Eleanor

It was January when Bridgette passed. We knew the time was coming, the cancer had come back with a vengeance, but the hole in my heart has yet to heal. She was my everything. We met in middle school, became high school sweethearts, and got married right out of college. We struggled with infertility so we never had kids, but our lives were full. The night before she passed, she asked me to help her put her wedding gown on one last time. She was already pretty thin when we got married, but now the dress hung off her body, like a little girl playing dress up with her mom’s clothes. We danced in the living room to our wedding song. I held her tight in my arms, wishing this moment would never end, but during the early morning hours, she left this world and me, alone.

I visit her grave at least a few times a week, keeping it clean, the flowers fresh, and it’s nice to sit in her presence. I can feel her when I’m there. I left for the day to run my errands, making note to replace the wilted flowers at her gravestone, so the florist was my first stop. They always had the freshest bouquets on Mondays. I picked out some pink roses dotted with baby’s breath throughout and asked the lady at the counter, Susan, to wrap them in a white ribbon. “Someone is a very lucky lady to be getting these beauties!” She smiled as she tied the knot, “That’ll be $20 hon. Unless of course these are for me, then it’s free!” She winked. I smiled, she always said this when I stopped by. “You know my heart belongs to another, Suz, but I didn’t forget about you.” I pulled a fresh loaf of bread from my bag, Susan squealed. “Oh Robert, please tell me this is your sourdough loaf. I can’t get enough of that stuff even if it is making me fat!” It was my specialty. I started baking after Bridgette passed to help keep myself busy. Plus, I made people happy, so why not!

I made my way down to the cemetery as usual, following the unofficial path that had been carved out by mourners visiting their loved ones who have long left this earth. It seemed like every time I went to visit Bridgette there was another soul being laid to rest, the sobs and hymns filling the quiet air. There were no tents out today, honestly a relief, but I heard a small sob. Probably a lone mourner. I went to Bridgette’s grave, cleaned out the weeds, dusted the headstone and replaced the flowers. I laid out my blanket I always bring and sat with her, talking about whatever. She was a good listener. I heard the crying again, this time a little louder. I looked around but didn’t see anyone so I thought I must be hearing things. Out of the corner of my eye, a pink dress flowed past a headstone.

I shot up, “Hello? Are you okay?” I walked toward the sound ever so gently so as not to scare anyone. I found a little girl, no more than 8 or 9, crying into a headstone.

“Hey sweetie, are you okay? Where are your parents?” I kneeled down to talk to her. She looked up at me, face streaked with tears. “Hi there, are you okay?” I repeated.

She jumped into my arms, squeezing my neck, “Oh okay, just need a hug? That’s okay. What’s your name, sweetie?”

“Ellie.” I could barely make out what she said through her crying and her head tucked into my shoulder.

“Well, Ellie, my name is Robert. It’s nice to meet you. Now, can you tell me where your parents are?” I looked around to see if I saw a frantic adult searching for her. “It’s going to be okay, Ellie. I promise we will get you back to your family, okay?”

“They don’t love me. They didn’t even show up.”

“What do you mean show up, Ellie? Were they supposed to get you from somewhere?”

She shook her head slowly, “They didn’t even come to my funeral.” That’s when I noticed the headstone she was next to:

 “Eleanor ‘Ellie’ Flagstone”

         “2005-2014”

“Please don’t leave me, Mr. Robert. I don’t have anyone anymore.”

I didn’t know what to do.

Was this really a ghost? No, ghosts don’t exist Robert, that’s kid stuff.

But the headstone matched her age, so it wasn’t some sick prank.

“Okay Ellie, lets sit down and talk for a bit.” We walked to Bridgette’s grave and sat down. I offered her a flower to which she lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Oh wow! This is beautiful, thank you.” She hugged me.

She can’t be a ghost, I can feel her hug.

“Ellie, how old are you?”

“I was going to turn 9 in October, but I didn’t make it.” Her voice was empty.

“Hey my birthday is in October too!” I tried to keep the conversation light so as not to scare her anymore than she already was. “Mine is October 15^th, what’s yours?”

“Mine is October 10^th, almost the same!” She was very excited about this. “I wanted a dog so bad. I even thought my parents were going to surprise me with one, but…”

She started crying again. I put my arm around her as she shook.

This poor girl is all alone in a place filled with death, who wouldn’t want to cry?

“You wanna know something, Ellie? I have a dog myself. His name is Ringo, he’s an older boy, but still as playful and loving as ever.” I pulled out the photo of Bridgette, me, and Ringo at the beach. Ringo was soaked and smiling, clearly one of the best days of his life. Then, there was Bridgette, cancer eating her away before my eyes, yet in this picture you would never know. She was radiating.

“Mr. Robert, don’t cry.” I felt a small hand on my arm.

I didn’t realize I was crying.

I wiped away my tears, “Ringo is very cute. Who is this? She looks like an angel.”

“She is. She was. That’s the love of my life, Bridgette. She was everything good all wrapped up into one. So patient, selfless, kind, and funny as hell. Oh, sorry Ellie, pardon my language.”

She giggled, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.” I winked at her and giggled. “Where is she now, Mr. Robert?”

“Well, she got really, really sick and passed away. Back in January.” I pointed to her headstone. “I visit all the time. It’s the closest thing I have.”

Ellie put her hand on the stone, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Bridgette says she loves you. And Ringo. ‘Tell Squish I’m okay and he will be too’. Squish? Who is Squish?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

That was Bridgette’s nickname for me.

“Squish? Is that what she called you, Mr. Robert?”

