He's Not a Ghost

There was blood on my hands. I thought it might be mine. I couldn’t be certain. I didn’t feel any pain, so maybe it wasn’t. It was dripping from my fingertips onto the carpet below. It was fresh, falling almost gently from my palms. It must’ve been mine. And still, I felt nothing.

There was glass at my feet. Oh. There was blood on those, too. Shards imbedded into my toes and arches. I wiggled my toes; blood spurted from the open wounds. And still, I felt nothing.

There was a mirror on the floor. Its once golden frame was cracked in several places- the once shining reflective surface a shattered mess. There was blood staining the sharp edges still desperately clinging to the frame. My blood. And still, I felt nothing.

I looked down at my hands. Shards were poking out of my knuckles, a couple of my fingers sliced open and oozing the red liquid. And still, I felt nothing.

Someone must have come in and seen the mess- or maybe they’d heard the glass break- but I was suddenly sitting in my bed, my blanket pulled up over me, clean hands prodding at my knuckles with tweezers. I watched as the tiny bits of glass were plucked from my skin and set into a little metal dish with a delicate clink.

Clink. Clink. Clink.

“Miss Sommers? Are you feeling alright?” I was certain people had been talking to me the entire time, but I’d only just now heard the actual words the man spoke. He was looking at me over the top of his glasses, his brow furrowed. His white lab coat was a size too big for him, and he looked like a little kid wearing his fathers clothes. He set the tweezers aside and started dabbing my hands with what I assumed was antiseptic wipes.

I didn’t answer his question. I thought he’d forgotten he’d even asked it. I watched as he wrapped my wounds carefully with medical tape and wondered if he’d already done my feet. If he had, I didn’t notice.

He packed his equipment up and left in a haze. I vaguely sensed a nurse fussing over me- checking temperature, blood pressure, shining a flashlight into my eyes. I was aware of her voice hovering in the air, but I couldn’t be bothered listening.

At some point, I’d fallen asleep, and when I woke the room was dark and empty- the only light coming from the hallway under the little sliver of the door. I could hear the sound of the clock above my bed ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I wished there was a window in here, but they told me I wasn’t ready for a window, yet. After my incident with the mirror today, they’d probably never let me have a window. I sighed and swung my legs over the bed. The carpet was cold under my feet. They were bandaged, after all. I could still make out the faint traces of leftover blood dotting through the material. My hands didn’t look much better.

I wasn’t sure how long I sat like that for, staring numbly down at my bandaged hands, my feet sliding absently over the carpet. I watched as shadows passed under the door, faint voices drifting from the hallway. I couldn’t make out their words- I didn’t care to try.

I felt cold, then, like someone had decided to blast the air conditioning and I was getting the brunt of it. But the vent was all the way on the other side of the room, and it wasn’t thrumming with power. I pulled my blanket around my shoulders and shivered into the stale air.

Then came the pounding. It was soft at first- a gentle knocking on the wall behind my bed, and then it grew louder, more desperate. A sledgehammer being slammed into it over and over again. I startled and stumbled to my feet, pressing my back against the opposite wall. There were no cracks or fractures, no holes forming in the plaster. And then the pounding stopped. I had imagined it, I was sure. A side effect of being called insane.

“I don’t think you’re insane.”

The voice spooked me so much that I completely fell over, landing harshly on the ground, the cuts in my hands stinging with the impact. I looked around feverishly for the source, but there was no one in the room with me. I was completely alone.

“You should probably be taking your meds though.”

“Who’s there?” I knew it was a corny thing to say, but my racing heartbeat could think of nothing else.

A chuckle- hazy- like it was coming from far away. “Tell me your name, first.” The voice teased.

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was bone-dry. “I won’t speak to you. You aren’t real.”

“Hurtful,” and then I saw him. A young man hovering over me, his arms folded across his chest, his dark hair spilling black ink over his eyes. “I’m as real as you are.”

I was stunned speechless. My breath had left my lungs. All I could do was stare up at this strange figure, wavering between translucence and solidity. I wanted to get up, to run away, but my body wouldn’t listen to me. I was a useless heap on the carpet- still soiled from my blood.

“You’re the one that called, you know,” he said nonchalantly.

“I…” I stammered. “I didn’t call anyone.”

He eyed me with a raised eyebrow. “You broke the mirror, didn’t you?”

I could feel life slowly seeping back into my bones, and I shakily pushed myself to my feet, still clinging to the wall for support. He rolled his eyes at the puzzled look on my face and waltzed across the room, examining the nightstand by my bed. There was nothing but a battery-powered lamp on it. They let me have nothing else.

