Chapter 3 – Chap 3

So I’d finally come to the conclusion I was in the presence of a ghost girl; a ghost woman. And although I was lacking in the romance department, that didn’t give me a right to begin any type of pursuit other than the one to get her the fuck out of my apartment. I’d ended up devouring as much media and information that I could in the ensuing days. I’d picked up some ghost-hunting books, and even ordered myself a few spirit-capturing devices like an EMF reader, a voice-recorder, and even a spirit box—an electrical box which allowed me to hear voices in static—and for the price of it you’d think I’d be allowed to speak to Jackson or Elvis. I bet Elvis would just fuck with my toilet as opposed to my entire place.

One of the books I’d bought was some crummy, psychic mumbo jumbo the size of a phone-book and filled with enough fluff to fill ten-thousand bellybuttons. Spirits wanted to move on, it’d say. They’re so trapped and yanked out so hard that they still lingered on earth with some kind of purpose or quest. If this ghost girl’s quest was to destroy all the porcelain dishes on the planet she was off to good start, but as far as the shitty book was concerned, she was still here for some kind of reason, and I intended to help her out and move her on as quickly as possible.

I waited until Friday night, during the most cliché rainstorm of the year all that was missing was wolf howls and deep, demonic laughter bubbling up from a storm-drain somewhere. I’d lit myself some candles and put the EMF reader into on-mode. It worked simple, if its green meter shot into red then we were dealing with increased electromagnetic waves, which it would then read. The name pretty much summed it up but I’d still read the instruction manual like the fool I was. The same for the spirit box, a blue box. That was it, with a frequency handle I’d basically bought a static-simulator and paperweight. But I kept it on and sat down on my floor surrounded by so many candles it was like I was in a 90s R&B music video.

“I wish to commune with the spirit,” I began, yelling over the static of the spirit box which didn’t dip or make any other noises. “I wish to commune with the trapped spirit. Come closer to the light—I wish to help you pass on. You are dead—your soul is trapped, spirit and I wish for you to come close so that I may release you!”

“Fuck off,” said a voice behind me, clear as could be.

I opened my eyes and cleared my throat. “Spirit, do not be scared. You are trapped in this place and I wish for you to feel at peace. You are not alone spirit. Pass over into the otherworld,” I yelled. “Pass over and be free!”

“Turn that off,” said a woman and the spirit box launched across the room, letting out a final buzz of static.

“Well that’s a hundred quid I’m not getting back,” I said with a sigh.

There was a sudden wind and the candles went out. The yellow, dimming illuminated was snuffed into shadow and I could feel cold breaths in front of my face. I wasn’t scared. At this point what was there to be scared of?

“If you’re going to do a drive-by mug-throw do it quickly, spirit and then you may pass on,” I said.

“Stop talking to me like I’m not even here,” it whispered to me.

I fumbled around in my pocket and pulled out my shiny Zippo light. I quickly struck the flint and the flame burst to life. For the first time, I’d seen the ghost face-to-face, and there still was no fear. She was sat cross-legged in front of me, sporting a tatty, torn dress. Her face was soft-featured, but her eyes were pure white, almost glowing in the flame of the lighter. She didn’t smile. Her eyes were creased and there were dark, trickling lines like mascara beneath her eyes, gliding down her cheeks. I spared any Alice Cooper jokes and swallowed hard, determined.

“Spirit, you are not alive. You are anchored to this dimension—“

“Enough,” she hissed.

“You must move on—oh fuck it,” I said loudly. “Why are you fucking with me? Why are you trashing my damn place? Did you get killed by a fallin’ mug?”

The lines of her mouth curved up and I smiled back. “You aren’t afraid,” she said.

Her words echoed like from down a tunnel seeping with electricity. Her eyes glowed brightly in the light, and by all human means I should have been running, but where there was supposed to be fear there was a calmness. Maybe it was the light, or perhaps finally putting a real face to what was happening. I instinctively reached out to her and she focused on my hand.