I nodded, “When we first met, I was a little chubbier. My younger sister, she was around your age maybe, called me Squish because when she hugged me, I would say ‘Squiiiiiish’ to make her giggle. Worked every time. When Bridgette found out, she could not get over it. She thought it was the cutest thing ever and said it every time she hugged me.” I closed my eyes as tears rolled down my face.

“Squish!” Ellie hugged me tight, laughing. I couldn’t help but join her.

I didn’t really know what to do at this point. If only I could talk to Bruce Willis about his experience. (Only kidding.)

I can’t leave her, can I?

“Mr. Robert, thank you for sitting with me.” She started walking towards her headstone. “I think I should go to sleep now.”

“It is getting late, isn’t it?” I didn’t realize the sun was way past midday. I looked at my watch, 4 pm. “Oh, shit! I have errands to run.” I started packing up the blanket and looked to Ellie, except she wasn’t there anymore.

“Ellie?”

“Sir, are you okay?” I turned to see a police officer, looking concerned.

“Oh, yes sir. I was just visiting my wife’s grave. I uh, was just leaving.” I hurriedly gathered my things. “Sorry officer.”

“Hold on just a second, Mr. Tucker. We want to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay with you?” The officer’s voice was gravely, but kind.

“Of course. What is this about?”

“Sir, we got a call from a concerned resident,” I just noticed he had backup. Two other officers, maybe a sheriff? “Someone called about a man crying and talking to himself in this cemetery. Does that description fit anyone you know?”

Looking around, I was the only one here. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say it’s about me. Well, grief is a terrible thing. It comes and goes and-“

“MR. ROBERT! HELP!”

I whipped around, “Did you hear that?! Ellie, she needs help! I’M COMING ELLIE!” My feet were pounding the ground, my chest hurt already, I hadn’t even run a block, then everything went fuzzy, then black.

When I opened my eyes, I was blinded by fluorescent lights. There was beeping all around me and I couldn’t move. My arms and legs were strapped to the bed, an IV bag hanging next to me, the tube in my arm.

“What the hell?” I started to struggle, trying to break free, when a woman walked in.

“Mr. Tucker, I need you to calm down. I don’t want to have to sedate you again, you’ll be out for another day.”

Another?

“I’m sorry, what is happening? Where the hell am I?”

“Sir, you’re at Frank Jones Hospital. You were brought in by local law enforcement after they found you in a cemetery, screaming for Ellie?” Undoing my restraints as she spoke calmly.

Oh my god. Ellie!

“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” I was panicking again.

“Robert, there wasn’t anyone else at the cemetery. We looked for 2 days, nothing.”

I had been out for 2 days?

“Mr. Tucker, we believe you may have had a psychotic break. Have you experienced any traumatic events recently?”

“Psychotic break? What do you mean?” This was nonsense. “My wife passed in January but that’s been months.”

She was writing in her chart.

“Are you telling me that Ellie isn’t real? That I was speaking to a ghost? Or a figment of my imagination? No, no way, doc. I know what I saw.”

“A little girl in a pink dress, Ellie, with curly blond hair and a white ribbon, right?”

I nodded.

The doctor got up and walked towards the door, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

I got up to splash water on my face because this really felt like a dream, or a nightmare. I looked in the mirror. I had a pretty nice shiner on my right eye, a couple of cuts, nothing major, but man did my head hurt.

The door opened, it was the doctor, behind her, a priest.

“Mr. Tucker, this is Father Peter. He’d like to ask you some questions as well.”

The priest stuck out his hand.

“Sorry Peter, but I don’t believe in all that religious bull.” I waved his hand away, turning my back to him.

“You saw Ellie, didn’t you Mr. Tucker?”

The air in the room became ice cold, I felt heavy.

“You saw a little girl in a pink dress? Curly hair and a ribbon?” The priest walked over to me and sat, “Mr. Tucker, she’s not of this earth. Only a select few have seen her and lived to tell of their encounter.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Is this some sick joke?” I could feel my face burning, the veins popping out of my forehead.

Father Peter opened a notebook, “This is a book passed down from generations of priests. Hundreds of years of history, spiritual encounters, and exorcisms.” He thumbed through a few pages, “Every 50 or so years there is the same encounter, ‘small girl in a pink dress, white bow’ and only three or four of the subjects of these encounters have survived. Some died soon after, others took a while, depending on their interaction with the entity.”

My face turned white as a sheet, the air was cold again, painfully so, and I was dizzy. The room was spinning in ways I didn’t think was possible, even if it was a hallucination.

“Mr. Tucker, please, sit down. I don’t want you to faint.” Father Peter helped me to the bed, the nurse brought back ice chips. “Now, can you tell me what happened when you saw it. Your interaction with it, what you told it, everything you can remember.”

I stumbled through what I could remember, still trying to wrap my head around the situation I was in.

“I told her about my dog and wife. How we met, nicknames-“

“Did you show it a picture?” The priest looked gravely concerned.

I nodded slowly, pulled out the picture and gave it to him.

“I have to burn this.” He got up and ran to the bathroom.

I couldn’t stop him. I tried to yell but nothing came out and the room went black again.

“Mr. Robert? Please wake up Mr. Robert. They’re trying to hurt me. Please help me.”

I jumped out of bed, the room was dark save the monitors and what little light came through the bottom of the door. I could smell ash.

The photo!

I went to the bathroom but found no trace of a burnt photo or Father Peter.

Had it all been a horrible dream?

I opened the door to the hallway slowly. The light blinded me, my ears were ringing and when they finally adjusted, I was home.

No, no way. Are you kidding me?

I flipped on the light; Ringo squinted at me. The time was 7:30 am. Monday.