The Tears of a Ghost
In the pitch black room virtually nothing but the silhouette of my youngest sister, Marie, was visible.
All I’d heard was the terrified scream of Marie as she pointed with a quivering finger to a place just behind me. Then there was the ‘crack’ of a pistol and I felt nothing more.
Yes, my life as Hannah Jean Tyrell had come to a horrific and untimely end. I was only fifteen years old when I was shot on the fifth of August 1952, while searching my Grandpa’s toolshed for a pitchfork to turn his horses’ hay.
Such a young age. I ‘d so many plans for the future and now that is all turned to dust. I will never again be able to do the things I used to do.
A tidal wave of grief washed over me. I wasn’t ready for death but yet death still took me as his unwilling prisoner.
I’ve no idea who had killed me or for what reason. This was one of the causes of my enhanced sadness and confusion.
Here I was dressed in a white gown for about three Earth days in this ‘nothingness’; well what else can you call a room which has walls that seem to stretch on for eternity; are painted over in white and there is nothing more to be seen of it?
Suddenly I observed that a ‘shimmery’ reflection, like that of liquid, was dancing, like hundreds of spider webs, on my arms and legs.
This sudden appearance of something liquid-like made me feel like I was back at the English Army Training Building (EATB), where Marie and I used to meet our older brother, William, next to the indoor swimming pool. We used to swim in that pool when the soldiers weren’t training. Since that time, I have loved the feeling of weightlessness and freedom that water gives. ‘I would never feel that way again.’ I thought.
William used to take his best friend who was in the army, Michael Zwelkov, everywhere with him; they were almost inseparable.
Zwelkov had an extreme obsession and knowledge of the army and of wars. He sometimes acted very strangely when he was in close proximity of any weapon, especially guns. He would stare fixedly at it, arms twitching and murmuring unintelligible words to himself. But that isn’t important; there’s the reflection of something behind me that’s more intriguing.
The shimmer of what I thought was water excited me so much that I quickly spun around to find the source of it. There glistened a mirage of a portal stretched loosely over the entire length and width of the wall.
It was such that I could see past the waves of heat to into a place that looked surprisingly familiar. It looked oddly like Grandpa’s garden; the way you would see it should you be just in the doorway of the toolshed.
I could see the bright pink azalea flowers on the many bushes and the willowy bottle-brush trees on the sides; branches swaying to the music of the wind which I could not feel.
All seemed so peaceful and happy. I hoped that Marie and my parents weren’t suffering from sorrow. I wished that there was a way that I could see them and the places that I’d loved to visit again. If I could only find my killer and move on to the next life.
A sudden idea appeared to me. What if the mirage was in fact a portal to life back on Earth? It would be incredibly simple; too simple. But what if it worked? I’d come back to life?
Curiousity overcame all other emotions forcing me to reach out towards the portal with my ‘ghost hand’. When it came into contact with the cool and slippery portal it slid all the way through it, like through water, to the other end.
Excitement raced inside me. Being reassured of life, I decided to immerse my whole ‘body’ into it. I felt the sensation of a tepid waterfall with a sharp but refreshing effect, like how one feels after eating a peppermint and then drinking water.
When I’d reached the other side my mind immediately went blank and a sense of confused anxiety followed. Even though I’d shut my eyes, images of pallid and cadaverous people dressed in rags appeared all around me; their eyes milky white; their movements erratic or trance-like. They appeared to be disorientated, moaning and reaching out to me as if pleading for release from their bonds of self-inflicted restraint.
Yet I could not fully concentrate on anything besides the bad deeds I’d done in my life. Images of myself bad-mouthing my mother when I was angry; of me passing on gossip about my classmate and of all the things that I’d ever done that had caused harm upon anyone or anything, flashed in front of me. Each image brought a sharp, agonising pain coursing through my entire ‘body’, almost debilitating.
When suddenly it all stopped. There was silence in my mind, then a mutter in one corner and a whisper in another. The floor (that only existed in my ‘mind’s eye’) about four metres away from me, started to melt into itself until an internal flame engulfed it and a covertly hostile male voice spoke from it, ‘ Are you lost, Dear?’ he patiently waited for a reply.
‘ Nnn-no, I, I was jus-’
‘ Dear, don’t fool yourself. We, the people of this here world, can help you.’
