Alexander Fantome

When I was a child I was aware of things that other people could not see or hear. My mother thought I was just sensitive because I cried a lot. Most of the time I tried to talk about it, I was told to grow up, be a man, and stop pretending. And so instead of trying to talk about it, I would just sit alone in my room, curled under a blanket with my hands over my ears, attempting to drown out the deafening whispers of those unseen. It wasn't until I was 12 that it really affected me. 

One day when my parents were shopping for food at our local supermarket, I was searching through a bin of old movies being sold for 3 dollars apiece. In order to see all of the movies, I had to stand on my tiptoes and lean over the edge. As I was searching for a Rocky and Bullwinkle movie I had seen, a cold breeze passed over my hand causing goosebumps to pop up all over my body. I paused for a moment and then shrugged dismissing this anomaly as just the air conditioning turning on, and I soon found the movie and reached for it. When I did, another set of hands clasped around it. I looked up and began to apologize, and then I registered who I was speaking to. 

In front of me stood an old woman, short and squat. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears streamed down her face. The white hair she had left seemed to cling to her scalp with great effort. She wore a medical mask, a big scarf, and a heavy winter coat that covered all but her snow boots. Her breath came in ragged gasps. It was the middle of summer and about 94 degrees, so, with her attire and the way she was breathing, I could tell there was something very wrong with this woman. 

I was shocked but managed to squeak out the words, "Ma'am do you need help?" 

She just stood there staring at me, tears still rolling down her face. I sprinted down the aisle my mother was in and desperately grabbed her hand and drug her back to the movie bin, but by the time I got back, the woman was gone. That night I was faced with the usual footsteps running down the hallway outside my door and hushed voices whispering secrets I never dared to listen to, but tonight there was another presence. I could sense a watcher. Most of the spirits I come in contact with are repeaters, spirits who repeat their dying day over and over again, almost like a movie. This spirit was just watching me, and I could feel its gaze ripple over me like a cold chill. 

I looked around to see if this presence was close. I scanned every dark corner of my room and peeked into my slightly opened closet door. It was nowhere in sight. I closed my eyes and concentrated, attempting to follow the gaze of the spirit, and the trail led back to my window. I opened my eyes and walked over the window peering into the darkness, and there it was. 

I couldn't quite make out what or who it looked like, but I could see a dark figure standing there, just inside the woods outside my window. It wasn't moving, but I could feel that it knew I was there. I stood there staring at it hoping it would just go away, but it didn't. After half an hour of a horrifying staring contest, I gave up and curled up in my bed with its unseen eyes still piercing into me like needles. Even after what felt like an eternity of shivering like a wet puppy, its eyes didn't leave me. Soon my eyelids became like lead, and I couldn't keep them open any longer. I fell into a deep restless sleep.

    When I woke, it was still dark outside. I sat up and reached for my glasses on my bedside table. My hands came back with nothing. I stared, befuddled at my glasses that hadn't even shifted on the table. I reached out once again, this time focusing on where my glasses lay. I saw my hand reaching for them, I watched as my fingers curled around them, and when I pulled back my hand, still no glasses. I furrowed my brow even further. I went for them very quickly, like someone was playing a prank, and I expected them to move away at the last second. And this time I noticed my hand go through the glasses, and the table. 

My stomach dropped, that wasn't how humans worked. Hands weren't supposed to go through solid objects. I looked at the alarm clock on the other side of the room. It had only been thirty-three minutes since I had gone to sleep. I glanced down at my lap, expecting to see my pajamas, but they weren't there. I was stark naked. 

I began to hyperventilate.  My heart was pounding. I turned around to look at my bed, and I saw the thing that finally pushed me over the edge. I was still there in my bed, fully clothed and asleep. My eyes grew wide, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek. Was I dead? Then I felt those eyes on me again, and suddenly I wasn't scared anymore. I was furious. 

I stood up and marched to the window and glared out at the dark figure. I wasn't sure why this had happened, but I was sure it had something to do with whatever was in those woods. I decided that, if I was dead, there was no harm in going and confronting the watcher. I stomped right out of my bedroom door, down the stairs, and to the front door. I grabbed for the handle angrily, forgetting that I couldn't make contact with solid objects, and stumbled headfirst through the closed door and onto the porch. I stumbled around for a bit trying to find my footing. After finding my balance, I looked around and was shocked. Everything was different. 

