Everyone Tells Ghost Stories

Ghosts appear to me any time of the day. It doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing, even if I'm in my own kitchen pouring myself a bowl of cereal.

"Holy!" I shouted, turning around to see a spirit perched on my island. My hand flew to my chest as I tried to catch my breath. This ghost was a young girl, around sixteen or seventeen, and she was very pretty. She wore a strapless, crimson red dress that fell to her knees. Her hair was curled to perfection and fell over her shoulders, and her bangs covered the tops of her emerald eyes. A splash of freckles covered her fair cheeks. "Jordan? Where's Jordan?" She asked frantically, fear flashing in her green eyes. I sighed, time to go to work. "Is Jordan your boyfriend?" I asked. This was all part of my process. I asked routine questions and try to find out why they are still Earthbound. "No, he's my little brother. I can't find him, he's only seven, please!" She cried. I could feel her strained energy send ripples through my body. "What's your name? Maybe I can help you find him." I told her in a soothing tone of voice. Her energy swelled and then lowered in magnitude; I sighed in relief. "Olivia." She said. "Olivia Michaels." and she vanished.

Olivia appeared to me again during my free period at school, where I mostly spend time in the library. I saw her freckled face through one of the racks of books, causing my breath to hitch in my throat and my heart skip a beat. "Jesus! Again? If we keep meeting like this, we're going to have some problems, Missy." I whispered. There was almost no one in the library today, only the few seniors trying to study to catch up on a few lost credits and the regulars that hang out in here because they have nothing better to do with their free period. They didn't mind if I was supposedly talking to myself; they thought I was just another crazy freshman anyway. "Did you find Jordan?" Olivia asked as she followed me to the computers. She perched herself on the desk I sat down at as I flipped on the machine. "No, but I can help you find him right now." I said, logging onto Google and typing in Olivia's name into the search bar. I hit the enter button and saw the results appear before my eyes. How many Olivia Michaels' can there be in Colorado? I found a promising article halfway down the second page. I read the article out loud to myself. "Olivia Georgia Michaels, a sixteen-year-old model from Denver, traveled to Dillon, Colorado for the Colorado Young Women's Models Awards were she met her doom. Young Olivia collapsed at the party, dead. Her parents, Frank and Monica Michaels and her younger brother, Jordan Michaels, confess that they hadn't seen Olivia eat anything in a number of days. Her official cause of death was dehydration." Olivia's face seemed confused, so I continued reading the article. "Witnesses say that Olivia had been searching for her little brother who had gotten lost at the party just before she collapsed. Jordan had gone off to the bathroom without informing Olivia, who was left in her care while her parents attended to a family emergency regarding their three-month-old baby girl, Logan Michaels. Jordan had said, in his own words, that he feels responsible for Olivia's sudden death." I reached the end of the article, feeling sadness twist my stomach into a knot. I was afraid to glance at Olivia's face, no doubt she'd be devestated at the fact that her seven-year-old brother thinks he caused her tragic death. I took a peek at her expression. There were tears rolling down her pale cheeks and an expression of utter disbelief and refusal. "He-he thinks...he thinks he killed me? How could he!" She cried, her hands gripping the desk. "Jordan, you didn't do this!" She choked, her energy radiating off of her like a huge, bright sun of anger and depression in the middle of Dillon High School library. All the computer screens flickered and a few book tumbled from the shelves. "Olivia, please, calm down. We'll find him, and we'll tell him he didn't do it. Together. Okay?" I said hastily in an effort to calm her down. A waterfall of tears spilled over her cheeks and her hands dug in the desk further. "Jordan!" She screamed, causing chaos to break out in the library. Books flew from the racks, the computers' screens all went black, and the whole floor rumbled. In an effort to find cover from the ripples of ghost energy, I noticed Olivia had disappeared once again.

~

"Monica Michaels?" I asked, suddenly feeling awkward and self-conscious standing at the front door of the Michaels home the following Saturday. I've been told I was crazy multiple times by families like these. I've been accused of attempting to scam, rob, or just torment victimized families. So I was used to getting doors slammed in my face, objects being thrown at me, or overreacting and over-emotional family members. I braced myself for anything. "Yes. Who's asking?" The cake-faced brunette woman at the door replied. She looked as if she was in her early forties, and possibly had a nose job. I began to reply, but was interrupted by a red-headed toddler in a pink shirt and a diaper running towards Mrs. Michaels at full speed screaming "Mommy!" at the top of her lungs. "Please, come in, I don't want you standing out in the snow all night." Mrs. Michaels told me, attending to her toddler. I stepped in, shaking the snow off my boots before entering, and closed the door behind me. The Michaels home was furnished modernly, in black and white. I followed Mrs. Michaels into the living room where she gestured for me to sit down on her black leather couch. I did so uncomfortably while she bounced the toddler on her lap. "My name is Laura Davenport. I'm from Dillon." I began, watching Mrs. Michael's eyes go wide. "All that way? What brings you to Denver?" She asked politely as I chose my words carefully for my next response. "Actually, Mrs. Michaels, its your daughter, Olivia." I replied, cringing when she gasped. Her brown eyes filled with tears as she dropped her gaze to Logan on her lap. To my surprise, the toddler glanced back up at her and said: "Liv-liv?" I felt the burning of tears in the back of my own eyes as Mrs. Michaels' stare returned to me. "What about her?" She asked, strained. She tousled the child's hair and whispered to her to go off and play. Logan hopped off her lap and stumbled into the kitchen yelling "Daddy! Daddy!"