“Who are you?” I whispered, struggling to find a more demanding voice.

He turned, his body flickering like a dying light. “I could be asking you the same question.”

“Elizabeth Sommers,” there seemed no use hiding it, a ghost could do no damage with just a name. Could it?

“I know,” he said with an air of arrogance that prickled my skin.

“Then why make me tell you?” I couldn’t seem to figure out how to ask the right questions- like, what are you? Or why are you here?

He shrugged, passing his hand through the lamp dully. I blinked a few times to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

“So, you are a ghost, then?” I said.

“Is that what you think?” he smirked, and I felt that prickle of annoyance bubbling up again. I just wanted this boy to leave- I didn’t need anymore reasons to be called crazy.

He sauntered over to me, hands in his pockets, his form wavering in and out like a reflection in the water.

“You broke the mirror,” he breathed, his face inches from mine. And yet, I could feel no breath. No radiating warmth of another body. It was like he wasn’t even there.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded. “The mirror broke by accident.”

“Is that true?”

I faltered. Was it? I honestly couldn’t remember now. I recalled the day they brought it in; they had told me they were proud of my progress and wanted me to have a place to do my hair in the morning if I wanted. I hadn’t thought much of it- it seemed like a pathetic gesture. I figured I’d smashed it out of anger. Anger that I was here. Anger because I was constantly being treated like a… I didn’t want to finish that thought.

“Like a schizophrenic?” the boy finished.

My gaze shot to him in surprise, my eyes searching his. They were oddly bright for someone who didn’t exist. The blue of a diamond refracting in the light. They were filled with amusement, that stupid smirk still plastered to his face.

“How did you do that?” I whispered.

“I’m not a ghost,” was all he said before wandering away; a slow, disinterested saunter around the small space.

The air felt heavy, suddenly. My lungs felt trapped in my chest, my heart pounding in my ears. My limbs wouldn’t move. I felt weighed down by my own mind- constantly trapping and tricking me. I was never on my own side.

“I’m insane,” I breathed, and found myself sliding down the wall, hugging my knees to my chest.

“You still think I’m not real?” the boy asked. “How offensive. I’m as real as you are.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stared at him, my eyes wide.

“The mirror, Elizabeth,” he said exasperatedly. “It’s a call. When it breaks, we come.”

“Who’s “we”?”

He came to crouch down in front of me. “You’re not insane. I’m real.” His voice was gentle, then, and I felt my breath starting to return to me.

“I didn’t mean to call you,” I explained. “I think… I think I was angry. That’s all.”

“But you need help.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

He leaned back; his palms planted on the carpet behind him. He eyed me curiously before saying, “You don’t want to be here.”

I lifted my chin defiantly. It was true, but this boy was aggravating me so much that I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right. “Who says I don’t?”

“Don’t be silly,” the corner of his mouth lifted. “No one wants to be here.”

“So why are you?”

He rolled his eyes- those blinding blue eyes- and said, “I’m here because you called. Not because I want to be.”

“I don’t understand how this works. Are you a magic genie? Am I supposed to ask for three wishes?” I mocked.

Voices sounded from the other side of the door, and we both glanced over at it. The door cracked open, and one of the female nurses poked her head through.

“Miss Sommers?” she whispered. “Are you alright?” She spotted me on the floor, a look of surprise crossing her face. She slid into the room and shut the door behind her. “Miss Sommers, what are you doing down there?”

“Are you going to lie?” the boy asked.

I tried to ignore him. I knew the nurse couldn’t see him- I wasn’t sure how I knew that, but I just knew.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered- it wasn’t really a lie.

She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Back to bed with you, miss.” She motioned for me to get back in bed.

           I did. I crawled back under the covers and let her tuck me in gently before she departed from the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

           “Well,” the boy said, still sitting on the floor. “I see how very joyful and exciting it is here. You’re right, maybe you do want to be here after all.”

           I shot a glare at him. “Alright, fine. It’s bloody miserable here.”

           He shot to his feet and leaned over the foot of the bedframe. “I ruddy knew it!”

           “Child,” I muttered, slinking deeper under my blanket.

           He laughed, and I was taken aback by the sound. It was a musical laugh, like the tinkling of little Christmas bells on a snowy morning. I felt a surge of warmth rush through me. There was a strange familiarity to this boy, and I found myself wishing he was real, and not just a figment of my imagination.