I looked around uncertainly. Then I realised that the portal I’d come through earlier had completely disappeared but I dared not say it out loud.
‘ There is no need to be afraid. We only want to be your friends and together we can help eachother.’
I saw a dangerous, red flicker in the usually white eyes of the surrounding ‘zombies’.
‘ I see that you have a great interest for the peoples of this here world?’
‘ I ss-suppose so, Sir.’
‘ Oh my dear, there’s no need to use such formal language with me; you see, we are all equal. These people here were scorned by the evil rulers of the place wens you came.’ his voice became a touch more angrier, ‘ They created the illusion that their world was a more pleasant place than my own, jealous as dogs of my beautiful world.’
Looking around, no one in their right mind would think this hell beautiful.
‘ I know what you must be thinking.’ the thought made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up,‘ You see, the evil rulers decided to throw a dark blanket over my world shielding its beauty from all eyes so that their world may seem the better. But,’ he seemed to expect something of me,‘ we are going to need the help of a trustworthy person to make them see the truth. I wonder whether you can suggest anyone to me?’
I knew what he was asking for, I thought,‘ He wants me to be on his side, to be his puppet; but that is not the reason why I went through the portal in the first place.’
I kept quiet, not knowing how to reply and purposefully doing so to make him think that I was undecided. I unintentionally grimaced in disagreement with his wishes; forgetting that he could partially read my mind.
Quite suddenly his voice changed and he started to go into grief and began to stutter, ‘ W-what are you doing to me? I’ve t-tried so hard to b-be your friend. All I am is a good person in need of a good friend, won’t you h-help me?’ on this last note he became a bit more hopeful.
I was surprised by his sudden change of tone but not quite ‘moved’ by the drama he was putting on. I remained silent.
‘ If this is the cost I p-pay for an honest f-friend then so be it.’ He thought out loud, ‘ To show that I am, in truth, a friend I shall give you two options. Either: you can remain here and aid me in “enlightening the lost sheep” or you can go back to the land of the living where you will have none the greater experiences. The choice is yours.’
It took only a few seconds to decide on my answer, ‘ I choose to go back to the land of the living, Sir.’
At this he chuckled slyly to himself, ‘ I’m always true to my word.’
A portal identical to the one before expanded just in front of me and I gratefully stepped through it, leaving the world of the dead behind me. But was I really going to be alive again? Was he lying when he said that the land of the living holds ‘ none the greater experiences ’ and what did that all mean?
***
‘ Marie, could you please come outside with me for a moment.’
‘ Yes, Mum.’
Mum, along with Dad, had just arrived at Grandpa’s house to deal with the murder of their daughter, Hannah Jean Tyrell. Everytime her name was brought up a hush formed like a cloud over their heads.
‘ My girl, I understand your tears; we all do.’ Mum said as she stopped just outside the door, brushing Marie’s tears gently off her cheek, ‘Hannah was a good sister but we’ve got to move on and live our lives for her sake. She wouldn’t want us to stop living prosperous lives just because of her d-‘ she refused to say the last word instead she pulled Marie into a sorrowful embrace.
‘ Grandpa and Dad will find the killer Mum; don’t worry.’ Marie reassured her, though she only half believed it herself.
They let go of eachother, ‘ How about if we go for a little walk around the garden to get our spirits up.’ Mum asserted. Marie nodded in comfortable agreement.
As they walked they talked of the ‘good-old-days’ and the happy moments in their lives. The garden seemed more enchanting in the late afternoon than it ever did before. The combination of the fresh air, brightly coloured garden and lighthearted speech lifted their spirits to an all time high.
I haven’t seen them this happy in a long time. I wanted to join them.
***
I could hardly believe that I was back. Earth sweet Earth at last.
I’d landed in Grandpa’s toolshed; the place where I’d died. It felt uncomfortable to be at the place of my death even though my body had already been moved, probably buried in a cemetery by now.
I noticed that the colours were different, more diluted than how I remembered it. Then their was the sound of recognizable laughter; the sweet laughter of my Mum and Marie. Their voices were coming nearer towards the shed. I wanted to get a closer look at them so I leant against the door to peer through a crack. The door moved unexpectedly. I saw that at that moment Mum and Marie’s laughter quickly subsided and changed into fear.
