Dany

DANY

Nighttime. The cover of darkness. The hours when the shadows are your friend, when they wrap you in their velvety anonymity. Darkness, when anything can happen. And, does. The time when the sound of footsteps behind you is the sound of danger. When the soft whisper of breath on your neck could be the last thing you feel. Ever.

*****

I watch as the sun falls below the roofs of the buildings, blanketing the streets and buildings in the murk of the approaching dark. Another night about to begin. Many, myself included, find the night exciting. A time when inhibitions are lowered, and our baser selves emerge. A time when rational behaviour takes a backseat to the other, less acceptable, forms of amusement. A time of personal indulgence, when a person can do and be whatever they like.  

Unless they are dead. And, I am, unfortunately, dead. And I have been for many, many years.  

My name is … my name is … The thing about being dead is that you can’t always remember. Things become murky and indistinct—somewhat like myself. Because it is true that when I am seen by the living, my form is hazy and ill-defined, causing the living to question what they have actually seen, or whether I was even there. Most who see me, believe that it is their brain playing tricks on them, or just an overactive imagination. And usually, I let them believe that. Unless I don’t.

Tonight I will go out and explore the dark streets and back alleys of the city. The city is a wonderful place after dark. Where the rats are not the only creatures out at night.  

When I travel I keep to the shadows. Too many people seeing me means that I am real. And I don’t want to be real. I enjoy the power of being a phantom, a being that is and isn’t there. A spectre.  

“Did you see that?” I hear as I pass.

I travel along the edges of society, avoiding the lights of the clubs and bars, the late-night traffic cruising the streets looking for a little bit of the “other.” I float up to gaze down at the dance that occurs at night. Drugs, debauchery, violence—all happening right below me, in the alleyways and in the shadows of the city. Things happening that will never be spoken about in the light of day. Deeds and actions—

“Hi there.”

I snap out of my reverie, lookng around for the source of the voice. I spot her, to my right. A little girl, maybe eight or nine years old. She’s smiling at me. The living rarely smile at me.

“Hiiiiii!” she says waving in my direction. “My name’s Dany. What’s yours?”

I know that she is talking to me, but I look around to make certain. I am, indeed, the only spectre floating at this particular fourth floor window. 

“You can see me?” I ask.

“Sure,” says Dany. “Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?”

A fair question. Just not one that I was expecting. “Uhm,” I say, confused by her forthright nature. “Because I’m a ghost, and most people don’t see ghosts. Their brains tell them that I don’t exist.”

She gives me a big gap-tooth smile. “Well, I can see you. And I already know that you’re a ghost because you’re floating right outside my window." She points towards me.  "I’m pretty sure that only ghosts can float like that.”

I nod my head. Her logic is sound. “And you are not frightened seeing a spectre floating, untethered, outside your window?”

“Why should I be afraid?” she asks, her brow furrowing.  

Again, an unexpected question. “I’m not sure, actually. Because I’m floating? Because you can see through me? Because I’m a ghost?”

Dany laughs. “Of course you’re a ghost! I knew that when I saw you ‘hanging around’”— she makes air quotes around the words”—outside my window.” She laughs and cocks her head to one side. “What else would you be?”

The child makes a valid point. I change the direction of the conversation. “Why are you up at this time of night? It must be well past midnight.”

Dany turns away, looking at something behind her. “Yup. It’s waaaaay after midnight. It’s almost one o’clock in the morning!”

“Where are your caretakers?”

Dany laughs again. “My caretakers? You make it sound so weird! You talk old-fashioned.” She giggles. “You must be really old!”

While not actually aged, I believe that I am from another time. I can only guess when. My memories are hazy, at best.

Dany’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “So, what’s your name?” she asks. “I told you my name is Dany. My ‘caretaker’— she makes air quotes again and giggles at her own joke. “—says that it’s only polite to introduce yourself when you meet a new person.” She pauses looking at me. “Or ghost, I guess.” She shrugs her small shoulders.

“I’m afraid, Dany, that I cannot remember my name. The longer I spend in this realm, the less I remember of my own life.”

Dany’s face crumbles. “That’s so sad! Not knowing your own name.” Her eyes fill with tears. Then she smiles. “I can give you a name. I’m really good at naming my pets.”

I sense the corners of my mouth turning up in a … a smile. I could not remember the last time I had smiled in happiness. Most of my smiles are malevolent and mean-spirited, saved for frightening and terrifying the living.

