by Mute80
“How did you do that?” I yelled up at her.
“Do I really need to say it again?” she yelled back.
I sat in stunned silence as she let go of the branch and floated down to where I was sprawled across the muddy ground.
Is this really happening to me? I didn’t know if I believed in ghosts or not. It was something I’d never given much thought to. My friends and I would tell ghost stories to scare each other—okay, it was usually Camille we were trying to scare—at slumber parties back in junior high, but it had never occurred to me that I might actually meet one.
“So if I can see and feel you, can everyone else? Or is that just a privilege for me since I’m supposedly your . . . your . . . ”
“Soul saver.”
“Right, your soul saver.” I really hoped I hadn’t made a giant fool of myself in front of everyone back at the restaurant. The last thing I needed was for people to think that I talked to myself.
“Don’t worry. Everyone sees me as you do. Well, except other ghosts, that is.”
“Other ghosts can’t see you?”
“Oh, they can definitely see me, and I can see them, but I see them as if they are surrounded by an aura. A ghost can’t hide their true identity from other ghosts.”
“I thought ghosts are supposed to be invisible and hide in attics rattling chains and moaning?”
“We can do that, but most of us choose not to. We’re left on the earth when we die because we have unfinished business. We refer to the process of finishing our business as extrication. When we finish up whatever we need to, we move on. Just don’t ask me where we go next, because I have failed to ever get that far. Some ghosts remain on the earth for a very short time while others are here for hundreds of years. Have you ever heard of little kids insisting that their dead grandma came to say good-bye when they were sleeping?”
“Umm . . . yeah. I’ve heard stories like that.”
“Sometimes the key to a ghost’s extrication is something as simple as saying goodbye to someone and then they move on.”
“So how long after you die do you become a ghost? Is it immediate?” I asked, my curiosity overcoming the remnants of fear.
“Becoming a ghost is an instantaneous occurrence, but it takes a person a while to figure out what happened to them. I couldn’t always be seen or heard by people, either. You have to train yourself to be able to take on the human form. For a lot of us, we can’t train ourselves to be physically touched until after everyone who knew us on earth has moved beyond this life, too. Some ghosts can’t even figure out how to make themselves be seen in any form for decades.”
“This is so overwhelming. I feel like my head is on overload right now.” I paused before asking, “People say that ghosts can’t actually hurt a human. Can you hurt me?”
Sophia smiled and then reached over and pinched my arm. It hurt.
“Oww,” I hissed.
“Yes. I can hurt you.”
I reached over and pinched her arm. She just stared at me.
“So you can hurt me, but I can’t hurt you?”
“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”
When she saw my worried look she continued, “Don’t worry. I have no reason to harm you. Most ghosts are good people who just didn’t have enough time on earth to finish up what they needed to. Evil people are usually sent straight to wherever it is they go. It’s rare that they remain on earth after they pass on. The evil ones who do remain are usually attracted to evil people who are still living, so you shouldn’t ever have anything to worry about.” She patted my shoulder in an attempt to reassure me. I tensed again.
“I can’t even begin to describe how I’m feeling right now.” I sighed. “If I’m your soul saver, what do I have to do?”
“I’m not sure. A soul saver helps a ghost to figure out and finalize everything for their extrication. Not every ghost has a soul saver and not every soul saver even knows that they are one. Sometimes they help a ghost without even knowing they did anything. A person is usually dead for a really long time before they find someone that can help them. More often than not, a soul saver is related to the deceased person, although I don’t think that’s the case in our situation. I really feel like you’re supposed to help me, Jamie.”
I stood up. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal. My head is seriously swimming right now and I want nothing more than to go home and take a nap. I’m still not convinced that I won’t wake up tomorrow and realize that you and everything you’ve told me weren’t anything but a crazy dream. If I wake up and you still exist, I’ll try to help you.”
“I knew you would.” Sophia jumped up and threw her arms around me. I tensed and pulled away.
“So . . . do you have any guesses as to what your unfinished business might be?” I asked.“Have you ever heard of the ghost ship known as the Mary Celeste? It was found floating in the Atlantic Ocean a hundred and forty years ago without any of its crew or passengers.”
“Of course I’ve heard of it. That’s one of the greatest mysteries in all of American history. The Mary Celeste’s captain lived here in Marion. I’m pretty sure we’ve studied about it in school every year since Kindergarten. Legend says that everyone on board disappeared including Captain Briggs and his wife and daughter . . .” My words trailed off as realization struck. My heart pounded again and my throat was suddenly so dry I could barely swallow.
Sophia started to nod her head before the words were even out of my mouth.
“You’re Sophia Briggs. You’re the daughter of Captain Benjamin Briggs. You were on board the Mary Celeste.”
CHAPTER 4
I dreamed all night. Only they weren’t happy dreams with fluffy bunnies and hot fudge sundaes. At first the dreams were normal, but then people would mysteriously vanish into thin air or turn into creatures I’d never seen before. Other times I dreamed of ships being tossed around on towering waves while the passengers on deck screamed and prayed, pleading for their lives. I’d left Sophia’s side in shock the day before. I’m not sure if I even said goodbye to her. I hoped to wake up laughing about the bizarre ghost incident and find that it was just something my imagination had concocted, but everything still felt incredibly real.
