I saw your writing on the wall, the apartment lost the feeling of emptiness it’s always given me. 

I don’t hope to gain anything by our relationship other than companionship. Just two lonely ships that instead of passing in the night, anchor down and interact. We can spend some time circling each other until we find a good spot to drop anchor. 

I am typing this on a computer before I print it out and stick it to the wall. You are welcome to use the computer. Can you type? If not, the writing on the wall is OK by me, but we may very well run out of wall space if we communicate this way for too long. 

Regards, 

The Occupant 

Dear Occupant: 

The act of writing on the wall is helping my memory. I don’t think I want to use a computer. I think I used a manual typewriter in my “real” life. 

Regards, 

The Ghost 

 Dear Ghost, 

My name is Edward and I am the superintendent for this apartment building. I have lived here for 3 years as you probably know. 

I am totally alone in this world. I don’t have any relatives, a wife, or children or even business connections. If I were to disappear tomorrow, no one would even notice unless their toilet clogged up. By the way, with the sheer number of things breaking in this building, I wonder if any of them are part of your haunting? As the super, I sometimes think there must be something supernatural going on with the plumbing, etc. beyond the mere possibility of so many physical objects breaking down on their own through misuse or age. 

Who were you in life? What was your name? Are you female? 

Regards,

The Occupant

Dear Occupant, 

I am starting to recall things. My name is Jane and yes, I am female. I had two careers. One as a ghost hunter reporter and one as a writer of ghost stories. Each occupation fed the other. I was a writer for the Amazing Gazette monthly paranormal magazine. I investigated ghostly hauntings reported to the Gazette. I also used my investigative notes to write fictional ghost stories under a pseudonym. 

As for my beauty, I never gave it much thought, but it did sometimes grease the way for getting someone to let me interview them or capture a man’s attention long enough for him to help me solve a case. 

I forget why I am here. My one idea has been that I was here on an investigation. What case and why that investigation took me to this building, I don’t remember. I seem to sense that I didn’t live here, but I may have died here. 

I can assure you right here and now, I do not mess with the plumbing or other mechanical equipment in this building nor do I haunt the occupants. 

 I cannot leave this building. I have tried on several occasions.. 

Regards, 

The Ghost 

As the days went by, the Ghost continued to write on the walls which stimulated her memory. Since it was only a one bedroom apt, the walls were beginning to be filled.

Edward decided to get her a manual typewriter and see if that would be something she could manipulate as a ghost. 

He rushed home with a manual typewriter purchased from a pawn shop. It needed a ribbon and one of the keys was missing its cap. He wanted to surprise her so he took it to the basement to work on it because she said she never went down there. He purchased a new ribbon.

In the meantime, he found just the right size button from one of his shirts to affix to the stem of the missing letter “H” and it worked just fine. 

That night, he placed the typewriter on a small table. He put a sheet of paper in the roller carriage and tacked his letter on the wall right above it. He sat in the opposite corner for a long time waiting, but nothing happened. Sighing with disappointment, he went to bed. A short time later, he heard the clickety-clack of the typewriter keys. He smiled and drifted off to sleep. 

The next morning there was a typewritten note to him. 

 Dear Edward, 

I am overwhelmed by your generosity and thoughtfulness. It was sheer heaven to get my fingers on the keyboard once again. I find that my thoughts flow ever so much easier. Thank you, Edward. 

Oh, yes, we can be friends! 

Warm Regards, 

Jane 

Dear Jane: 

I am delighted that we can communicate this way. No doubt you will be able to lengthen your responses without the hindrance of running out of space on the walls. 

I have placed extra paper next to the typewriter and you may feel free to write to your heart’s content. Maybe you could start writing your short stories again to alleviate some of the boredom of waiting for your memories to resurface. 

I look forward to maybe reading one of them. 

Warm Regards, 

Edward 

Dear Edward: 

And I do mean that, you are a dear. I find that I am able to think a lot deeper about the past by typing out my thoughts. 

