Part 2: Disbelief
a serial ghost story by Erin Zarro
“It can’t be,” I said, turning away from the closet and the radio. “I don’t believe in poltergeists. Or ghosts, for that matter.”
Shelley’s eyes narrowed. “Really? I-I didn’t realize. Well, how else can you explain this, then?” She pointed to the closet, one eyebrow arched in question. “It’s not plugged in, so there’s no power.”
“I know.” I turned back to the closet. I had no explanation that wasn’t a poltergeist or ghost…or Adam visiting me. But did I just want it to be? Maybe it was just a glitch?
Shelley’s hand touched my shoulder, and I tensed. “Look, um, I don’t talk about this stuff to anybody because they’d think I’m mentally unstable, but I am, uh, sensitive to this type of energy —”
“What type of energy?” Nausea churned my insides. What was she saying?
“Ghosts and stuff,” Shelley said. “And I’m willing to bet that poltergeist — or whatever it is — is someone you know. Am I right?” Her gaze met mine, and I suddenly wanted to go somewhere and hide.
She not only believed in ghosts and poltergeists, but was sensitive to energy? What did that mean? Did I dare hope that Adam was actually here?
No, he couldn’t be.
“None of this is real,” I said.
“What if I said it was? And that you could communicate with this person?”
I barked out a laugh. “That only happens in fiction. He’s gone, and he’s not coming back.” I closed the door as “Wanted: Dead or Alive” began to play. “I’ll see you after lunch.”
###
Work got extremely busy, and I wasn’t able to think a whole lot about the radio, Adam, or what Shelley said. I still struggled with the new program, and Shelley had to help me. At around five o’clock, it was clear that I wasn’t going to get to leave at closing time. I still had a ton of work to do.
“What me to hang for awhile in case you need help?” Shelley asked, taking a sip of her ice water. She sat on the edge of my desk, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you’re so behind.”
I sighed, trying not to think about the work I still had yet to do. “That’d be great, thanks. Just for a bit. I don’t want to hold you up. Especially if you have plans tonight.” I grinned, remembering that she’d mentioned a hot date she had later.
“This won’t interfere. In fact, it’ll keep my mind off of it,” she replied. She eyed the papers on my desk. “Why don’t you grab a soda and an empty notebook and come back here? I want to try something.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s this about?” Not more diagrams! She’d drawn so many today. I was diagrammed out. And they didn’t do any good, as I just wasn’t very visually oriented. I had to do it to understand.
“You’ll see.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on. I’ll be waiting.”
I did as she’d said, my mind buzzing with all sorts of ideas about what she’d have me do next in the hopes of teaching me this new software. Hopefully it would be something that stuck.
The radio had stayed silent, curiously enough, as I rummaged around for an empty notebook. But I held my breath, waiting, wondering if another Bon Jovi song would come on. And then I mentally shook my head, realizing how utterly silly I was being. This was all just an illusion, something to comfort me in my grieving. Adam was not here, and he was not communicating with me. Obviously, there was something wrong with the radio.
Right?
Why did that belief feel so fragile, as if it would shatter into a million tiny pieces if I looked at it too closely?
Because you want to believe in it, a voice in my head said. God didn’t take Adam away. He brought him home.
Yeah, well. Bringing him home meant he wasn’t here with me. And now my entire family was home, and I was stuck alone and grieving. It just wasn’t fair.
My eyes filled with tears, and I blinked them away. I needed to stay focused and professional. I could cry when I got home.
When I got to my very empty home.
I trudged down the hall, contemplating the fugly beige carpet and plain walls on the way to my desk and giving a solemn wave to the shipping manager as I passed by his office. Would things ever return to some sense of normalcy? Because right now, it felt as if nothing would ever be normal again. Whatever “normal” was now.
I sat down and took a swig of my soda, resolving to get this done as quickly as possible so I could have the epic cryfest that was coming.
“All right, got the soda and the notebook. Now what?” I grabbed a pen and looked up at my friend, trying to smile even though I was anything but happy.
Shelley frowned. “You are not okay,” she said softly as the accountant hurried past us, her perfume following in her wake. “What’s going on?”
Crap. Now I was really going to cry. “Just feeling lonely. My apartment’s so empty. I have to go back there after I’m done here, and…they’re all…” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. My heart constricted as tight as a fist.
Shelley patted my shoulder. “Come stay with me. I’ve got room. I also have two dogs and two cats. Never a dull moment.” Her gaze flicked to the notebook. “This should help. Open the notebook to the first page.” I did as she directed, my stomach clenching with anxiety. What on earth was she going to have me do? “I want you to write a letter to one person who’s deceased that you miss terribly. Maybe even the same person who played Bon Jovi this afternoon. I get the feeling he or she is really important. Write that person like he or she is alive, just away somewhere. Tell him or her about your life. But be sure to mention how you’re feeling now. Leave nothing out. Sign it, date it, and add the time.”
