The Lost Soul

Being a ghost isn't all it's cracked up to be. I have been a spirit, or ghost as some refer to us, since 1920 when my flesh and blood body gave up the ghost. (Pun) I was still a handsome young fellow then and would have loved to stick around for a few more years. I would have, too, if Marybeth's husband hadn't come home at such an inappropriate time. However, I didn't expect my buddy, Steve, Marybeth's spouse, to take our dalliance personally and blow me away. Well, I guess one can only push friendship so far. At least I was a handsome corpse and am now a good-looking ghost if I do say so myself, and I do.

But I have found being a ghost is a somewhat dull life. Did I say life?

Sorry, I guess it should be the afterlife. Anyhow, like I said, it is boring on this side. Sure, others here chose to stay close to the physical world instead of crossing over, even as I did, but they don't communicate with one another or me. Some spirits want to keep near the ones they left behind for one reason or another, but in my case, I just wasn't ready to leave my worldly existence. I was having too much fun and was very attached to the material world. I refused to move on.

As I mentioned, I was one good-looking dude in my flesh and blood body. Not only was I well-formed, but I was also the son and heir of a rich, generous daddy. I owned the best horses, cars, homes, etc. With my vivid blue bedroom eyes, thick wavy black hair, and well-proportioned six-foot-three body, I had my pick of women: some married, some not. It didn't matter to me. I loved them all. The matrons considered me a valuable catch and pushed their lovely, virginal daughters at me. But as I had no intention of being coerced into matrimony until I was ready, like perhaps when I was forty or so, I left the virgins alone. I slaked my lust with the many beautiful, willing married ladies or ladies of reputable reputation who offered their many charms. I had it all, so you can understand why I wanted to stay.

It took me a while to become resigned to the fact that I was dead, a ghost. I mean, I was aware of who and where I was. I could see the people around me, so how could I be dead? But when I finally accepted the truth, I figured maybe I could use the situation to my advantage. I realized I could now zip through walls without anyone being the wiser and visit my favorite ladies. Unfortunately, I also discovered ghosthood doesn't work in that manner. While I could indeed pass through walls or anywhere else that tickled my fancy, nobody was aware of my presence. When I put my ghostly arms around a lady, she completely ignored me or shivered like she had a chill. It was a shocking blow to my ego. I mean, here I had been the most coveted stud in the country, and now the best I could do was give a lady goosebumps. It didn't matter what I did or said either. I recited poetry to Marybeth that I wrote myself, by the way, and she snored through most of it, never hearing a word. It was humiliating, to say the least.

So, I decided to experiment and find out just what I could do in this ghostly existence I now inhabited. I already mentioned how I could pass through solid objects. Still, I found it a jolly good sport when I discovered my ability to pass through people without causing any damage but making my chosen victim feel like somebody dumped a pail of freezing water over their head. I loved using that little trick on Steve, a bit of revenge for making me a ghost. Then, I became aware of my ability to turn flames blue, and I had a great time scaring the heck out of the cooks and those gathered by the fireside in the evenings. Later, I developed the skill to move objects and thoroughly enjoyed the confusion I caused by moving someone's car keys or other small items. While all the naughty things just mentioned were fun talents, my favorite power, if I concentrated, was to appear as an apparition and scare the crap out of whoever I chose to materialize in front of. However, that last stunt took much of my energy, and I couldn't repeat it too often. Clearly, I didn't have the energy or strength to communicate with the living in any sustained manner.

Now, over a century has passed, and I still reside in the mansion where I met my untimely death. Marybeth, Steve, and all my friends and relations have departed and moved on to heaven. I still sometimes pull my ghostly pranks on the current residents, but it has lost its appeal. With each passing year, I find I am losing touch with humanity more and more, but still, I avoid the light at all costs. I'm afraid to cross over because I didn't live a good life, and I am terrified of the punishment that must surely await me.

As a ghost, I'm a mere shadow of my living self and can't experience much of the world. I can no longer touch, eat, or learn new things. My level of knowledge and talents remain the same as when I died, and I'm stuck here between life and the hereafter because I'm unable or unwilling to move on. As I said before, being a ghost is not what most imagine it to be. Halloween is the only time the physical world appreciates ghosts; even then, most don't believe in us. Perhaps I will gain the courage to ask for forgiveness one day, but it won't be anytime soon. I am stuck here forever as a shade of myself until I can let go of my resentments, grudges, guilt, and regrets. Take my word for it, being a ghost sucks.