I wish there was a ghost.
One of man's greatest fear is being alone.
Dear Subscribers,
I just wanted to have a word with you before today’s story. I’d like first to apologize for my absence of late, but I promise it’s for a good cause. First, to get something out of the way, the reasons why I’ve only been posting Flash Fictions for the past few months is that my book is finally at its final stage. September/October specifically was when I’m fully concentrated on getting all of the leftover bits and bobs done with the editing and cover and printing.
I’ve been fortunate enough, that after a few years here in the UK, I am finally at the position where I could set aside money and time to finish my book, and to say I am excited is a gross understatement. So, some plans for the future: after I got my book out there (around Christmas or February at the latest), I would get back to the swing of thing and publish other writing projects here on Substack twice a week. That’s it, short and simple.
Of course I am also going to plug the Hades out of my book, so please if you want to support me directly, but it when it’s out on Amazon (everyone who’s subscribed will get a discount code if they shoot me a message).
Thank you! And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming, something mildly spooky for Halloween. But subscribe first if you haven’t.
- You can have the job… if you want.
- If I want, sir?
- Have you heard why we’re hiring?
- The previous guy was on maternity leave. I am literate, sir, if that is what you are implying.
- Did you read all of it, the job description.
- Resilience, responsible, self-starter, no experience required, living expenses paid, URGENTLY NEEDED. That is good enough for me, sir. I can handle hardwork.
- You sure can read. Okay, I’m just going to go through it again. The rain gauge is atop that Mountain over there, around 7km away from the nearest town.
- I have always been alone, sir.
- Not like this you haven’t. But if you are sure of yourself, just sign here and here.
- Will there be a supervisor?
- One, stationed at the aforementioned town. If you can last a year, we’ll move you to the Forecast Station closer to town. If you can’t, we’ll terminate the contract and pay for your time.
I signed without letting him finish, mostly for myself. Any other words from him and I might turn back. I was already scared shitless. But I hung on. I needed this job. I even put on this itchy suit, and standing straight for so long was killing my back. But I hung on. Despite the thought of living alone atop that mountain clamming my hands and pits, despite the fact that I haven’t slept by myself ever, I hung on.
- Are you sure?
I gave the second signature, letting my hunger resolved my will and overwhelmed my fear. It was either this or going back to my mother’s. I thought I would do anything to not go back to my mother’s.
The guy before me wasn’t married, but it was a good excuse as any to get out of the rain gauge atop the mountain. He was so close to that one-year mark, but just couldn’t hold on. And before that was a veteran, wifeless, childless, who stayed for ten years, then vanished without a trace.
I regretted my decision about five minutes at the gauge. If there was ever a better setting for a murder house, this would be it. Except of the measuring equipment, everything else looked like they hadn’t been touched for a century: roots and moss covered almost every surface of the wall and the roof; the legs of the bedframe rusted once, so they had to replace them with wooden pegs, and the wooden pegs had long been feasted on by termites, the same termites that had made it halfway through the table; and the only way to keep warm was a furnace, surrounded by pans and pots left over by his predecessors.
Dusk came, along with fear. I turned on every possible light source, closed any possible curtains, and triple locked every doorway I could. I even went to bed with a knife by my side, yet sleep alluded me as much as I avoided that shadow in the corner, or the howl of the wind, or was that a human figure I saw in the corner of my eyes. Every possible scary story I’ve heard came rushing back. I can’t stand it. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” I said voicelessly, as I was afraid of my own voice echoing the emptiness. That corner could be hiding anything, from a severed hand to a severed head, all ready to drag my soul away.
Morning came as a surprise. I found myself still there, working the tools. Truth of the matter was, I couldn’t afford to leave: the last of my savings were used to buy foods and essentials, which were unfortunately not refundable. I was to measure the rain level four times a day at a 6-hour interval. The man who gave me the job also prepared a plethora of documents I would need to read over in preparation for my promotion at the end of the year, if I made it that long. Between the work and the study, darkness be come less scary, to the point I was able to open the window a couple of days later.
My fear of ghosts were no longer relevant two weeks into the job. Another emotion, however, crash in like the rain. The supernatural had made place for loneliness.
Dusk blanketed the forest now, its embrace brought melancholy that choked the birds and monkeys. The sea was right below me, straight down from the balcony, but no direct trail. The supervisor who was supposed to check on me every week never came. Instead, he buzzed an alarm that would blare until I turned it off. I was tempted to leave it, to force him to come. I didn’t have it in me to bother another man that way. Desperate, I would make the three-hour walk to the town to find any resemblance of human connections, to talk with the townsfolk. All I could manage to get out of them was a hello, as if that same loneliness had robbed them of their speech.
Sometimes, I would sing. Other times, sitting alone on that balcony that looked over the sea, I wished for a ghost. I wished that severed hand or head to shake my hand or talk to me.
“I wish there was a ghost!” – I screamed.
Nothing responded.
Spring came, along with flowers, along with change. There was an old man that would come to pick flowers just before dusk.
“Mind if I pick some flower, young man?” – The old man said, his hands waving to catch my attention, his trembling voice amplified by the desolation of the area. How did he get in here? There must have been a hole on the fence.
“Of course, please help yourself.” – I would give him all of the flowers on Earth if he spoke to me a little bit longer.
He was about 80, with his back hunch, his hair white but well kempt. I asked him why he was picking flowers.
“For one thing, they are quite pretty, no? There isn’t always a reason to be doing anything.” – He laughed.
“Coming all the way here at your age just to pick flowers, you must love them.”
“Not particularly. It’s just something I wanted to do.” – He said again, his smile warmed me to the core.
From then on, I would see the old man came at around dusk to pick flowers. I’ve never found that hole on the fence, but I told him I’d leave the door open. We would sometimes share a drink.
“I hope I’m not a bother.”
“Please, I wouldn’t mind if you’re here more often.”
The liquors were mine, to stave off the loneliness. The snack was his, sometimes a mango, others a packet of peanuts. His house was around a kilometre away, deep in the wood “that way,” he would point to a direction.
Until one day, I was sick, with rashes all over. In such circumstances, I was instructed to use the emergency phone on the wall, but the wires had long been victim of the termites. Not expecting any help from the buzzer guy, I walked the direction to the old man’s house, hoping to use his phone.
Greeting me at the door was a young woman.
“Is your grandpa home, miss?” – I asked.
“Grandpa? I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong address, which is very peculiar considering where we are, but I’ve been here with my husband and children for around 10 years.”
I described the old man to her, and how he’d bring mangos for us to snack on.
“You can have a look at the garden yourself. I don’t think there’s any mango tree to spot.”
The garden had a lot of trees, but none was mango.
“Maybe I did make a mistake. Do you happen to know of anyone with that description around here?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen any old man in this area, let alone picking flowers. If you take a look that way, none of my neighbours have mango trees either.”
It was true. No mango trees to be found.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion. Would you mind if I use your phone, it’s a medical emergency.” – He pointed at his rash-filled hands.
“Why didn’t you say so in the first place, silly. Come in, you can wait inside while we wait for the ambulance.”
At this time of day, I suppose her husband and children are away. She offered me a seat on the sofa, then went inside to make some tea.
As I dialled the number, a picture caught my eyes. In it was the old man with his warm smile and arch back, his hands sat firmly on a little girl’s shoulders. Written on the picture was in loving memories of…