It was brighter than I'd expected. It wasn't as bright as the sun, but it was like a dying glowstick. Everything gave off a slight blue light, and the stars were all visible but not giving off the light, almost as if they were painted onto a canvas sky. It was so cold that I felt like I'd stepped into the world's largest freezer. I shivered then took a step off the porch. My footsteps made no sound, and I felt like I was floating slightly when I walked. I turned and walked down a hill towards the spot in the woods. I wasn't angry anymore; I didn't feel a need to be angry. I was just curious. 

As I approached the woods, I noticed that a huge shadowy bubble formed a barrier around where the watcher had been standing. It seemed to swallow up the slight light coming off of the trees and grass around it. I approached the bubble with caution. It gave off a slight hum, like a bees nest. I felt the urge to touch it, and when I did my finger with slight effort pushed through. It tickled a bit, but now it was pulling me into it. It went up to my elbow, and it was tingling; then it went up to my shoulder, and my body felt like television static. It pulled my entire body in, and everything went numb and dark. 

My face grew hot. I opened my eyes to the sun beating down on me. I looked down, and I was dressed in a button-down shirt, some jeans, and cowboy boots. I looked around and behind me was my house, but it looked different. The paint wasn't chipped or cracked, the windows weren't covered in cobwebs and dead flies, and the door was a dark oak brown. The yard was lush and green, and the trees in the woods were a lot thinner. A snort brought my attention to a pen filled with horses. An ink-black stallion was being saddled up for riding by a young woman who was positively beaming. She climbed up on him, and they started off at a slow trot, but eventually, they were flying across the pen as fast as the horse's legs could carry them. 

The animal was neighing and snorting so much that you could tell, if horses could smile, it would be smiling. Soon they slowed down, the woman guided the tired horse back towards the brick barn, and they stopped beside a wall. She sat there for a while, not wanting to get off, just scratching the horse behind the ears. 

Suddenly, a gunshot louder than thunder rang out from the house. The horse whinnied and reared up on its hind legs, throwing the woman from its back. She flew off backward and slammed her head into the side of the barn and then went limp. The world went dark, and a gust of wind came through so fast and cold that I had to close my eyes to keep them from stinging. The wind died down, and I opened my eyes to a different scene. I was in a room, dimly lit only by a fireplace. The young woman lay in a bed. A man in a white coat and an older woman stood beside the bed. The woman cried, and the man stood silently; they seemed to be in deep mourning. 

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Faifer, but there's nothing I can do," said the man in the white coat. "She'll need someone to care for her. Feed her and bathe her. We don't know when she'll wake up, but she's still alive." 

"I'll take care of her," the woman said through her sobs. "She's my little girl after all…" she trailed off into another fit of crying. 

The fire went out, and I was plunged into darkness once more. The same gust of wind forced me to close my eyes, and when I opened them again, I was in the same room. It was much different now though. The windows were beginning to grow cobwebs, and the wallpaper was peeling. The wooden floor was worn and so tired of being walked on that it probably groaned with every step. There was still a woman in the bed, but she was now very old-looking with white hair that barely hung to her head. She wore a medical mask and was covered in blankets. There was a woman, probably in her early sixties, sitting in a rocking chair beside the bed, holding the comatose woman's hand. And there was a younger woman who looked frightfully similar to the young woman on the horse. 

"Who would've thought that the one in a coma would outlive most of us," said the woman in the chair.

 "How long has Auntie Mae been like this?" asked the young woman. 

"Since she was 19, so about fifty-nine years," replied the older woman. She broke out into a fit of coughing and quickly turned away from Mae in the bed. She eventually left the room to avoid getting her sick, and the young woman took her place in the chair. 

She grabbed her aunt's hand and squeezed it tight. "I wish I could get to know you," she said longingly. "Everyone says we're almost exactly alike."  She sat in silence for a little while longer, then stood up and went to the door. She took one last sad look at the comatose woman, then sighed and left. 

