text: The accident occurred three weeks after my 22nd birthday and two days before I left home for my new job in Boston. I had been out with the boys celebrating - after all - I was the first person from my town to make it to celebrity status ...well, almost. I had been hired as an intern reporter with WCVB Channel 5, the first step in my dream to be the next Anderson Cooper. Around 8PM that Thursday, Jimmy, Sean, Michael and I met up at Stu’s Pub and Pool House to shoot a few games, and of course, have a few shots as well. I didn’t have that much to drink; at least, I don’t think I did. A couple beers and a Jack or two in between ...I’d handled worse. In truth the guys would never have let me leave if they thought I’d been too drunk to drive. Yet somewhere along the fifteen miles of highway between the pubhouse and home I’d had apparently drifted off to sleep, and dad’s Ram smashed into a giant old sycamore. I did make it onto the WCVB news the next day, a small voiceover piece about how a promising new intern lost his life in a road traffic accident. I watched the news on the TV at home, standing next to my distraught father who was slumped on his favorite armchair in the living room. Mom was in the bedroom upstairs, she had eventually cried herself to sleep. A small handful of relatives were in the house, and so were the guys. Of course, no one could see me. I mean, I was dead. Well, at least my body had died. I don’t know what this was. The last thing I remember after the accident was sitting on my own bed. I spent a frantic and crazy few minutes trying to speak to my parents and wondering why they were acting like I wasn’t there. Even when Deputy Bradford came to the house to tell them about the accident I still thought it was all a joke, a going-away prank. Until mom broke down. You couldn’t fake that kind of pain. My body was buried on Saturday morning. I didn’t see the funeral, because for some reason I couldn’t leave the house. But later that evening I saw the light for the first time. I was just trudging to the kitchen to eavesdrop on my parents when I caught a glare in my peripheral vision. It was covering the front door. I knew exactly what it was, it was there for me. I felt the pull, the yearning as it seemed to call out to me. I knew there was peace in that light, but stubbornly I refused to go. I just could not bear to leave my parents. In the end, they left me. About two months after the accident my parents sold the house and moved out. My mother was having a hard time coping with my death, and was suffering terrible mental anguish. I tried on several occasions to contact them, but it was useless, and as frustrating as it was to be confined to the house I resisted the light on two other occasions. However, each time it reappeared there seemed to be something different about it, it seemed dimmer somehow, and the time in between when it appeared grew longer. The worst day was watching them move out. I cried, I yelled and tried to touch them, but they were oblivious to my existence - whatever strange existence this was. For a long time after I just lay on the bare living room floor, praying for the light to appear. But the light did not come. I drifted in and out of darkness, and time passed, how much time I had no idea, and then one day, the front door opened. My first thought was that an intruder was trying to get in, until I remembered. Until it all came painfully back. The accident. The funeral. My parents leaving. “This place will need some cleaning.” It was a woman’s voice. I jumped up as they came through the front door. I was angry. Who were these intruders, and how dare they come into my house? As I grew angrier the small chandelier started to vibrate. Then I saw her. She was petite but with a firmness of body that came from dedicated workouts. She could not be more than five feet two inches tall, with black hair, neatly pulled back falling just above her waist. She had a smile that made her brown eyes twinkle, and crow’s feet which meant that she used that smile quite a lot. He lips were full, and pink despite the fact that she wore no lipstick, and hardly any make up at all. Her perfume was subtle, and I could even catch a whiff of the shampoo in her hair. Funny how even now I retained some of these senses. She looked around and for a moment I could have sworn she looked right at me, locked eyes with mine, and then the moment was gone, and her eyes drifted over the now dusty, empty living room. She glanced up at the chandelier, which was still shaking slightly, shrugged and made way for the man behind her. He was about half a foot taller than she was, fit looking and well dressed. He wore spectacles and sported short brown hair. He was dragging a suitcase behind him, and further back I could see guys bustling around the moving truck that was parked in the front yard. “Oh shit,” I thought, ‘just flipping great!” Their names were Jessie Parker and Ryan Steadman. They were engaged and Ryan had just gotten a job as head of the local bank. It seems three months had passed while I ‘lay’ on the living room floor, and in that time they had purchased the house. I had no idea why I was still here, and it was with regret and some fear that I realised the light had not appeared for some time. Did I miss my chance I wondered, and if I did, what would become of me now. I still could not leave the house, there was an invisible barrier at every opening, but something had changed. In the six months or so since the accident, particularly after my three month ‘sleep’, I realised that I could now interact with the living world, although very subtlety, and only with extreme effort. There were times when I stared intently at Jessie and she’d look up, look in my direction, and then shrug it off. Jessie. It didn’t take much for me to fall in love with Jessie. She was an artist and set up her studio in my old bedroom. I’d spend hours watching her paint, and I’d smile when she’d make silly jokes with herself. She enjoyed listening to music from people like Elton John, Rod Stewart or Phil Collins when she painted, and she always sang along and danced. She loved a cup of hot vanilla latte, and she always smelled liked flowers and paint. She was a romantic and would often recite pieces of her favorite poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: *“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.