Phantom’s Fortune

“Saturday; March 13, 2021

4:44 am”

The smooth leather cover of the little black book was familiar to my hands, it’s warm ivory pages inviting my pen.

“I’m still reeling from the events of the past 24 hours, stringing together the pieces of my scattered thoughts...”

I lingered, reaching to find the words to convey my shock and excitement.

Haphazardly, I perused the pages of my journal, immersing myself in the wondrous whirlwind that was my life.

You see, seven years ago, I had acquired the ability to speak with spirits. It was my role to help them recount and come to terms with the events of their lives. A little over five years ago, a particularly generous spirit had befriended me.

He was wealthy in riches, but more than that, he was wealthy in heart; a tall, handsome man that had lived to give to those that he loved, and to that which was important to him. This quality had not forsaken him where his corporeity had.

He sought nothing, but took it upon himself, instead, to mentor me. Imagine that? Where others feared ghosts, I was being advised by one regularly. Though primarily kind and soft spoken, he would become persistent and somewhat peppery when I failed to heed his advice. Much to my dismay, I quickly learned the hard way that -annoying though his micromanaging ways may be- he was usually right.

It didn’t take long after that discovery for me to begin habitually considering all of his suggestions.

And from the moment that I began to follow his lead, fortune- a phantom’s fortune, perhaps- reigned upon me.

Thursday, June 14th, 2018

6:32 am

“You left me a gift yesterday. An akoya pearl in the most unlikely of places: a busy New York City park.

You were the one who had told me to keep a keen eye, that something was waiting here for me...”

Monday, August 27, 2018

“I want to thank you. Crystals have always been special to me. You were the one who had led me to the precise location where I’d find this smoky quartz”

Sunday, May 10th, 2020

“Today, a light through the shadows that weave this impossible year..

I’ve won a beautiful 18 inch freshwater pearl necklace for Mother’s Day..

You were the one who had told me to enter, that you were entirely sure I would win...”

A bounty of entries filled my journal. My phantom friend never failed to demonstrate his giving nature. Today was no different. His was the voice that had urged me to write our tale.

“Write”, he said. “Write it happily. Beautifully. Intensely. Because art- whether interpreted or not- is art.”

“$20,000, though, friend? That almost seems impossible. I don’t have nearly enough faith in my writing-“

“You must understand, my dear, that this is about more than just simply writing.

This is about a feeling; the feeling one has when the blank pages of a notebook are sprawled before them. The endless possibilities, hours spent dreaming and imagining what could be. Funny how life and the blank pages of a notebook are so similar - you are the writer, and life is your notebook. Each page is its own chapter... create something memorable.”

Sometimes, when we listen to the voice in our minds, magic happens. It’s an indescribable, unnamable kind of magic, and perhaps it is all our imagination... but as my friend once said, your imagination is the realest thing you’ve got.

Once again, I put pen to paper in my little, black leather bound book, the words now flowing seamlessly.

“Just last evening, I was informed that I had won a $20,000 monetary prize for telling our story.

You were the one who had told me to write, that you were certain fortune was in our favour..”

I closed my book, placing it by my bedside.

As I lay my head against the soft silk of my pillow, a twilight breeze drifted through my window, tousling my hair; I could almost envision it was his fingers.

The phantom voice whispered a soft, “Good night, love”, as sleep finally claimed me.

I was certain I could thank him in my dreams.