by Solomon Tate
They’re back. Just when I was beginning to think it was safe to roam around the house, it’s happened. The ghosts have returned, or so my wife has reported. This time however, she’s not just seeing them. Hell, she;’s now feeling them. The spirits of the departed are now sharing information with my wife. She says that they are communicating with her. Spiritually. Metaphysically. She doesn’t hear them, but she says she can sense the information.
Last month she asked about a friend of mine who was quite ill and near death. She asked me if he had passed yet. I told her I didn’t know. “I think you should check..”, she said. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like something’s happened.” The next morning I looked into it, and discovered that he had passed away the evening before. She’s rarely wrong.
She likes to talk about it a lot. She likes to share everything about their comings and goings with me, thinking that I would like to know. I wouldn’t. I tell her that I do not share her exuberance about these apparitions but truth be told, the whole thing scares the shit out of me. “Why?”, she has asked me.
“Because they’re ghosts.”, I explained.
“They’re always here, you know.”, she continued. “Sometimes they just don’t say or do anything.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”, I said.
“Well it should.”, she advised. “There’s nothing bad about them.”
I suspect that my wife is like a lighthouse for the spirit world. A conduit and a beacon for those wishes to return from the other side. She told me that she recently had a supernatural experience. Someone who had passed came to her in a dream and informed her that he would be calling my daughter to let her know that everything is okay. The next day my daughter came home and told my wife that while at work, a particular favorite song came on the radio. Just then the phone rang and when she answered it, no one was there. Coincidence? My wife is sure it isn’t. She says it was his spirit.
She says that some of them have come for me. She says that every time I feel like someone is tugging at my short, or if I sense that someone is in the room but no one is there, its them. “Who?”, I ask.
“I’m not sure.”, she answers. “Could be one of your parents or your grandfather, or maybe one of your friends. They’re just trying to let you knew that they’re around.”
She found a bobby pin on the floor in the hallway. She was convinced that her grandmother had left it for her to find. “I’m not an expert”, I said, “but do spirits need bobby pins?” She told me that they didn’t, and that it was just a sign. Her grandmother used bobby pins. All of the time. It was a sign that she was nearby. I have never had an other worldly experience of my own, but seem to endure them vicariously through her homing signal that seems to penetrate the other side. They come to her, and even though though I ask her not to open the door, she willingly lets them in so that they can fly around my house just to tell me something I’m not certain I want to know. She insists that if I just open up to them, they will communicate with me. I remind her that I would still prefer a postcard, unless of course they are willing to give me the winning lottery numbers. Spiritually. Metaphysically.