Aid From Byond the Grave

I got dared by one of my friends to write a story about a ghost or lost soul but make it immersive for the readers. Do you think I succeeded?

I don't think there are many triggers, but if you feel something has to be added, please let me know. But hey, it's a story about ghosts and lost souls for Halloween, so of course it can get uncomfortable ¯\ _(ツ)_/¯

Hope you'll enjoy this one (๑•᎑•๑)

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Write a story

about souls or ghosts

Triggers: Mentions of death and violence

Word count: 871

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I have never been a believer. But my granny had religion rooted deep in her bones. She always said that we never truly leave our loved ones even if we don't walk the earth with them. And since my grandpa died unexpectedly, she became almost obsessed with that thought.

She always talks to him like he is still there. Asks him how his day went and what would he like for dinner. And he apparently asks too since she goes silent and looks into space for a moment before she answers a question nobody else can hear. She lights the scented candles before bed every night because he couldn't sleep without the pine aroma in the air.

I can't say I blame her. They had a really strong and loving relationship. I loved him dearly too. His death was so sudden no one had seen it coming. That was probably the worst of it. That shock when you get the news and the moment before your brain realizes what it means.

You want to deny it. You want so badly for it to not be true. You refuse to believe it. But then they show you photographs from the scene and ask you if it is him. And you can't deny it any longer. You recognize the polished shoes he cared for so much since they were an anniversary present from his wife. You recognize the jacket he bought from the market because it was nicely warm for chilly autumn days. But you can hardly recognize his face.

It was a mugging. Somebody found him in the park not so far from our home. He was just five minutes away from safety. They say he was hit several times with a blunt metal object, probably some kind of pipe. His wallet was missing. Ironically he never carried much money with him. His wallet lacked anything somebody else would find valuable. Just photos of the family, a folded picture I drew him when I was little, and fifty dollars. And someone wanted those fifty bucks.

The funny thing is, grandpa would have given it to them. He would've wanted to help. If they had come to him, he would give them the money and talk to them, would have tried to solve their situation. But they refused to stop and listen. They had to attack him. It must have hurt so much...

I will forever miss the way he played with my hair to calm me down, the little lullaby he used to hum, the stories about ethereal guardians he and granny told. I hope they'll catch whoever is responsible for this. I hope they'll make them pay for what they have done.

☾☆☽

Time is a fickle little thing. It tends to fly by barely slowing down but at the same moment, it can come to an almost complete stop and stretch to infinity. People say time can heal any wound. With the ing days, it gets better and better. I don't think it applies here, not on grandma at least. She didn't stop talking to him. She even encourages us to participate in the one-sided conversation. We try to play along, but it doesn't work every time. When we try to explain that grandpa is no longer among us, she gets defensive saying it's not true that he is still here.

And even if I want to I can't stop thinking about him too. He randomly pops up in my head during the day because something reminds me of him. This was his favorite bench in the park, he enjoyed feeding the ducks at the pond, he would have liked to drag his feet through those piles of leaves, he would ire those lovely sunsets...

And when he is on my mind, almost everything else is tuned out. That's why I don't immediately the drop in the temperature, don't sense the hand trying to get my attention. I am finally alerted by the quickening footsteps behind me, but it's too late. I can feel the pull on the hood of my jacket, I can feel the arm enlace around my neck.

It's the instance when time stops for a second and then sprints too fast for a human to comprehend. My head is completely empty. I feel my breath shorten, there is something pressed to my ribs. Then I can hear voices. So many voices.

I get torn out from the stranger's grasp and much more gentle arms envelop my body. The police badge glistens in the autumn sun. I have no idea where they came from. How did they know I would need their help? I wasn't even able to make a sound.

Odd. Everyone is shouting yet he hadn't said a word.

The police officer holds me carefully in his arms while his colleagues deal with the assailant. A hand starts to brush my hair systematically. A low familiar hum revibrates his chest. I look up at him.

I see the kind eyes and gentle smile of my grandfather.

I have never been a believer. But I sure do believe now.