Ghost Night

Ghost Night in the Evening. Weather reports all agreed on the change, and no one really needed a warning. The birds do not fly. Leaning on phone books and bushes, they are shy and quiet, pretending to make it very difficult to fly even though the sky is calm. Anyone who cares knows what that means for Ghost Night before phone apps start alerting.

The astral weather monitoring systems are at least ready to reduce the initial time: they are sure the dead will begin to pass by no later than nine o'clock, so they want everyone to open the doors and doors to turn off the lights at nine o'clock so I can be on the safe side. Most will have their doors as soon as the sun goes down, however. Except for a bunch of idiots who will forget, or miss out on all the warnings, or worse: who will hear, but will not be able to resist the look, just once.

Then there are the few who really know what we are doing.

I hope so.

I go down the aisle of my building with food and supplies that Maria says I should get. I think the neighboring Silversteins were fighting their shutters in the area; the walls are thin here, and I feel the beating and the swearing. I hear the television from Mrs. Ando on the other hand playing a lot. Mrs. Ando keeps his doors full now, as he is too strong to move on his own. I am willing to help, but he does not like to rely on anyone else. Enough is enough. I offered to help her in some way, to teach her, but she hates that idea. Officially illegal. He didn't tell me, he blessed him, but he turns up the TV a lot every night on Host Night. Sinking what he thinks he can feel.

I didn’t dare to try before, or until last week, the need. But I think there is a chance that his vigilance may be needed in the end. Maybe I should tell him to turn up his TV.

I must have left my TV when I left; a modest publisher gives a late warning to anyone who might miss out on the rest. "... Spiritual entry should remain until the morning. Block any openings that may enter the houses. Stay indoors. Maria says that it helps; in the old days they put chemicals in the fireplace to make it burn blue or green but the television is very safe and durable.

I lock my door. I do not install lids.

Maria says many things. So much so that the government is stupid by blocking ghost views. "It's really dangerous. It's very dangerous not to teach people to do it right." He would open and knock on the table at that moment. One of the glitter-covered structures in the Styrofoam sphere in the middle always came out of the bowl and Maria grabbed it and threw it against the wall for emphasis. It was part of the conversation now. "There will always be people who will try to see the dead, die, and do it. If the threat of being dragged out by unstable spirits is enough in itself, how will hell stop them for a while? They are already dumb or anxious for care. It is better to teach them how to do it.

I pick up my phone on the stand with a built-in speaker and set it to play the track I recorded for myself talking about the warding contract. You should have at least one person who never stops singing the rhyme, but Maria found that the recording works well. It's better, actually, because you are less likely to panic or lose your breath. "Technology is amazing," he would moan with pleasure, hunting where the glittering object was wrapped.

I sprinkle a mixture of rosewater and lemon-lime soda on the window and sprinkle salt in drops. Then I apply this mixture to my eyelids, nose, earlobes, and tongue. It tastes better than you might think. I go to the bathroom and dive a little inside the underwear. There. Every door that comes into my home and body, is marked and monitored. I hesitate, and then lightly rub the scars on my thighs. I'm not sure they count, but it can't hurt.

I go back to the living room with my back turned to the window and unpack the most important thing, the makeup mirror I've been preparing for months. "Blessed are you three times," Maria insists. "Earth, water, and fire. Do not skip a step." At that point it will be where he could get the glittering ball back into the bowl, ready to be thrown again.

I did not escape. I buried this mirror in a pot on the balcony to get the full cycle of the moon, the new moon, and the new moon. I passed it on the cake flames with twenty-eight candles, five times. I washed the dust and ashes in the flowing stream; one of the few old ways that cannot be replaced with a modern and simple thing. For some reason, the source of the shops does not cut.

I set up the mirror so that I can clearly see the window. "They only look in the mirror. If they meet your eyes directly, they will have to take you, they will be driven into it. Do you understand?" Maria is always moaning here. "I love you, and I trust you. I'm scared, but I trust you. I trust you too."

"I do," I whispered.

The sound from Silverstein's is quiet. The sound from Mrs. Ando is very loud. I listen to the rhyme from my phone and have fun drawing my arms with a red pen. It’s something Maria taught me to try instead of cutting, where desire builds. I'm not feeling well right now, but I'm bored, and some of Maria's letters from a secret library under her bed say that red clothes and paint can help as a precaution. They're under my bed now. I had to find one to read.

The atmosphere changes. I feel it, under the roses and the lemon-lime flavor. I look in the mirror. The shadows begin to drift through the window. A mysterious girl-shaped figure slipped through the window, her thighs and breasts bleeding, a more real cut than the smoke that made up all that was left of her. You get used to it. I saw him in the hospital. I'm sorry to find you dead. But that's not what I expected.

Shit. I forgot. "Something to call. Something normal."

The ghost of a girl cries like ice in a lake and then blows away sometimes I can't help it.

Fear grows but I force it. It is not so important. Forgetting the anchor did not make the evening tradition unsafe. It just doesn't make sense. Probably. Ordinary ghosts may still find me. The hospital girl did it, even though she probably wanted someone who knew better than the patient two beds on the floor.

I can try again. We do not know for sure that the spirit returns only to the first Ghost Night after their death. So very little has been done since the closure. I can hope. I can wait.

... I can't wait any longer. That is always our problem, people love me. He is mute and despairing. We can't wait to meet them again. We need them now.

I close my eyelids and crawl through my luggage, praying that I do not knock on the door, or over the phone that is still ringing. I make a mistake with the plastic and swear when I hear something explode. Where is it? I slow down in a circle ... when I open my eyes, for a moment, maybe ...

"I love you, and I trust you. I'm scared, but I trust you."

I close my eyes. I'll get it. I WILL FIND IT. Don’t be dumber than you need to be. Don't skip a step... My fingers are hitting something around. I hold it in my hands and thighs, holding it before it rolls again.

I crawl to the mirror. I touch it with my hand so I know exactly where to look when I open my eyes. When I do that, I get a clear view of the mirror face, which perfectly reflects the window, and the glowing ball I put in front of it.

After that it shows another ghost, wandering around in the window like a guest at the door not sure he has the right address. The dark mist that forms his body is a dense lump in the part of his chest where his heart was, and a beautiful mist elsewhere. His limbs are almost invisible, but he has shiny objects on his hands.

I swallow. I smile as I enter the mirror. I hope I did well on this.

"Hello, Maria."