“I’m not,” I said, “but can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Just let me—“ My fingers went to her shoulder and collided with flesh and bone. I recoiled my hand and she gave me a mousey stare. “I was expecting them to go through.”

“You’ll never go through me,” she said with a matter-of-factly tone and I bit the inside of my lip to hide the smile.

“I thought ghosts were supposed to be, y’know, like not physical.”

She just stared at me and I realized I was pretty much coming off as a fool. But what did I know? I’d never met a ghost, never knew the rules. Everything I’d learn came from YouTube videos and horror movies.

“So you can just become physical whenever you want, eh”?

“I am still here but I’m not,” she eeked out.

The way she spoke and her mannerisms came across as she was shy while wrestling with some kind of attempt to be assertive. She wasn’t scary, and I think that’s what annoyed her. Perhaps the only response she’d ever been used to was people running in fear. But either I was a stupid man or I really was slow to catch up to my own fears. I was mystified—my heart was racing as I put my fingers out and she raised her hand.

“This is crazy,” I said as my fingers touched her hand—soft, smooth, but cold. I held onto her hand and she yanked her hand away, covering it with her other one. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—do you have a name?”

She whispered.

“I didn’t get that.”

“Eve—mhmph.”

“Steve?”

“Evelyn.”

“Oh. I got ya. Well I’m d—“

“Deacon. I know.”

“Been spying on me?”

“I don’t spy. I’m just here,” she mumbled as she looked around. “I live here too.”

The lighter got too hot and I dropped it. The darkness returned and I put my fingers to my mouth. “That fucker was hot,” I said and felt a hand gently on my face.

“Evelyn?”

“I haven’t touched a human in a long time—or so I think? It is strange, you’re very warm.”

“Thanks, that’s the blood in me.”

Her hand felt like smooth pebbles against my skin, and the cooling feel of the creases in her hands felt somewhat familiar. I’d felt the cold wisps of her touch before. “Have you ever touched me before today?”

“I have reached out sometimes,” she whispered.

“Why didn’t you just appear to me if you wanted to talk? Also, why have you shown yourself to me? I thought that was the opposite of what spirits were meant to do?”

“You talk of me like I’m in some kind of club. I cannot and will not indulge you about myself if you do that.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said as her hand slipped away from me. Aww, man.

“Evelyn is a nice name.”

“So is Deacon,” she said and her eyes glittered, shimmering into a bright yellow and creasing at the corners. “I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting. I’ll stop now and won’t take up your time.”

“No, wait,” I said as I felt her fingers glide against my cheek one last time.

Her eyes fizzled away into the darkness and then a gust of wind hit me. I got to my feet and reached for the light-switch in my lounge. I stumbled to it and squinted as light flooded the room. Evelyn was gone, and I was alone again. It was strange. The whole thing felt like I’d been in some sort of hypnotic state. I felt tired as I slumped onto my couch and closed my eyes. She’d touched me, I’d touched her. There was conversation, and did I mention she touched me?

I scorned myself. She was a ghost, an ethereal spirit which was sharing this space with me and for the briefest of moments I was excited we could feel each other physically. I know I’m a horrible human being, and I told myself that before I slept and every day after. But with the satisfaction of being here alone there also came sadness. I wasn’t entirely sure if she was completely gone, and truth be told I really did miss her a little—how many people out there who aren’t genuinely mentally shot, can say they lived with a ghost? And why did I feel guilty about the way I’d acted? I didn’t put myself in her shoes—or tattered dress—and I should have. I’d come to her home, and I’d invaded it. So why wasn’t she angry at me anymore? Why was she suddenly gone? And why did I keep dreaming of her since she’d traced her fingers on my cheek? I chalked it down to nerves, or maybe because I was just your average guy and she was your not-so-average girl.

But there was only silence. No more floating plates. No more whisperings or shadows. I was truly alone in this place, and that should have made me happy, but I guess the mystery of Evelyn and my own loneliness was a concoction of madness. So when she finally showed back up there was some deeper part of myself that was thankful she did even though it wasn’t the best of times.

But the worst was beyond that.