I put the pen down, letting out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “How is this going to help with anything? It’s just going to make me feel worse!”
Shelley smiled. “You’d be surprised what this can do. Trust me.” She jumped off my desk. A few of my trinkets shook but didn’t fall off. “It can work miracles if you believe in it. I’ll give you some privacy. In, say, a half hour, we’ll get back to it?”
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll try, but I seriously don’t —”
“Just believe in it,” Shelley said firmly, then walked back to her desk. I watched her sit down and type something on her computer. She was probably surfing the internet or playing a game.
I had to write someone a letter.
Adam?
Or Mom, or Dad, or Penny?
No, Adam. He was on my mind the most, the death that truly hurt me when I was a teenager, the future that got cut short. I had no doubt in my mind that had he’d lived, we’d be married right now, and maybe we’d even have kids.
Dearest Adam,
Damn, I miss you. When I heard that song coming out of the radio — that strangely wasn’t even plugged in — of course I thought it was you, sending me a message from wherever you are. But I don’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife. You’re in the ground, my love. You’re not here to send me songs you used to sing. But damn, I wish it were true.
You don’t know this, but my family was killed in a plane crash. I was the only survivor. And it weighs heavily on me. Three wonderful people gone, my family. How do you cope with that? How do you go on?
And the house. Remember the house? I sold it. And I sold almost everything in it. I couldn’t bear to keep that stuff, those memories haunting me. I live in a small apartment now. It feels claustrophobic and tiny and wrong, but at least I’m not bombarded with memories every second of every day.
Wetness on my cheeks made me realize that I was crying again. What was I doing? Why was I doing this again? Right. To feel better. But Adam wasn’t… he actually didn’t…this wasn’t real.
I took hold of the paper and was about to tear it out of the notebook when Shelley’s head came up, and her eyes bore into mine. Like lasers. I wanted to shrink back from that gaze. It felt like a giant weight shoving me down.
“Don’t do that,” she said, shaking her head. “That would defeat the entire purpose. It’ll get better, I promise.”
“I feel stupid,” I said.
“You can. Just don’t stop.” She pointed to the notebook. “You have a few more minutes. Keep writing.”
I let out an exasperated breath. Whatever.
So Shelley is forcing me to write this as a way to “feel better” and to, I guess, talk to you? I don’t quite get it at all, because you’re not here. But she’s adamant, and she’s actually kind of scary when she gets like this, so I’m just going to humor her for now.
It can’t hurt.
Funny, I don’t miss you any less.
It’s still an open wound inside me. It never healed, you know? I mean, we were sixteen. We had our whole lives ahead of us. You had your music, and we wanted to get married after school, and…and…
More tears, damn it, dripping on the paper now. Wet spots. Ugly and spreading, smearing the lines. Luckily not my writing, but what did it matter? It wasn’t like Adam was going to actually read this drivel.
“How do you feel now?”
Shelley’s voice made me jump. I hadn’t heard her approach. I looked up at her, not bothering to wipe my face.
“Oh, Kristen. Clearly that brought some stuff to the surface,” she said soothingly. “Okay. Put the notebook in a drawer for now. We’ll use it again tomorrow, so don’t lose it. Or burn it,” she said with a chuckle and an eye roll. I couldn’t bring myself to chuckle with her. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and get yourself put back together? Then we’ll get back to work?”
I glanced at the clock. Getting close to six. I nodded. “Okay.” I took a breath, stood on shaky legs, and went to the bathroom.
I cleaned myself up and used the facilities. I ignored the happy fluffy pink girly décor everywhere and the bright flower arrangements. Normally they’d make me smile, but today I just didn’t feel like smiling.
I tried not to think about what just happened. I could break down later.
Work was calling.
As I was sitting back down at my desk, my heart in my throat, Shelley gestured toward my notebook. “You forgot to put that away. It’s really important that it stays out of your sight for twenty-four hours until you use it again. Part of the magic.” She winked.
“Hmm,” I murmured, picking it up. It slipped from my fingers, and the papers flipped to where I’d stopped writing my letter.
Shelley gasped.
“What?” I asked.
“Look,” she whispered.
I looked.
In shaky, angular, blocky handwriting that I immediately recognized as Adam’s, there were two words below the last line of my letter:
Hi, sweetheart.
All the air left the room, and I felt the world tilt.
“That’s-that’s Adam,” I said before everything went black.