Ashes to Ashes

I am a traditionalist. For me, Halloween is not about candy, and it is most certainly not about dressing up as a princess. No. Halloween is, and always has been, the night of the year where the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest; stretched so thin that the souls of the dead may, during the darkest hours, rise from their graves to torment the living.

That’s how I always imagined it when I was alive, and I can hardly tell you how excited I was to experience my first Halloween, now that I’m dead.

Things didn’t start as well as I’d hoped.

I’d always pictured myself thrusting my rotting hand up from my grave, dirt and worms falling about me as I clawed my way to the surface, but my granddaughter, Emily, told me that burial wasn’t “environmentally-friendly”, and convinced me to be cremated instead. 

Cremation. Dammit. No rotting-flesh hand for this old man. 

Instead, I found myself inside a cheap ceramic urn on the mantelpiece in my son’s living room. I set my mind to giving Emily a haunting she’d never forget, at least that was the plan, as soon as I figured my way out of this confounded urn.

I tried pushing at the sides, I pounded my noncorporeal fists against the lid, I leaned back and jammed my feet against the wall of the urn and pushed with all my ghostly might, but nothing seemed to work. 

Dejected, I sat down in my ashes. This was not how I imagined my first Halloween, not even close. What was the point of passing across the thin veil only to be thwarted by a much thicker wall of ceramic?

I picked up a handful of the dust, that had once been me, and let it trickle between my fingers. I tried making a sand-castle but it would not hold together, so I sat and ran my hand through the ashes, hoping for a better plan.

My fingers brushed up against something harder and larger than the surrounding grey dust. I picked it up and looked at it. I don’t really understand how I was able to see inside a sealed container, at night, but I can only assume it’s one of the benefits of being a ghost.

The object was round and black with a shiny surface. I realised it was a filling, a filling from the lower right molar of what used to be my teeth. I lobbed it against the wall of the urn where it made a pleasing clink and dropped into the dust.

I threw the filling a little harder the next time so that it rebounded and I was able to catch it. I couldn’t help but recall the image of a prisoner bouncing a ball monotonously against the wall of his cell. Clink. Clink. Clink.

I found that the tone of the clink varied depending on how high up the side I threw it. High and low both rang a bit dead, but there was a sweet spot around midway where the note gave a pleasing sound. Clink.

My experiment was interrupted when I heard a distinct meow. 

Momo! Momo was Emily’s cat, an overfed ball of ginger fluff and, according to her, her “favourite person”. He’d never had much time for me, nor I for him, but I sensed an opportunity.

“Momo!” I yelled. “Here, kitty kitty.”

Meow? replied Momo, the sound closer than before.

“Come on,” I implored, standing and leaning against the side. “Come and help Poppa out of this thing.”

Meow? replied Momo. His voice was so close, that he must have been right next to me on the mantelpiece.

“Ugh. Come on! Bat me around or something, you idiot,” I said.

Meow, replied Momo, indignantly.

I heard a soft plop. The sound of four feet landing perfectly on the hard, tiled hearth below the mantel.

“No!” I screamed. “Get back here, you flea-bitten blockhead!”

I picked up my filling and threw it hard against the wall of my ceramic prison, but the sharp clink was met with silence.

“Momo?” I called, desperately, but I knew the chance had drifted away like ashes in the wind.

I flopped down into the dust again, dejected and defeated. 

“Felines can be so fickle”, I thought.

Then it struck me. Cats are profoundly independent creatures. You can’t get a cat to do something. You have to let them think it’s their idea. Momo could be my “get out of jail free” card, but it had to be on his terms.

I scrabbled in the ashes, finding the filling once again. I pressed it against the side of the urn and dragged it horizontally across the surface. Tshreeek.

The sound was like fingernails on a blackboard. I grasped the filling tight and pushed harder in a longer stroke. Tshreeeeeeeek.

Somewhere in the distance, I heard faint, soft-padded footsteps.

I spread my legs wide and planted my feet firmly in the dust. I dragged the filling, making a hundred-and-eighty degree arc around the inside of the urn. Tshreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek.

I listened for the response, but Momo had gone stealth. I’d seen him stalking birds in the yard and could just imagine him at this very moment, coiled like a spring and ready to pounce.

I was about to give the side one last scrape to close the deal, when my whole little world began spinning, out and down, my ashy remains filling the air. Crash.

The urn shattered as it hit the tiled hearth, a grey smudge stretching out onto the carpet.

Hssssss, said Momo from his perch on the mantelpiece.

“Oh, hiss yourself,” I replied as I dusted myself off.

I looked around the living room and was shocked to see everything around me begin to shrink, the walls closing in. But no, it wasn’t that the room was shrinking. I was growing. 

The effect was dizzying, but as I reached the stature I had held in life, the shrinking-growing stopped, and my head cleared.

Momo looked at me briefly and then began grooming himself as if ghosts were something he dealt with on a daily basis. Perhaps he did.

In life, I remember how he would sometimes just stare at a blank wall or hiss at a shadow. I just thought him odd, but maybe there was more to him than my earthly brain had been able to comprehend.

I was still pondering the cat when light flooded into the room. Momo blinked. I froze and turned slowly.

There, standing in the doorway, was Emily. The hall-light flooded around her, creating a glowing aura. She only had one eye open.

“Momo?” said Emily, rubbing her other eye with her fist.

Meow, said Momo.

I said nothing.

Now that I saw her once more, all thought of haunting her fled. I started to back away slowly.

Emily screamed.

“Shit,” I cursed, under my breath. “Emily, don’t be afr…”

“Momo!” chided Emily. “What have you done to Poppa?”

Meow, said Momo, glancing in my direction.

Emily looked my way. “What are you looking at, you silly cat?”

Meow, said Momo, dropping his gaze and grooming himself once more.

“Ugh,” said Emily heading off towards the kitchen.

I started to follow her. It seemed that she could not see me, but to be sure, I moved slowly and kept to the shadows.

She opened a drawer, took out a blue Tupperware container and plopped it onto the counter. Next, she bent down and opened the cupboard below the sink. There was a clattering of objects and she reappeared with a small brush and dustpan. Armed with these she returned to the living room.

Emily looked at the broken urn. She carefully picked up each piece and tapped it on the side of the Tupperware to try to capture any loose ashes. She took the small brush and tried to sweep up the remaining ashes, but they had mostly spread onto the carpet, and her attempts to brush them out only pushed them further in.

“Shit,” she said, under her breath.

She stood and looked down at the dusty grey patch of carpet.

Outside the window, birds began to twitter. The sound cut through me like a knife.

Morning. Morning was coming.

I looked at Emily. I wished I could tell her how much I missed her, how proud I was of her, but I could already feel my presence fading. 

Even as the first rays of morning light seeped through the window, the room seemed to me to grow a little greyer, a little darker.

I saw Emily turn, heading back towards the hallway.

“Goodbye, sweet girl,” I whispered.

She paused in that moment and looked back to where I stood. Her eyes glistened, maybe just from the dust, and then she turned away.

The room grew darker still. Emily’s halo began to fade from my vision, but I clung on desperately, trying with all my might to linger just a little longer.

I held on just long enough to see her returning to the room. The last thing I heard was the sound of the vacuum cleaner.

I wonder where I’ll find myself next Halloween.