One of the memories that is crystallizing in my mind now is that I was on an investigation when I came to this apartment. I was wondering if you could use your computer to search for the former residents of your apartment and perhaps one of the names would trigger recognition or memory in my mind. 

Oh, I so look forward to our conversations, and yes, you are welcome to read anything I leave in the typewriter. 

Warmest Regards, 

Jane 

Dear Jane, 

I was a police officer in another city west of here. I was married almost one year and very much in love. One day, as my wife and I were getting out of our car, someone opened fire on us. It was an act of revenge by one of the drug lords I had arrested. I was shot, and so was my wife. I recovered, but she died. Because of my injuries, I was unable to go back to active duty. They offered me a desk job, but I decided to relocate and start a new life. That town had too many hurtful memories as did the job of being a policeman. I enjoyed working with my hands, so I applied for the job of superintendent for this building. I found it quieted my mind and kept the painful memories from overcoming me. 

What about you, Jane? Were you ever married? 

Regards, 

Edward 

 Dear Edward, 

I am so sorry for your loss. Although my memories are slowly coming back, I don’t have any memories of a husband or children, yet. 

I was here when you moved in. I move around this whole building but I don’t go into the basement. I find myself at the top of the stairs just staring down into the darkness, but I cannot make myself go down those stairs. I don’t know why. 

Regards, 

Jane 

Dear Jane, 

I researched the previous occupants of this apartment. I found three. The one before me was named Oliver Wells. He lived here four years. Before him was Wesley Holmes. He lived here five years. Before him, Roy Taylor. Roy had lived here only a short time when he committed suicide to avoid being arrested as a serial killer. The incident was big news and one of the journalists who first reported on the case was Robert Wilson. He was a reporter for the Amazing Gazette, too. 

And Jane, I took the liberty to look up your articles on the Amazing Gazette to see if I could read one. They were very well written, by the way. There was another article I hesitate to share with you because it may cause you pain and concern. It was an article about you, Jane. It seems you just disappeared one day and were never located. An extensive investigation turned up nothing and your disappearance was classified as a cold case. 

Warmest regards, 

Edward 

Dear Edward, 

I am not as shocked by your news as you would think. Something has always nagged at me that I had some unfinished business here in this building, especially in this apartment. I thought it may have been an unsolved case mystery. I recognize the name Robert Wilson. He was a fellow reporter working at my magazine. The name Roy Taylor seems familiar also. 

Oh, Edward, I get a feeling of dread when I type these words. Thinking about Robert Wilson makes me afraid. 

Warmest regards 

Jane 

Dear Jane: 

Please be assured that you are beyond this realm where anyone can do you any physical harm. I think we should investigate your disappearance. Maybe that is what is holding you here. We should start in the basement. It’s the only place you seem drawn to, but cannot enter. Now that you have me with you, do you think you could try to go down there? 

My warmest regards, 

Edward 

Dear Edward: 

I will try going down the basement stairs again. I have wandered this building for years, always coming back to this apartment. Do you think I may have been investigating Roy Taylor’s death that happened in this apartment? You say the story byline was Robert Wilson’s name, not mine. Yet, I don’t recall that article at all, so it must have been written after my disappearance. The fact that Roy Taylor’s name is familiar to me and I don’t remember reading the magazine article about his death could mean my disappearance is tied to his death. I cannot use the words “my death”. I know I am dead. I have accepted that part of being a ghost. But, Edward, could I have been murdered, too? 

Warm regards, 

Jane 

Dearest Jane, 

Do not distress yourself with those thoughts and images. Let’s just play detectives and you can start writing a ghost story about a ghost who solves murders. That way, you can distance yourself from the facts in our investigation. Maybe I could get it published posthumously for you.  

Remember this happened many years ago. There is no danger now to either of us in trying to solve your cold case file. 

I am going to get every bit of information on Roy Taylor, Robert Wilson, and any possible connection they may have to you. I leave it up to you as to what to do next, but I think the basement should be high on our list of things to do. 

Regards, 

Edward 

Dear Edward, 

Let’s get the basement over with. Although I dread it, I feel it is strongly connected to my disappearance. 

