Four Frightening Whispers of 2022

He slowly stepped out of his house. He looked back and wondered if he would ever stumble on those cement stairs again. He slowly moved down the road, unsure where he would make the final decision. He waved politely at a neighbour’s car as it passed.

He thought a lot about the good and bad in his life over the last sixty years. He also wondered about missed opportunities and things he left behind. How many people had he encountered he did not know throughout his life? Did he make a positive impact? Could he have left a trail of misery in the wake of his life? He tried but could not answer this question either.

His head pounded as it so often did since the last accident. As the pain grew worse, he knew he would have to stop and decide. Once the pain reached a certain point, he might end up curled in a ball, and he did not wish this, especially on the edge of a road.

After some time, he found himself at the edge of the forest gate, and he stepped over the chain and, with the slight moonlight as a guide, moved into the natural setting. He could hear some geese on the lake and the sounds of the frogs and nighttime beasts.

Little did he realize that he was not alone and was being watched. The two watched appeared to fade in and out of the tall trees.

“It is his time,” said one of the two.

The other appeared sad as it looked out over the man,” There have been prayers for this man for nearly fifty years.”

“Yes, they have been heard, and we will follow your recommendations.” The first said as it moved, a gowned limb moved upward.

A moment later, several figures appeared near the two angelic beings. Without a word, they almost glided over toward the two beings.

“You each have but a moment,’ the second said in a soft tone to the others. “Our time is short, and we may not directly become involved.”

The man noticed a bench that overlooked the lagoon area of the forest. It appeared so peaceful despite a slight chill in the air. For the briefest of moments, he left at peace. Depending upon his decision, this would be a good place to sleep. He would be found quickly, and within a few days, everyone would be at peace and move along in their life's path.

He slowly removed five needles from within his jacket. He slowly removed the first tip and turned the end of the knob on the needle. He thought each needle would take three injections to empty into his stomach, and he would have enough time before he used the third needle to make his final decision.

He injected himself and slowly let the insulin into his body. This would be about double what he might take if his blood sugar was low—no damage, no pain, no true harm.

He did not see anyone nearby and believed he was alone except for the wooden creatures and nearby geese. He did not even hear the footsteps as they approached. Except suddenly, he was there.

“Hey, kid,” a teenage voice said cheerfully from behind him. A moment later, a one-armed young man sat down on the bench next to him.

He stared at this teenager’s face and nearly jumped out of his skin. “No,”

“I am glad you kept your word, what over fifty years later, and your favourite colour is still orange,” as he spoke, a proud grin emerged.

“Robbie, but how? Why now, I see ghosts?” the man agonized as he stood up in disbelief.

“Sit down. I only have a moment, sit please,” Robbie spoke in a soft but commanding voice as he pointed at the bench. The man instantly remembered how Robbie could rally his teammates on the football field.

Slowly the man sat back down, still looking in disbelief at the teenager he admired as a small child. He was unsure if this was real, a dream or part of a psychotic breakdown. He was still so glad to see the teenager that stood up for him as a small child.

“A couple of quick things; first, we prefer to be called spirits. Ghosts sound so Hollywood or evil or something. Second, I always wanted to know, you saw a glimpse of me after the funeral, in my house?”

The man's mind raced back to events over thirty years ago. He remembered going went Robbie’s house to get something for an event about two years after cancer had stolen Robbie away. He could see himself entering Robbie's room to get a book for the briefest moments; he thought he saw Robbie moving throw the room.

“I thought I did. He stopped and smiled as you faded away.” The man said.

“My time is about up, but I am proud of you. You kept your word and did positive things.” Said Robbie as he stood up. “Death is death, man; remember what it did to my family after I went.”

The man watched as Robbie slowly walked away toward a thick patch of bushes and faded away. Yes, he remembers Robbie’s mom keeping her departed son’s room the way he left it for over ten years. Worse, his father took to the bottle and eventually would drive off the side of a highway dying in a drunken state.

“Glad you remember,” a female voice said from somewhere nearby.

The man looked around but saw no one, and he recharged his needle for some more insulin. As he lifted the right side of his shirt, he heard the voice again.

“Tell me, do those hurt. Never did inject heroin; always hated needles.” The female voice said.

He looked at this long dark-haired woman but could not place her in his life. He looked around but could see no one around; then, she was on the bench next to the time. He stared for a long moment.

She held out a battered and badly bruised left hand towards him. There was a small purple ring with a green gem on it. His mind raced back to an event over twenty years ago that still haunted him from time to time. When a small sedan raced down the road, it spun out of control hitting cars, lamp posts, and other objects.

“Yha, you cannot see me very well because you never saw anything except part of my hand.” She said softly.

“I did try,” he said without thinking.

“You comforted me when I was a dying lump of flesh and broken bones. You held my fingers and prayed and spoke to me.”

