by Lacey Reah
he Talks To Ghosts
Copyright © 2015 Lacey Reah
Gina talked to ghosts. She wasn’t aware of it, but it was obvious she liked them. They liked her too—maybe because she wasn’t frightened, nor did she question their existence or who they were. They were just always there, and she never bothered to tell anyone about them. She accepted them, and they accepted her.
She spent recess and lunchtime in the school library taking in the world of stories around her. The words were just as real to her as the people who walked by her every day, just as genuine as her ghosts. She never bothered to socialize. She kept to herself. Some children thought Gina was mute, but they didn’t seem bitter about it. Her silence brought no malice from her schoolmates. It was as if the ghosts covered her with their invisibility and protected her from any attention she didn’t want. They knew she didn’t want to be seen, so she wasn’t. This way she could go about her business without being bothered, without having to speak, without having to socialize with anyone but them.
To Gina, the ghosts were more real than the people. They were closer to her. They often floated by smiling, making little comments the way only ghosts can—not with their mouths or voices, for they didn’t have any, but with their souls. She would respond the only way she could. It was a talent of hers no one else could comprehend. Gina could communicate with them, and any live person who saw her would have no clue, for she didn’t use her voice either. She shared something with the specters, something she latched onto; something she never forgot when she was born into the material world.
Some ghosts pulled at her, wanting her to follow them deeper and deeper into their spirit realm. Gina politely refused with the composure of a queen.
When she’d first grown old enough to journey about on her own, she spent time in the graveyard where the kindest ghosts congregated and talked to them about their lives and loved ones. The cemetery was her hangout.
It was no wonder Gina grew up to be a medium, someone who communicated with the dead and helped pass on messages. She was good at what she did and made a decent living, but too honest to be a huge success. The other mediums would find clues that helped them contact the spirits, and if those spirits didn’t exist, they could still tell their clients what they wanted to hear through psychological manipulation. Gina didn’t tell her clients what they wanted to hear. She only spoke the truth, and if the ghosts the clients were looking for weren’t around because they passed on to another dimension or simply didn’t want to speak to her, she would refund their money.
Gina liked her job at first. It was easy, and she obviously had a talent for it. Sometimes she would help communicate something her clients really needed to know about the deceased, like where a missing body or a valuable object could be located. Sometimes she told them what they already knew and just like any other job, each day started to look like the one before. If only she could work for the ghosts instead of the people, but ghosts don’t pay bills. People do. Unfortunately, looking at people was so much harder than looking at ghosts. She had to shift her gaze and mindset just to do it.
She frequented Saint Louis Cemetery in New Orleans where the older ghosts were buried. The whole town of New Orleans called to her; it was where the most disembodied spirits lingered. Naturally, she moved to the town at the age of twenty-one. It was a Catholic town where bodies were often buried aboveground. In the past the floods would wash the caskets away and cemeteries were moved, but the bodies were often lost forever. The voodoo priests and psychics often created havens for the spirits, merging towns where the living and dead got along well. Gina thrived on the energy and the thin veil that separated their world from hers.
One Saturday evening she was sitting on a memorial, believed to be the burial place of a famous voodoo queen from colonial times, when actually, the plot kept the remains of her daughter’s family dog. The real voodoo queen was cremated for fear of anyone cursing her after death. However, the tomb attracted many admirers who left gifts, wishes and sacrifices, and this made the other spirits happy, especially those with loved ones who had moved away.
One particular spirit caught her attention. It was deep yet expansive. The shadow seemed to reach out to her, to the cemetery, and to the world. Is it lonely? she asked herself. It felt like a musky perfume had reached her senses, overwhelming her with a strange, sensual energy. She felt passion in its presence and a desire for something, along with a missing piece. It was a familiar feeling, one she’d encountered before in some spirits, a hole where spirit energy had disappeared.
She looked towards the direction of this energy and felt delight, like dancing stars on a clear night. It was a very pretty spirit, dark yet fanciful, one that shifted its moods and energy very easily. She smiled, wondering what its story was. It smiled back and spoke. Its voice was unlike any other spirit she had ever heard, for it sounded quite resonant and clear. “Do you come here often?” it asked, quivering with a charming shyness.
Suddenly it occurred to her that it wasn’t a disembodied spirit but a spirit with a body. It was alive and human! Gina had to shift her consciousness a bit to view its body, which was a bit dim and blurred by the radiant spirit that enshrouded it. She could barely make out the color of his skin, but she noticed his big ears and fine, brown hair. His eyes were blue or green—hard to tell in the night air—and he was taller than her, not that it mattered. Gina hardly cared what anybody looked like. She preferred to look straight into people’s hearts, where the spirit resided.
“Yes,” she chuckled, delighted to realize this spirit was really human, “I do come here often, but you don’t or I would have seen you before.” It occurred to Gina she would have to speak to this one. He was alive and probably didn’t understand telepathy. Speaking always seemed to be a needless chore, but on this night she didn’t mind.
His spirit quivered a bit then danced. It smiled and so did he. She noticed some of her other friendly spirits snicker as well, and they curiously drew closer to the couple. “You didn’t come to see a family member,” she vocalized the best she could. “I don’t see anyone else with you.”
“Anyone else? Why would there be anyone else?”
“I mean, you aren’t talking to any of the ghosts from the graveyard or should I say, they aren’t talking to you. Most humans visit graves because they know someone here. Anyway, this is one of the oldest cemeteries in New Orleans still standing, much older than your great grandparents.”
“Yes, you’re right. I was taking a walk and thought I’d stop here. Sometimes I just have to get out at night when the city is empty. It helps me clear my mind.”
Gina was aware of something more behind his words, a motivation he may not have been aware of. Spirits came out at night; it was their nature. This man seemed lonely, as though he wanted to feel their presence, for he was more spirit than human, just as she was; only he didn’t seem to know it.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked. Again his spirit danced a bit then shook with shyness.
“You’re quite beautiful… for a human,” she replied, delighting in the sudden heaviness of his energy, a bit of fear mixed with pleasure.
“Thanks,” he said coyly, but his spirit soared. The other specters followed its lead, enjoying this human who easily let his spirit go where it would. Then it trembled, shook, and settled back around him. It was a beautiful spirit indeed, full of light and dark spots that shadowed and accentuated each other.
“Um…,” he mumbled, his spirit and body trembling in the thick, warm night air, “what brings you here?”
“I like to hang out here. The spirits keep me company.”
“The spirits? Oh, the spirits of the dead?”
“Yes. Can you feel them?”
“Yes, I suppose I
do. They’re everywhere in this town, aren’t they?”
“You’re not from these parts, are you?”
“I moved here a year ago,” he said with a sigh, his spirit darkening a bit.
Should she ask him why? No. “Where from?”
“California.”
“Well, how do you like it here?”
“It’s quite magical.” He was being honest. “I love the music, the food, the celebrations.” He smiled again and his spirit lightened, but Gina couldn’t help noticing its missing piece. “Um… my name’s Colin,” he added.
“I’m Gina.”
“Gina? Nice to meet you. Hey, would you like to take a walk with me? We could go down Bourbon Street and watch the festivities, or we can just stay on the side streets if you’d rather be alone.”
Gina’s spirit friends chimed in with, Oh, how sweet. She’s finally found a human. Go with him, Gina! You only live once. However, other disembodied voices cried, No, don’t leave us. He’s human. He can’t love you like we can. You belong here. You’re mine!
Their thoughts beat at her all at once, but Gina always went where her heart led. She felt magnetically drawn to the beautiful spirit attached to this mysterious man.
As they walked down the small roads and colorful buildings that were