I am truly frightened, 

Sincerely, 

Jane 

Dear Jane, 

Please leave the basement immediately if you need to. But if you have any thoughts or see any clues, please write them on the basement walls and I will do the same on my pad. 

I know it’s ladies first, but I will go first and you follow closely behind me. I am prepared to handle anything that comes up while we are down there. Keep me informed of what you are feeling or discovering. 

Sincerely, 

Edward 

Dear Edward, 

As I wander the perimeter of the room, I find myself returning to the wall with the tools hanging on it, but there is nothing there. The basement feels cold to me, but the area in front of this wall feels warmer. 

Curiously, 

Jane 

Dear Jane, 

The wall looks newer than the other three. The nails that the tools are hanging on are not as rusty as the ones on the other wall. I am going to tear down this wall. You may want to leave before I do that. If something is behind the wall, I am afraid for you to see whatever it is. 

Sincerely, 

Edward 

 Dear Edward, 

I am staying. Like you said, nothing can physically harm me anymore. I find I have more courage now because you are here with me. 

Regards, 

Jane 

Edward removed the tools from the wall and used the pick ax to tear open the wall. There was a body wrapped in plastic inside. He tore open the plastic and there was a woman in there. He heard an audible gasp and turned to see a woman standing behind him. She had materialized and made a sound. 

 “​Oh, Jane, is that you? I can see you. I heard you. Are you alright?” Edward said out loud. 

 “Dear Edward,” Jane said out loud as the words appeared simultaneously on the wall.  

 “​Yes, this is me and that is me. Look, there is a scissors protruding out of my heart.” As Jane spoke out loud, the words on the wall faded away. 

Seeing her body triggered a memory in Jane of the moments before her death. She was in the apartment with Robert Wilson. 

 “​Oh, Edward, it was Robert Wilson I was investigating. I confronted him with proof of my accusations that he was murdering people under so he could report on it. He then helped the police solve the murders by finding clues he had planted ahead of time. His deductions pointed to a serial killer staging the murders to make a name for himself when in fact, it was Robert staging the murders to make a name for himself as a superior investigative reporter. Robert even gave the murderer a nickname “The Ghost Murderer”. Then he killed his “suspect” and made it look like the murderer killed himself to avoid being arrested and going to prison.” Jane said. “After my accusations, Robert admitted everything and offered to share a byline with me. I refused and he became enraged, grabbed the scissors and plunged them into my heart. Then I watched as Robert wrapped my body in plastic and carried it down to the basement. That’s the last thing I remember, until I was aware of myself back in the apartment alone.” 

“Jane, ​what do we do now? I have to call the police to report finding the body. I’ll tell them I suspected a pipe leak was behind the wall so I tore it open to check, but found the body instead. They will identify you by your clothes. This still leaves what to do about Robert Wilson? He is now a famous reporter living in the city. How do we get justice and closure for you?” 

“​Look, Edward. There is something clutched in my body’s hand. Will you see what it is?” Jane asks. 

“​It appears to be your investigative notes on your pursuit of Robert Wilson. The police will follow up on these notes and I have no doubt Robert will finally be brought to justice.” 

Edward and Jane were together for many years. They started writing paranormal detective stories publishing them on the web under the name of Edward Jane. 

She and Edward have a “blog” on the internet writing on the paranormal and ghost hauntings. Jane is able to go out of the building now, so she cruises the area searching for other ghosts conducting hauntings. She gets them to tell her their story and in doing so, it frees them to move on to the next existence. Then she adds their story to theirr blog and sometimes writes a fictional ghost mystery using some of the facts she learned in her investigations. 

Then one day, Edward seemed “different”. He smiled at Jane with a mischievous grin. She realized he was a ghost now. She found his body lying in bed. He had passed away in his sleep. 

As sad as that was, she could now be with him on a different plane. They decided to stay in the building and continue their blogging. 

A new superintendent took over Edward’s job and apartment. Turns out he loves ghost stories and believes his building is haunted. How else could he explain all the plumbing and mechanical breakdowns happening?