"This is going to sound crazy and very hard to believe." I warned her, and she nodded, to my surprise. "Try me." She replied, and I began my story about how I see the dead, how Olivia came to me trying to find Jordan, how she caused the chaos in my school library, and how I wanted to help her find peace. Mrs Michaels did not question my sanity, or accuse me of scamming her, or kick me out of her house. She simply listened to what I had to say intently, nodding in the correct places amd attempting to hold back her tears as I spoke. I wish all my cases were like this. When I finished my tale, she was sobbing. "Oh, Olivia." She choked wiping her tears away. Suddenly, Olivia appeared behind the black leather couch her mother was sitting on, tears in her green eyes. "She's here. She's behind you." I told her, sadness leaking into my own voice. I could feel tear building on the rims of my eyes. Monica turned, staring into the seemingly vacant space where the ghost of her daughter stood. "Where's Jordan?" Olivia asked me, inviting me to translate to her mother. "She wants to know where Jordan is." I told Mrs. Michaels. She hesitated, but got off the couch and made her way to the kitchen, returning with the now ten-year-old Jordan. Olivia's eyes filled with tears and recognition. "He's grown so much." She said, a tear sliding down her cheek. Jordan resembled his mother, brunette, brown eyes. He was adorable, in the kind of way a puppy would be. "Olivia is here." Mrs. Michaels told him, and pointed behind the couch. She must have explained to him about why I was there and how I could see ghosts. "That's Laura, she's gonna tell us what Liv-liv says." She explained, and they both took seats on the couch Olivia was behind. "Tell Jordan that it wasn't his fault. That I should have been eating, and there was nothing that he could have done that caused it." Olivia said desperately, her eyes on Jordan. "She wants you to know that it wasn't your fault. You didn't cause her death." I translated to Jordan. He dropped his gaze to his shoes, a tear falling towards the floor. He shook his head and whimpered. "No, it was my fault. If I just told her where I was, she never would have collapsed." He sobbed, his shoulders shaking. His mother ran a hand over his back soothingly. "No! I hadn't eaten anything in four days! I was in line for a magazine cover, I had to stop eating." Olivia cried, tears streaming down her cheeks. "She died because she hadn't been eating, not because you didn't tell her where you were going." I explained calmly. Jordan's head shot up, his tearful brown eyes boring into mine. "I never knew that." he confessed in a small voice. "The police asked me if she'd been eating but I never knew..." Olivia placed her hand on his back as if to reassure him. is gaze moved upward as if he felt it. "Liv?" He asked, I nodded. "I love you, Liv. I miss you. I-I know it wasn't my fault. I'm so sorry." Jordan told her, taking in a shaky breath. Pride and love shown in Olivia's green eyes. "I love you, too, Jordan. So much." Olivia whispered, removing her hand from his back. "She loves you too." I translated, Jordan's head falling once more. The mother and son held each other and sobbed for several moments, Mrs. Michaels stroking Jordan's hair while they attempted to regain composure. When they finally did, I saw the glint of light in Olivia's eyes, meaning she saw the tunnel.

The tunnel appears to everyone that dies. If there's a light at the end, you walk towards it, and while you walk, your life plays before your eyes like a collaboration or movies centered around your happiest moments, greatest acheivments, and so on. If there is no light at the end of the tunnel, you are not ready to cross. When you are ready to cross, the light appears before you. The light draws you towards it like a magnet; its something you can't resist. You take one good look at the world you are about to leave, and go to join a new one. Olivia was seeing the light at the end of her tunnel at that moment, signifying that she was about to make the walk. "I love you, Mom. I love you, Jordan. I love Dad and Logan, too. Tell them that." Olivia asked me. I nodded. "I will." I promised. Olivia smiled at me gravely. "Laura?" My head lifted to meet the gaze of her emerald eyes. "Thank you." She smiled, and walked forward before disappearing into the light. "She's gone."