I sat up and rubbed my bleary eyes while I yawned. Reluctantly, I swung my legs over the side of my bed and slid my feet into fuzzy slippers. Grabbing my bathrobe off its hook on my door, I trudged across the hall to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face.
I entered the kitchen to find Dad studying his newspaper again. It was kind of our morning ritual. Dad was so proper that even at home he rarely wore anything but a suit and he always sat perfectly erect in his chair. I, on the other hand, plopped down on a chair at the table and pulled my knees up into my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs. My posture—or lack thereof—was a constant worry of his.
Dad looked up from his paper with concern. “Are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good this morning.”
“Thanks, Dad. I love you, too,” I said sarcastically. “I’m fine. I didn’t sleep very well. I kept having weird dreams.”
“I thought I heard you cry out a couple of times, but when I peeked into your room you were sound asleep.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”
“Don’t worry about it, honey. I feel bad that I’ve been so busy lately. Try to get some more sleep while I’m gone today. I should be able to make it home by early evening and maybe we can go to dinner together.”
“I’d like that.” I gave him the best smile I could get out at that time of the morning. It wasn’t big.
He left for work and I shuffled back upstairs to get dressed. My eyes were so bloodshot that I figured it hopeless to even attempt makeup. Instead, I grabbed the book I’d started reading the day before, pulled the down comforter off my bed, and trudged downstairs to the living room where I promptly curled up on the couch.
Much of my time not in school or doing homework is spent just like that—huddled un
der a warm blanket with a book. Apparently seeing me like that annoys my dad because he constantly tells me I need to get up and move around more. These comments are usually accompanied by a lecture on how getting my blood circulating would warm me up and blah, blah, blah . . . Does he expect me to run laps around the house or something?
I must have dozed off at some point because I awoke to someone shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes to find a smiling Sophia peering back at me. I jumped. And then I screamed.
“How did you get in here?” I yelled. The words were out of my mouth before I realized how dumb they sounded.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought I was done having to pretend I was normal around you. Next time I’ll knock on the door. I promise.”
I sat up, but kept the comforter wrapped around me. “I guess yesterday wasn’t all a bad dream, huh?”
“Nope.”
“Fine.” I sighed reluctantly. “Where do we start? What ‘unfinished business’ do I need to help you with?”
“I have no idea. That’s why I need you, remember? I’ve spent years trying to answer that question.”
“It’s got to have something to do with the boat you were on when you died, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t die on the Mary Celeste. I was two when I sailed with my parents for Italy all those years ago, but I died when I was eighteen. Didn’t I mention that already?”
“I don’t understand. The way I always heard the story was that something happened on the ship so everyone piled into a lifeboat, but you were all washed away in a storm. The Mary Celeste was found abandoned by another boat days later and hauled to someplace in Europe without any of the original crew on board.”
“Remember how I said that behind every myth or legend there’s some truth?” Sophia asked.
“I guess so.”
“Well, that’s the case in my situation. When someone becomes a ghost they can distinctly picture every memory of their entire life, even the moments when they were just babies. No two-year-old is going to remember anything for very long in real life, so it wasn’t until after I’d died that I knew who I was and that there was a mystery surrounding my life.”
“Maybe you should just tell me the story from the beginning. I’ll try not to interrupt.”
Sophia sat on the couch next to me and pulled some of my blanket over to her. Her face took on a somber look as she spoke.
“My dad was a seaman all his life. It was something that was in his blood. When he was in his mid-twenties he married my mother, Sarah Cobb. They were cousins.”
“Ewww,” I grimaced, forgetting my promise not to interrupt.
“Don’t worry; it was completely normal back then. Anyway, my mother’s father—my grandfather—was a preacher, so my parents were religious. They were good people, Jamie.”
I nodded.
“I have an older brother. His name was Arthur, and he was born here in Marion a few years before me. I graced the world with my presence on October 31, 1870. Arthur adored me. He was always willing to entertain me when Mother needed a break. My only memories of him are truly happy ones.”
“Why didn’t Arthur go with your family on the Mary Celeste?”
“Because Mother insisted he stay home so that he wouldn’t miss school.” Sophia’s countenance suddenly brightened. “Speaking of my mother, she was absolutely enchanting. I wish you could have met her, Jamie. I wish I could have spent more time with her for that matter. She had such a sweet personality that everyone who met her loved her instantly. She loved music. Father said she could sing like a bird.” Sophia laughed.
There was so much sadness behind the sparkle in Sophia’s eyes that I felt myself feeling even more drawn to her than I had the day before. It felt as if we’d already known each other for a lifetime.
“Anyway, about the time of my second birthday, we set sail for Staten Island where Father was to receive a load of alcohol and sail with it to Italy. The night before we left, my parents met with Captain Morehouse for dinner. He was the captain of a ship by the name of Dei Gratia and a friend of my father. Captain Morehouse was sailing to somewhere in Europe, too. I don’t recall where exactly and it’s not important. They all expected to see each other in Italy in the weeks ahead.”
