Walking With a Ghost

I followed him up the wooden ladder. I used to be horrified of the dark when I was younger. All the goblins and ghoulies and bogeymen I used to imagine lurking in the corners, in my closet, under my bed, and outside the window just begging to be let in. Now I saw the darkness as a thinking space. The darkness is a place to overthink and be alone. I think about my life in the darkness—I imagined a time when Mom and Dad were getting along and they weren't fighting over me to choose who I loved more. But sometimes I wasn't so alone in the darkness of my bedroom.

"I was up here not too long ago and it was much lighter than it is now." I said, feeling my way through the darkness.

"Beau must have closed the curtain." Bo replied, sliding back a thick, black, dusty curtain.

"Beau?" I questioned.

Suddenly, the sound of chains rattling against the floor and a garbled moan came from across from me on the other end of the attic where it was still very dark. I gasped and backed away, tripping over a box and falling.

"No, no, Lita, don't be scared. It's just Beau."

"I thought you were Bo!" I exclaimed as Bo helped me stand.

"They're spelled totally different. Technically, my name is Robert, but, I go by Bo, B-o. His name is Beauregard. Or, Beau. B-e-a-u."

More moaning and rattling came from the dark side of the attic. Bo smiled in that direction. He bent over and palmed a small red ball. He sat cross-legged in the dark and rolled the ball into the darkness.

"He likes the dark." Bo informed me.

I watched as a pair of large, disfigured hands stopped the rolling ball and pushed it back to Bo with the flick of its wrists. I sat beside Bo and watched them roll the red ball back and forth.

"Do you want to know how he died?" Bo asked in a dull voice.

"Yes." I whispered, suddenly unable to find my voice.

"He was suffocated. His mother was afraid that CPS was going to arrest her for child negligence and see poor Beau up here, chained to the wall. So she had her husband, Beau's stepfather, suffocate him in his sleep."

I stared longingly at the endless darkness. It was like staring into a wormhole. The red ball was pressed into my left palm. I looked over and saw Bo half smiling at me. I averted my eyes back to the dark side of the attic and swallowed nervously. I leaned forward a bit, pressed the ball to the floor, and rolled it.

The sound of the chains meant Beau was moving. His hands peeked through the darkness and stopped the ball. He did not roll the ball back. The entire room went still and silent except for the sound of Beau's heavy breathing.
~
"Will you tell me about all the people who died here?" I asked Bo.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

I nodded. We were sitting on the gazebo of iced tea in front of us. The sun was high in the sky—high noon. The breeze caressed us softly and ruffled our hair.

I listened as Bo told me literally everything until the sun set.

"How do you know all of this?" I finally asked before taking a long sip of tea.

"They told me," he replied, tapping idly at his glass. "They only talk to me. Moira and Nora are the only ghosts my family ever see. The others keep themselves secret. You never realize how crowded it is in this house once you've met all of them."

"Why you? I mean, why do they all make themselves known to you and tell you their stories?"

"I don't know yet," Bo shook his head and absently ran his fingers through his hair. "And now they're introducing themselves to you. I just don't get it."

"Maybe some of them are just trying to rest peacefully. And it's difficult to do with all these people moving in."

"I don't know what their deal is, but, I'm all up for a subject change. Where do you come from! What's your story?" Bo sent me a shy, sneaky smile and waited for me to speak.

"Ah, w-well..." I hesitated for a moment. "This is the first foster home I've lived in. I never expected to be sent to one, but, here I am."

"None of us expected to end up in one."

"I had such a good home life. Er, well, n-not really. I mean, I had a roof over my head, there was always food in the kitchen, and I had great grades. But, m-my parent's fought a lot and I was bullied a lot by this bitch in school. It was hard to go to sleep sometimes because my parent's were always going at it. I'd take naps in history class to make up for some of the sleep I lost, but, then my grade started to plummet. And my bully was always on my case, so, I never had a good day.

"I tried to hang myself once but my mom walked in just as I was climbing on the chair. We cried in each other's arms and later, when they thought I was asleep, my parent's fought about it. Mom blamed it on Dad, Dad blamed it on Mom. If anything, it was both of their fault. Mom neglected me and Dad—" I cut myself off as memories began to surface. My chest tightened, my hands shook in my lap, and my eyes watered. I blinked away the tears and inhaled deeply. "H-h-he, uh..." Fuck, I hated that I stuttered when I was upset! I wanted to run off and never come back to this place.

But the weight and feeling of Bo's soft hands in mine anchored me back down to the gazebo. He nodded to me and said, "Breathe, Lita. You're not there anymore."

I inhaled a couple times and closed my eyes. I chose my words and delivery wisely before saying it outloud.

"My dad molested me," I said. "Mom never knew until it was too late."

"Lita," Bo whispered so quietly, I almost didn't hear him. He squeezed my hands. "I would've never guessed. You seem so stable."

"That's the power of memory repression." I said with a chuckle, but Bo didn't find anything funny. My cheek stung with hot tears coating them. It felt like my face was being washed in acid. I sniffled and swallowed oncoming sobs.

"Ben Harmon, one of the last residents that died here, he's a therapist. You could talk to him about some stuff. It'll make you feel better to get all that negative shit off your chest." Bo suggested.

"You think so? I never talked to a therapist."

"I talk to Ben sometimes. He doesn't judge. He just listens."