By Raoul Suarez
I have been dead for quite a while. It has been 8 years maybe. Maybe less. Maybe more. I lost count.
It wasn’t particularly tragic or unusual; just a car accident. I don’t blame the man who hit me. He was speeding so he could be home in the soonest possible time because his wife was in labor, and the road was a little slippery because of the rain. He lost control of the car and in that split second, just like that, I lost my life.
It was not his fault. I know that. I’m not cruel. I’m not vengeful. I’m not a bad person. If anything, I’m the opposite.
You see, I don’t have any family left anyway and I lost most of the few friends I had around that time. I had a minimum wage job and not much to live for. Just an old guy living a hand-to-mouth kind of life. Caught in the rat race with no way out. Well, things happen because they are supposed to. No coincidences. It’s just the universe doing what it’s supposed to do. I have come to terms with that.
During my funeral, the only people who came were my boss and the family of the man who was driving that car on that fateful day of the accident. His wife held their newborn daughter close to her chest. It wasn’t so sunny and the wind was a little cold.
I hated my boss, and the cemetery was awfully lonely, so I followed the family home. The house wasn’t fancy but it was way better than that hole-in-the-wall with a single bed that I used to rent in the tenements. Now, I don’t get to worry about the fat and grumpy landlady knocking on my door at night. Sometimes I wonder how she’s doing.
Their little girl, Lily, is so adorable. She might as well have been my own flesh and blood. Well, figuratively. Not literally. I don’t have a body anymore. Yes. She was a joy to behold. Sweet. Bright. And oh so very small. So very delicate. She had a lot of trouble sleeping, especially if someone wasn’t rocking her crib. Her parents were always so tired from work.
I didn’t get tired. I never get tired. It’s funny when people use the word “dead tired” sometimes. When you’re dead, there isn’t much to do. Tired is not the best combo for it. After they put her to bed, it was easy for me to rock her crib. I could help her. I was always willing to help. There is no sleep for me anyway, so I was always happy to see her in such peaceful slumber. This must be what it is like to be a parent. I never really got to meet my mom and dad. I grew up in a foster home. I also never fathered any children. I would not want to bring a life to this world if I could not even fix my own. Poverty can be hard to get out of sometimes. I guess I just wasn’t fortunate enough. But this really must be how it feels to be a parent.
As the years passed, the couple, James and Mary, realized that they weren’t alone in the house. It didn’t take long from there for them to make a connection between my funeral and when I showed up. I’ve never been malevolent, and I try hard not to make my presence felt a lot so they weren’t afraid.
They started to make it a point to light candles on the anniversary of my death. They left an empty chair for meals and holidays. It’s true what they actually say – after you’re gone and people still remember you, you don’t really die. I really felt like… I’m a member of their family. Something I never had when I was alive. A part of their household. It is still a bit surreal. I’ve been living here for quite a while now. Just there when needed and silent when not.
Someone is trying to force the door open tonight. It’s Mary’s ex-boyfriend. He’s obsessive. He’s angry. He’s abusive. He has a drug problem and has been in trouble with the law a couple of times. That restraining order doesn’t seem to be working. He radiates danger. All that negative energy; I can feel it. By the looks of it, I’m really sure he is really going to hurt the family. That is a problem. It needs a fast solution.
You know what? The thing about ghosts is that the more offerings you get, the stronger you become. I have been enjoying candles, incense, and even the occasional food items for the past couple of years. I got pretty strong from those. Maybe it’s the same with so-called nature spirits or gods; when people pray to them, they become more powerful. I think I’ve read that somewhere but I can’t recall who wrote it. Nowadays, I can push things forcefully or lift them with ease. But I try not to if I don’t have to.
I am contemplating if I should wake them up so they could call the police. Maybe I shouldn’t. The police usually show up late anyway. After all the ruckus, they’re just going to say that they’ll do some investigating and they’ll get on the case as soon as they can. If ever they come on time, which is unlikely, and be able to take the culprit into custody, it’s just going to be a temporary solution. Getting this sick weirdo detained will only make him come back with a vengeance.
A permanent vacation somewhere is what he needs; some place where he won’t be able to bother other people again. I know a place like that exists. I know who takes you there. I know they exist. I’ve seen it happen one time and I saw them. A hardened criminal held a girl hostage and got shot by the police. A few seconds after he died, these guys wearing black cloaks just popped out of nowhere and forcefully dragged him. It was awful. The noises they made were the stuff of nightmares; the screeching sound made by fingernails on a chalkboard can’t even compare. It was really bad. Really really bad. I don’t want to go out like that.
Sometimes I wonder why I am still stuck here. I don’t know. I don’t even have any sort of unfinished business. Not that I know of. I don’t mind though. I like it here anyway. At least I don’t get to wander around much unlike the others. I never liked wandering anyway. I was never pesky either. I don’t want to be like that kid who keeps on bothering people working in the third floor of some call center. Well, that’s what I heard from the neighbors. I’m sure he craves attention. They say that there are times when he cries and they can hear him. Usually during work schedules when there aren’t a lot of people around. He also shows up in the restroom mirrors once in a while; crying and asking for help. People get spooked out instead of feeling pity. He’s been there for quite some time. It’s a little sad.
This kitchen knife feels very warm. I feel an intense shock of heat against the palm of my icy hand. My grip has improved quite a lot. I used to be clumsy but now I can do a full grip and I can even throw things if I want to. This knife is very warm. I’m going to have to use it. I should. I must. I have to do it.
I have been dead for quite a while. It has been eight years maybe. Maybe less. Maybe more. I lost count. This is my house. This is my family. I never had something like this back then. I don’t want them to join me yet. Not yet. Not today.
