Ghosts are Real

James,

         Ghosts are real. I know that’s a strange first thing to hear from me after two weeks of nothing, but it’s pretty prominent on my mind, you know? I’m sorry I haven’t been returning your calls but ghosts are fucking real.

         You’re gonna think that this is because of Meg. And it is, of course, but not how you think. Just like how her suicide wasn’t about her mom’s death exactly.

         I know you know she was close with her mom but you don’t realize how close. Even before her dad passed they were best friends. And it probably would have been easier on her if it hadn’t been so sudden. She had us over for dinner Wednesday night then the heart attack was Friday morning. Christ, we had brunch plans with her on Saturday. When someone’s there with you one day then gone forever, it’s tough to let it go. Believe me, I know.

Meg took it hard. You saw how she was. I know she’s supposed to grieve and I’m supposed to comfort her and we both did those things. But she did her part too well and no matter how hard I tried, I didn’t do my part well enough.

         Fuck. They’re getting closer. I have to hurry.

         I didn’t tell you this but she got real spiritual after her mom passed. Wanted to stay connected to her I guess. She’d burn incense, wrap some herbs around her mom’s picture, put her mom’s jewelry in some special box. I thought it was harmless, good for her even. How was I supposed to know that ghosts are real, James? It’s not my fault.

         So Meg did her research, learned her stuff. If I had known she wanted to try and contact her mom I probably would have stopped her. Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe not. I didn’t think this shit was real. Of course I was skeptical when I got home from work and she told me she talked to her mom. But I wasn’t really focused on that part, I was worried about my wife. You should have seen Meg, James. She was on the middle seat of the couch sitting straight up and ghostly white.

         Well, not ghostly white as it turns out. They aren’t like the ghosts in movies, all wispy and ethereal. God, they’re so much worse. Not that Meg told me about them, bless her heart. All she said was, “I talked to my mom,” and “She talked back.” Jesus, it still freaks me out to think about it. Meg wasn’t moving a muscle and darting her eyes back and forth. I was convinced she’d had a mental break. Makes sense right?

         I know now about the ghosts she saw over the next few days but she never told me about them. I’d like to think she wanted to spare me from the horror of knowing that ghosts are real. But I wish she had. I wish I could have been there for Meg in her last few traumatizing days. Though now that I’ve seen what she did, I know it wouldn’t have helped. I know it wouldn’t have stopped her from cutting herself up. Take some comfort in that, James. You need to know that there was nothing you could do for me, nothing that would have stopped me from taking that same knife Meg did and following her out of this nightmare.

         So Meg was gone and I was crushed. It was so sudden, I needed answers. She was acting weird and skittish for a couple of days and then she was gone? That couldn’t be it, that couldn’t be the end. It really does make it so much worse when the loss is so sudden, when you can’t say goodbye. I found her notes. Her notes about contacting the dead. I don’t know where she got that information. And, like I said, I didn’t believe in that stuff but I needed closure. I needed answers.

         Holy shit, the way they look at you.

         Two days ago I did the ritual. I cried the whole damn time because I knew it wouldn’t work. But it did and she was there. Meg. She was in front of my face covered in blood dripping from hundreds of wounds. Her eyes were there but they...weren’t. You can’t understand. And she screamed at me.

         “NO. WHY DID YOU DO THIS? WHY? NO, LOU STOP. STOP LOU. WHY?”

         She kept inching closer to me, hunching over so that her face was level with mine.

         “STOP LOU. STOP. WHY? STOP NOW.”

         Meg repeated that over and over until she was gone. Just gone. Meg didn’t look like the ghosts I would come to see later, but she was just as terrifying. Like she had been tortured. Do you think the ghosts did this to her?

         Oh God, are they going to do that to me?

Everything was different after that. I didn’t notice right away. I was just shaken from what I had seen. I didn’t notice until the next day on the train to work. And then holy fuck ghosts are real. Once you can see them, they don’t blend in well. Their skin is this dark, lifeless grey. And cracked. Every inch of it is cracked like a spiderwebbed piece of glass. Their bodies are normal, I guess. It’s not like they’re missing limbs or anything. But they’re contorted into these awful shapes, like they had been shoved into a closet they couldn’t quite fit in and got stuck in that position. It’s their faces, though, that really stick with you. Their jaws are stretched impossibly wide open as if they’re emitting a constant howl, but they’re silent. And their eyes. Oh Jesus, their eyes. They’re sunken and dark, but still emit a look of anguish and rage.

         James, I wish I didn’t have to tell you that ghosts are real. I wish that I could protect you from that reality like Meg tried to do for me. But you need to know.

         I don’t think everyone turns into a ghost, I think most people just pass on. The world would be packed with them otherwise. But why do some people stay? They’re just a misery to themselves and others. They follow people glaring at them. It’s like they hate life once they’ve lost it.

         Do you remember Mrs. Adams from across the street when we were growing up? Darla Adams? The old lady that passed away in her sleep the night before your sixth birthday. I saw her at the post office. She was the first one to notice me. But why the fuck didn’t she pass on? I asked her when she followed me, but that seemed to make her angrier.

         You see, once you can see the ghosts they get real interested in you. But not in a good way. Once Mrs Adams noticed me, a lot more started to notice me.

I can hear them move, now. It’s like the sound of raking wet leaves on concrete.

They kept getting closer and closer, you know? They wanted me. I don’t know what they’re going to do. Are they going to make me like them? Are they going to do to me what happened to Meg? I’d rather kill myself. Why would they subject themselves to such a horrifying existence? They’re right next to me. I have to do it.

It’s done. James, I tell you these things so that you’ll know. Don’t come looking for me because you don’t want to find me. I love you, James. I’m sorry.

---Lou





Oh God, why don’t they want to pass on?