I bow slightly at the waist. “I would be honoured to have you bestow a name upon me.”

Dany claps her hands happily. “Yay!” She sobers and looks at me, her face a mask of concentration. “I think … I think I’m going to name you Sam.” Pause. “Yes, Sam! That’s the perfect name!” She sticks her hand out the window to shake. “Pleased to meet you, Sam.”

I move my hand forward, but it just passes through Dany’s hand.

“Oh, right,” she says. “You’re a ghost. You’re not …. solid? Is that the right word? Solid?”

I nod my head. “That sums up my presence perfectly.”

She looks at me carefully. “So, Sam, what do you remember? You know, about your life? Before you … became a ghost?”

I consider. What do I remember? Exactly? “Well,” I start after a long pause. “Not very much, actually. I just know that I am from a time before the modern period. I know that I have seen many, many changes in society—in technology and in people. Attitudes and mores have changed considerably over my time since my death.”

“Cool! Like before iPhones and the internet?”

Again, I feel the corners of my mouth turn up. “Yes, Dany, before iPhones and the internet.”

Her eyes get large. “You are old!”

By this time I had floated closer to the window. I was no longer paying attention to the actions of those below me. Instead I was concentrating on this fascinating child in front of me. For the first time in an extremely long time, I was interested in what the living had to say.

“Do you like to scare people?” she asks.

Her question, again, surprises me. I have never considered whether I enjoyed what I did. I just did it.  

“Hmmm,” I say. “I don’t know.” I pause again. “No really. It's just how my presence evolved. I think that it started because I didn't know that I was dead. I remember trying to talk to people, but no one would answer me. I just wanted to find out why everyone was afraid of me, why they wouldn’t talk to me. The more people I spoke with, the more I seemed to scare them.”  

“That’s pretty sad,” says Dany, looking sorrowful. “When did you know that you were, you know,” she lowers her voice, “dead?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. But I do remember that every time I came approached someone, they screamed. Or fainted. Or ran away. And they couldn’t hear me talking. No one can.” I stop and look at Dany. “But you can hear me. Why is that?”

She looks at me and shrugs her shoulders. “I dunno.” Looking past me me, she seems to be thinking intently. After a few moments of concentration, her gaze returns to me. “Maybe because I’m not scared of you? Maybe because I’m not going to scream or run or faint—that's why I can hear you. You know, because I’m listening? Instead of being afraid.” Again, she shrugs.

“Why weren’t you afraid of me?” I ask, truly interested in her answer.

“No reason. You can’t touch me, so you can’t hurt me. The worst you can do is blow air at me, right? No touching?” Shrug. “What’s to be afraid of?”

“But I’m dead. Once a person dies, they are supposed to disappear from this plane. Because I’m still here, logically, you should be frightened of me.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a ghost. A spirit. A phantasm. An apportion. The undead. I should scare you to death.”

“So that I can be just like you?”

“No.” I sigh. “Metaphorically speaking, I should scare you do death.”

“Huh?”

“I apologize. Because I am the undead, my presence should be very frightening to you. But you are not frightened. Why is that?”

Deny looks at me. “You’re not scary, I guess.”

I look at her. “Do you see a lot of ghosts, Dany? Is that why you’re not frightened of me?”

She smiles at me. “Maybe.” She rubs her arms. “I’m getting cold. Do you want to come in?”

I hesitate.

“It’s okay. There’s no one home.” She smiles widely.

I’m a bit surprised. She’s far too young to be alone. But I have been enjoying our conversation. Once I’ve been invited in, I can always enter. It will be a new place to visit, and I will enjoy being able to visit with Dany. As she steps back, I float towards the open window, and enter her room.

She moves fast, laying down a line of rock salt under the window, blocking my exit. I scan the room. A trail of salt has been poured around the perimeter of the entire room.

“Dany, why?” I ask. I feel the panic rising.

She smiles at me—a cruel smile, one I recognize well. “The undead are not welcome in the realm of the living," she says.

She picks up a branch of hazelwood, and a black knife, moving towards me. These are the artifacts that I fear. I am powerless against them.

“Into the box, Sam!” She steps forward, and steps on a pedal, opening up a box behind me. I feel myself being sucked into the steel trap and the darkness beyond.

*****

Dany looks around the room. She senses that the ghost is gone, sucked into the trap. She smiles, looking down at the box.

“I told you I was good at naming my pets.”