“Isn’t Captain Morehouse the one who found the Mary Celeste sailing by itself?”
Sophia nodded. “Yep. Good memory. I take it you’ve heard the story before?”
“Many times. It’s fascinating.”
“We spent the first two and a half weeks of the crossing trying to keep ourselves entertained. Mother emptied out our large sea chest and I would sit inside it and play. She would pretend she didn’t know where I was and I would sit in the bottom of the case giggling. It was a very peaceful time. Unfortunately, the morning of November 25th brought choppier seas and a little bit of rain.”
“So there was a big storm? Is that what happened to your family?” I had a hard time waiting for Sophia to get to the part of her story where they all “disappeared.”
“Well, as you seem to know, one theory about the mystery of the Mary Celeste was that we were caught in a big storm. Yes it was stormy, but it wasn’t anything that concerned my father much. He’d sailed in seas and storms like that many times before. The rain stopped and the fog was starting to clear so my mother took me to the upper deck to get some fresh air. About midday, one of my father’s crewmen started yelling. Apparently, when the mist cleared they realized we were headed right into the path of another ship. As we sailed closer the crew noticed that this ship had its sails down and was flying a white flag.”
“A white flag? What does that mean?” I interrupted again.
“It means the same thing on a ship as it does on land. If someone’s waving a white flag it means they surrender, or that they’re peaceful,” she answered.
“Oh. Gotcha. You can continue now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sophia winked at me. “We stopped a short distance from the ship and were then able to read its name—The Aurabelle. None of the crew recognized it, but it appeared to be a merchant ship of some sort. A lifeboat was lowered into the water from the Aurabelle and some of their crew paddled toward us. They stopped and yelled to my father, saying that the storm had damaged their ship and they were taking on water. Father, being the good man that he was, graciously welcomed them aboard the Mary Celeste. They had a woman with them and Mother quickly took care of her, offering a blanket and tea. The captain of the Aurabelle introduced himself as Jeremiah Goodwin. He told father they were sailing from Portugal to the Caribbean. There was no reason to suspect anything to be amiss so his story wasn’t questioned further, and soon all the crew of the Mary Celeste had gathered to hear the tales of this seemingly jovial man.”
Here, Sophia paused and took a deep breath. Her countenance darkened as she continued with her story. “It wasn’t long before Jeremiah revealed that their ship was actually in fine shape. He and all of his crew—including the woman—pulled out guns and announced that they were taking command of the Mary Celeste and her cargo.”
I gasped. “You mean they were pirates?”
Having studied the mystery of the Mary Celeste for most of my life, I knew there were many theories as to what happened to her crew. Some thought there’d been a great storm, others believed there to be an undersea earthquake of sorts. Some crackpots insisted the crew had all been abducted by aliens. Even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a story about his own theory before he became famous for writing stories about Sherlock Holmes. Piracy had been suggested at the time, of course, but it was quickly disregarded. Apparently that was a bad idea.
Sophia continued. “I doubt the word pirate ever even crossed my father’s mind when he let Captain Goodwin and his crew on board the Mary Celeste. After all, pirates did most of their dirty work hundreds of years before I was even born. They were definitely a rarity at that time and in that area.”
“What happened after they pulled out guns?” The tone of my voice was
rising. By that point in the story I was on the edge of the couch hanging on every word coming out of Sophia’s mouth. Could all the crew of the Mary Celeste have survived? If Sophia lived to be eighteen, what happened to everyone else on board?
“Everyone was stunned. No one knew what to do or what was going to happen. I remember my mother clinging to me, but I think at the time I was oblivious to what was going on around me. My father’s crew was made up of loyal men, and when Captain Goodwin tried to tie up my father they retaliated and attacked him. Shots were fired. My mother screamed, and I cried inconsolably. When the smoke cleared, two of Father’s crewmen were lying dead on the deck. Captain Goodwin’s entire demeanor changed. He was enraged. He forced my family and the rest of Father’s crew onto his lifeboat. Just before they began lowering the boat with all of us into the water, the woman yelled for him to stop. Turns out she was Elsa Goodwin—Jeremiah’s wife. She and her husband whispered to each other for a minute and then he came over and . . . and . . . ripped me from my mother’s arms.”
Sophia’s voice cracked, but she continued on, not looking up from her hands as she spoke.
“I was still crying hysterically, but Elsa held me close and watched over the edge of the Mary Celeste as the lifeboat was lowered to the water. I could hear my parents crying. The sound of mourning filled the sea. My father was yelling and pleading with Jeremiah. I think he even tried to climb back up the ropes, but Captain Goodwin just looked over the edge of the ship’s deck, aimed his pistol, and fired. Father was instantly silent, but my mother’s screams have haunted me ever since I died and my childhood memories returned. There was another shot fired, and then she too was silent. It was the last time I saw my parents, swallowed up by the unforgiving ocean.”
I glanced at Sophia when she stopped talking. There were silent tears streaming down her face and suddenly she didn’t look so perfect anymore. Instead of feeling jealous of her as I had the first few times I saw her, I pitied her, and something inside me ached for the pain she’d been forced to endure.