"I thought you heard,” he said.

“Yha, you made me unafraid as I gave up and went from this life.” She slowly whispered. “I thought it was all my life, but it was not. You know my sister goes down and leaves flowers from time to time on Haslow Street at that spot. I just wanted to get high.”

He watched as she stood and looked over the lagoon, “So lovely but never can I touch,” her words trailed away as she glided toward the brush.

He hesitated for a moment but carried on with the injection anyway. The headache was getting worse, and he feared he would soon vomit. He really did not want to be seen covered in puke.

“Puke Sucks!” a male voice laughed out. He looked to see Jake Simmerson sitting next to him. Jake was always the joker at the Halfway House the man worked at from time to time.

“What ghost after ghost keeps appearing? I must have lost it,” moaned the man loudly.

“Hell no, I am a spirit, no ghost bullshit, o.k.” vented Jake.

The man looked toward Jake, and he always liked this guy. He always had a joke or a smile and never created any problems when he worked there. That was until that Saturday in October.

Jake looked at the man, “You messed up real good.”

The man was confused, “I messed up.”

Jake exclaimed, “In the office, you watched part of the movie too long, went out on patrol you should not have. The next shift was supposed to find me.”

“What?” the man was still confused. “I tried to save you.” he could not forget going out on a property patrol day. At the far end of the acreage, he could see Jake hanging in the greenhouse.

“I wanted to die!” Jake loudly replied. “I was not going to go back to prison because of a mistake. But the afternoon shift was to find me, would have wrecked Jackson’s afternoon of watching basketball.”

“I nearly broke my shoulder pushing in the door. I tried to hold you up as I shrieked for help.” The man grumbled. Your vomit dripped on me, and your piss covered my body from my chin to shoes.”

“Never fun finding a body. Wait till the gatekeeper or some school group stumbles upon you.” Jake’s voice was filled with anger. “You’ll piss and shit yourself before you are done today. They will live with it.”

Jake stood up without saying another word and stormed off towards the bush less than angelic. The man thought he looked more like a sports player angrily marching off the field to the dressing room.

The man realized he was finished with the first needle. He stood and walked over to a garbage bin. He wrapped the needle in a brown bag and placed it in the bin.

“Really, like they won’t figure out you did it yourself,” A female voice said from behind him.

Allison Haynes of Tanner’s Farm Dover stood near the lagoon's edge. He watched to rush forward and embrace his old friend. He moved forward but stopped when she held up her right hand. He turned, knowing the voice and who it belonged to.

“I am a spirit like the others and actually the final spirit talking to you, “ she said.

“Allison, I have missed you, my beloved friend,” he sobbed. He wiped his face, not realizing the tears at first.

“I can tell. Take your bloody life, will you?” she hissed at him. “You saved lives, you asshole,”

“I have also taken lives and corrupted others.” He moaned

“I am not here to tell you what to do or say, nor am I here to say; I take you in love.” As she spoke, several figures appeared at the edge of the brush. She pointed toward the figure that moved slightly around but could not move forward.

He looked in horror and amazement all at the same time. He was unsure what to make of this and the spectre's purpose.

“We all touch many lives; some we do not know enough we do. These are those that have died, and you touched in some manner. I cannot present the many that live today because of you. All those young people you worked with, the drug-addicted adults you assisted or gave food or clothing to.”

The spectres slowly faded back into the brush as Allison stood a few feet away from the man. She smiled slightly and suddenly looked like the happy teenager she had known so long ago.

“I am sorry for the pain; it will not go away, and it will eventually, in time, send you to us.” As she spoke, the others appeared near the bushes again.

The main opened his jacket and looked at the needles, then the bushes. He looked at his friend's face and the others in the distance.

“Let your pain positively help others write about it explain it. Don't let it end in some cheesy religious service. Your family, your wife, all deserve better” she smiled as she walked backwards toward the others.

He looked toward the lagoon and the direction of his home. He looked back towards the brush and could see nothing but the forest.

“Hey! Are you awake yet!” bellowed a voice.

His eyes slowly opened to see a man in a pair of coveralls hovering over him. “What,”

“Are you o.k.?” the man exclaimed loudly as he looked behind him, “Jimmy, I think he is awake, get that extra blanket out of the truck; he is cold.”

The other worker rushed forward with a blanket, “Is this the sleepwalker we have been getting reports on.”

The first worker placed the blanket over him. “Hell of a place to go for a walk.” exclaimed the other worker.

The man looked around. The workers looked so familiar to him.

Authors Notes

This short story looks at four distinct spirits that intervene in a mutual acquaintance's plans for possible suicide.

These spectres will express fear, gratitude, anger, love, etc.

This short Story will also appear in other publications, including Medium.com

Thank you for reading.