It went dark again, and I closed my eyes in advance to avoid the stinging wind. When I opened my eyes, I was still in the room. But this time it was dark and cold. The old woman was alone. It was deathly quiet, and the only thing that could be heard was the wind rustling the trees outside. Suddenly, the old woman's eyes flew open. She inhaled sharply and sat bolt upright in her bed. I heard her mumble something about telling Charlie it's okay. She went to stand up. But her unused legs couldn't hold her, and she tumbled to the floor. Being determined, she started to drag herself towards the bedroom door. I went to help her up but of course, couldn't touch her, and my hand went straight through her arm. She shivered for a moment and looked around but then continued on her way. 

She reached a staircase with a railing and with all her strength propped herself up on the railing. She slowly and painfully made her way downstairs with her bony arms and legs working above and beyond to keep her from falling headfirst down the stairs. Eventually, she made it to the front door and flung it open and was met with a cold, biting gust of wind. She shut the door realizing that she probably couldn't go outside in just a nightgown in this weather and found a coat rack with a shoe mat under it. She picked up a coat that was much too big for her frail body and put it on, covered her all the way to her ankles. She threw on a pair of snow boots and a scarf and then headed out into the freezing weather. 

Her legs were now working better, and she began stumbling through the snow in the direction of the brick barn. Upon reaching the barn, she opened a side door and entered, shaking off some snowflakes, and looked around in bewilderment at the almost empty building. She looked around for a moment not knowing what to do, and then a snort from the back corner of the barn drew her attention. She broke into a toothless grin and exclaimed, "Charlie!". She saddled toward the corner where the noise came from and opened a stall door to be greeted by a brown and white horse shuffling its hooves awkwardly in the corner. The smile left her face, and she plopped down on the ground outside the stall and began to cry. 

"You're not Charlie…" she said, and then wiped a tear from her cheek. When she did, she looked at her hand, and her breath caught in her throat. She examined her left hand and its wrinkles closely. She then lifted her right hand and did the same. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no, no!" She got up, hobbled towards a water trough, and leaned over to see her reflection. She screamed at the sight of her leathery old skin and began moving as quickly as possible towards the door of the barn. On her way out, her foot got caught in a crack in the floor, and, with a snap, she fell forward outside into the snow. 

She lay motionless for a moment. And I thought she had died right then and there. Then she rolled over and started crying, screaming for help. She couldn't move. Her energy was gone, and her ankle was broken. She screamed and screamed until her voice became cracked and hoarse. And then she screamed some more until eventually her voice stopped working and she couldn't have screamed more if she wanted to. So she just lay there in the dark, covered in snow and tears, and froze to death. 

I was in shock at what I'd just witnessed, but I didn't have much time to process it when it went dark again and the wind came through and it forced my eyes shut. This time I found myself standing in front of a headstone that read "Emma-Mae Faifer 1905-1983". Leaves crunched behind me, and I turned to see an old woman in a wheelchair being pushed by a middle-aged woman. They both looked solemn and lost. "It's been a while, Auntie Mae," said the middle-aged woman. It dawned on me that these were probably the same two people I'd seen beside her bed earlier. They sat in silence for a moment, mourning the loss of Emma-Mae. They changed her flowers and left. 

The world went dark again, and I shut my eyes and braced for the wind, but it never came. When I opened them, I was back where the shadow bubble had been, but it was gone and instead, there was the woman I'd seen at the supermarket whom I now knew to be Emma-Mae Faifer. She stood there, just as she had in the store, with bloodshot eyes wide open, tears streaming down her cheeks. I wasn't afraid this time though; I understood what had happened, and I was just sad. 

I felt tears well up in my own eyes. "I'm sorry that happened to you," I said. "What scared your horse in the first place?" I asked. She pointed slowly at the house behind me, and I turned around to see what was there.  There was nothing but my house. I turned back around, eager to ask more questions, but she was gone. The only thing left where she stood was a patch of melting snow. 

I walked confusedly back up to my room where I sat on the bed and began to contemplate what just happened. Suddenly, my eyes became heavy again. I rubbed them to try and stay awake, but the rhythm of sleep was slowly taking me away. As I lay down, I took one last look out my window at the glowing trees against the painted stars in a silhouetted sky, and then I closed my eyes, and all was dark.