***
They had seen the shed door move open as if there was someone inside it, someone they didn’t know. Then slowly, the door creeped open even wider but there was no one to be seen; but wait, there was. A semi-transparent almost gaseous figure of a teenage girl stepped gently out, she wore a flowing semi-transparent gown and appeared to be trying to talk but no sound escaped from her ghost mouth.
It took Mum and Marie a long time to recognize who this ghost was but when they did, they could simply not face it.
At first they stood, petrified, glued to the spot then swiftly they ran a fast as their legs could carry them, back to the house.
They told the men of their strange encounter but no one believed it to be true, ‘Things like this only happen in fairytales. It can’t possibly be real!’ Grandpa shouted, disbelieving.
‘ But Grandpa, I’ve read about in a book. It says that “ a spirit will stay with the living because it is confused about how it died.” She wants to know how she died!’ Marie explained.
‘ But she already knows that she was shot and you can’t expect a book to be telling the truth, Honey.’ Said Mum
‘ Well, it makes perfect sense to me and I was there when she was shot in her back, she doesn’t know! Why else would she have tried to communicate with us?!’
‘Trring trring, Trring trring.’ The telephone rang; Mum went to pick it up. She came back a moment later, ‘ That was the police. They said they‘ve identified the bullet. We need to go to the police station now.’ She added, ‘ Marie, you’re staying here with me.’
At the police station Grandpa and Dad were told the news about what the police had solved, ‘ We have identified the bullet that we found in Miss Tyrell’s body. It seems that the bullet and the gun belongs to you Mr Johnson.’ The officer pointed to Grandpa.
‘ Clearly you are not suggesting that I killed my own granddaughter?!’ Grandpa took the offensive.
‘ That is what the evidence so far proves but if you do have any evidence that will prove otherwise then we’ll happily drop the charges against you.’ Grandpa thought for a long time, his face scrunched in concentration, ‘ Wait a second. I think I know who killed my granddaughter!’
‘ Hey, Terry, bring that tape recorder here!’ the officer demanded to another policeman, ‘ Please continue, Mr Johnson.’
‘ It was on the day of Hannah’s death, the fifth of August 1952. She and her sister Marie were looking for a pitchfork to turn the horses hay with. You see I live on a farm. In the meantime my grandson, William, yes, his friend Michael Zwelkov came to visit. Odd man he was.
‘I’d heard from William that Michael had a great fascination for weapons so I showed him my new pistol, a Browning.’ He sighed remorsefully, ‘ The worst thing I could possibly have done. You could see the jealousy in his eyes; like the insane he was.
He was standing in front of the cupboard of drawers, where I’d just placed the Browning; in the first drawer it was.
‘ He abruptly decided that he should depart so I let him. It’s a jolly good guess that he stole the gun and by psychotic impulse, shot my dear Hannah. That is all, officer.’ He ended.
‘ Right.’ The officer was somewhat impressed, ‘ Wouldn’t it be remarkable if this ‘Michael Zwelkov’ of yours was found?’
‘ Jolly right remarkable, if you ask me.’ Dad restrained himself from swearing.
A genial smile spread across the officer’s face, ‘ What if I were to tell you that the remarkable has been achieved?’
***
‘… He was reported missing by his step-mother on the eighth of August and found a week later, about six miles west of your property somewhere on the side of the road in South Hampton.
‘A driver stopped to take a look; couldn’t believe his eyes. Zwelkov committed suicide; put the Browning to his ear. His step-mother also said that he was on psychiatric medication, ritalin, so that explains his behaviour.’ an officer told Mum and Marie at Grandpa’s house, ‘But we still need to clear your name, Mr Johnson, by checking for fingerprints on that chest of drawers, if you don’t mind, Sir? We cannot prove you were innocent or Zwelkov was guilty unless we have solid evidence.’
‘You most certainly can, Sonny.’
It was as if the unmasking of my killer and his fate brought happiness and relief upon my family and me (for I was observing them the whole time from the open French door).
Now I knew who had killed me and why (even though I didn’t like the idea of impulsive murder) I accepted that that was the way of the world and only when I accepted it did I feel total relief; I had moved on to the next life.