           “Alright, so that’s why you called, then, innit?” he mused, pacing the room again. “You want help getting out of here.”

           “I told you, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to call you.”

           He held his arms out in a half-hearted shrug. “Well, I’m here. So let me help you.”

           “What can you even do?” I asked. “You’re just a ghost.”

           He put a hand to his heart dramatically and did a faux stumble. “How dare you still assume I’m a ghost? After all we’ve been through.” He shook his head and let out an exaggerated breath.

           I let out a small giggle, then threw my hand over my mouth in surprise. I hadn’t laughed in… oh goodness, I couldn’t remember how long. I was all at once finding his playful nature exciting, and I wanted to play along.

           I shoved the blanket down and sat up with a bounce. “Alright then,” I said with a smile. “If you’re not a ghost, then are you really just something invented by my mind?”

           Did I want the answer? As soon as I asked it, my blood went cold. If the answer was yes, then I really was insane, and I’d probably never get out of here. I realized I was holding my breath while I waited for him to respond.

           He put his finger to his chin and made a theatrical thinking face. “No, I’m not,” he said.

           I breathed. “Then who are you? Be honest, for once.”

           “I’ve been honest this whole time. I came when you called, and I’m here to help.” Now his hands were going to his hips, and he was posing like a superhero.

           I was now laughing with my full body, my head tipping back and my hands going to my chest. I felt free, then. There was a light searing through my bones, my mind feeling outside of me, but this time not in a bad way. Not in a way out of my control.

           I heard the boy laughing with me, and I looked over at him. It was a beautiful thing- his body arched slightly back, his smile gleaming, his blue eyes wide.

           Happiness. I hadn’t felt it in a long time.

           We both quieted, little breaths of laughter escaping us as we regained control of ourselves. And then he was looking at me, and I was looking at him. His eyes dancing in the dim glow of his own body. I wondered if mine were dancing, too.

           “Alright,” his voice was a ragged whisper now, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll help you get out of here.”

           My heart was hammering in my chest. “How?”

           He was silent for a long moment, and I felt something unfamiliar bubbling in my chest. I wanted to leave. But I didn’t want to leave if this strange boy couldn’t come with me.

           “I think you know how to leave,” he finally said- quietly, gently. He was like a soft breeze on a fall day, when you knew rain was coming, but basked in the comfort of enjoying a hot cup of tea and a good book while it drizzled. He was like sitting by a fireplace and listening to the pleasant crackles of the flames while the warmth settled into your bones.

           And I didn’t want him to leave. And I didn’t want him to leave.

           “Where do I go?” I asked. I found myself on my hands and knees on the bed, my face inching towards his.

           “There’s a whole world out there,” he replied. “Explore.”

           “Won’t you come with me?”

           He faltered. “I…”

           My heart stopped. Please. Say yes.

           “I can’t.”

           “Then I stay here,” I said. “I stay here. With you.”

           He was looking at me through his eyelashes, and a wave of tenderness washed over me. I reached out - slowly, carefully- and placed my hand on top of his. I could feel him. He was real. He was here. My breath shuddered.

           “Stay here, then,” he said, eyes flashing to stare at my hand atop his. “But you’ll have to leave one day.” He turned his hand over so that our palms were touching. I was pleasantly surprised by how warm his hands were.

           “Why?”

           “There’s a whole world out there,” he repeated, a deep-seated sadness behind his words. “You have to go and see it for me.”

           I felt a tear slide down my cheek. “Are you real?”

           He brought his gaze back to mine, and the pain was so evident that it made my heart burn. “Yes,” he choked. “But only for a moment.”

           “I suppose,” I started. “We are all real, only for a moment.”

           He tried for a smile, but it was so filled with sorrow that he gave up. “Yes. I suppose so.”

           “There’s a whole world out there,” I said, ducking my face to get his eyes back on mine. “Come and see it with me.”

           He stood up straight then, our hands falling away from each other. “You’ll get out of here, then? You’ll behave? Get released?”

           “Will you be here while I do?” I heard the desperation in my voice, but I didn’t care.

           He nodded slowly. “I will be here. Until you leave.”

           I closed my eyes, the tears falling so freely that my cheeks were soaked. I felt his fingers on my cheek, brushing the tears away with his thumbs. I leaned into him.

           “I don’t even know your name,” I murmured against his palm.

           “I don’t think you need to.” He was right. I didn’t think it mattered. He was here, and he would be here. Until I left.

           And suddenly, I felt everything.