* *I love thee to the depth and breadth and height* *My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight...”* But then there were the other times. The times I’d cringe when I heard them making love. They seemed content. Ryan turned out to be a bit of a workaholic and was more interested in Bloomberg than Bacciarelli. Jessie spent long hours on her paintings, and I spent long hours in there with her. Sometime after they moved in a friend of hers from Boston came down for the weekend. After dinner Ryan remained downstairs watching TV, while Jessie and Lauren lounged in her studio drinking red wine and gossiping. At one point I heard Jessie say, “You know something Lauren, you’ll probably think I’m crazy, but sometimes when I’m up here I could swear someone else is in here with me.” Of course Lauren just laughed and poured them both some more wine. “I think this small town vibe is getting the better of you hun, I warned you about watching all those ghost hunting shows.” Jessie laughed in response, “I know it sounds silly, but it feels so real. The thing is that although it makes me nervous, I never feel threatened, never scared you know. Just that sensation that someone is there. I dunno, it probably is just the new house vibe.” They talked for a while longer reminiscing about Boston days and I drifted off again, like I often do. Suddenly I was jolted awake by a powerful humming sound. I was still in Jessie’s studio and it had to be late because all had gone quiet, all except for that throbbing, crackling sound coming from downstairs. I rushed down to find that the light had come back, finally, but it was different. It was not by the front door, this time it was covering the door leading to the basement. It was shimmering now and there appeared to be small lightning bolts around the edges. The middle seemed darker somehow and I swore I could make out a shape in it; a dark shape of something staring out at me. I started to walk toward the light when something told me to stop. I was just meters away from it when I heard the growl, low and guttural. It came from the light and I realised that this was not what I had seen before. This was something else. I panicked and tried walking away, but I felt a strong magnetic pull, pulling me toward the tainted light, toward that growl. Oh God, I can’t get away, I screamed and fought with all my might. Three meters, two and I saw a black hand slowly start to emerge, reaching for me, sharp claws on the end.... “Who is there? Is there someone there?” The light disappeared. It was Jessie. She stood at the top of the stairs staring down. She held a baseball bat in one hand - I don’t know whether that made her brave or crazy - but she was willing to take on whoever she thought might be in her house. I smiled despite the terror of moments before. Something had awoken her. “What the hell is going on babe?” It was a groggy looking Ryan, still rubbing his eyes, “its two a.m.” “I swore I heard someone down here Ryan. I-I think someone’s in the house.” To his credit Ryan took the bat from her, moved her behind him and slowly descended. Of course, he found nothing, and 30 minutes later they were both back in their bedroom, my parent’s old room and one that I could never bring myself to enter. My mind soon drifted back to what had just happened and a feeling of terror fell over me. Was I paying for ignoring the light? Did I miss my chance to go to what felt like a better place? And did that now make me fair game for whatever else inhabits this afterlife? The thoughts were terrifying, too much to bear, and I slumped to the floor head in my hands. I had Jessie to thank for my, my what? Reprieve? Because I feared that whatever it was, was going to come again. The next day, or maybe it was the next week - time passed differently for me - I was in Jessie’s studio once more. She was working on a landscape covering a huge canvas some five feet tall and maybe four feet across. Suddenly she stopped. “I know you’re there you know, despite what Lauren might say.” She turned and looked almost right at me. “If you are there, then can you let me know? Can you speak? Can you move something, or even touch me?” I was stunned and for a moment did not know what to do. She felt me. Felt my presence. “Or maybe I am going a little crazy after all,’ she sighed, and the way she pouted made my spectral heart skip a beat. “I’m here. I’m HERE!” I shouted, to no avail. I focused hard on the brushes in front of here. “Move dammit!” I came up to her side and with every ounce of effort pushed at the brushes, until finally ....I sat back exhausted. I couldn’t do it. I had never felt such disappointment, such hurt. I had girlfriends before, but never serious relationships. What I felt for Jessie these last few weeks I had never felt before. “I’m losing my mind,” I heard her whisper and a small tear rolled down the left side of her face. My heart broke, and gently I reached over to touch that tear - and she practically jumped! “Oh my God,” she exclaimed, looking around wildly, “was that you? Did you just touch my face?” My mouth was open as I stared at her in wonder. She actually felt me. Jessie stood now, slowly moving in a circle, “can you do something else? Who are you?” I reached for her again, but my hand just went right through. I tried to recapture whatever made it work but it was hard. “Please, let me know who you are?” I heard her say. I stood in front of her now, inches away and stared into those eyes I had come to adore, I wished more than anything to be able to kiss those lips. I too sighed and slowly wrapped my arms around her. She froze and inhaled deeply. Her eyes grew wide for a moment and then she slowly relaxed, and she smiled. “That’s you isn’t it? I can feel you.” Her smile grew wider, “Who are you? What do you want with me?” I tried speaking, but I knew it was useless. She could sense me, but communication seemed impossible. I didn’t know how much time I had left with her, and I wanted to tell her how I felt about her. But it was useless, and I faded away in frustration.... “Hello, are you here?” I came alert. I had drifted in the blackness again, and I’m not sure how much time had passed. I shook my head to clear away the dark and found myself still in Jessie’s studio. She was sitting at her small desk and there was something in front of her. Oh shit, she had gotten herself one of those spirit boards. My mom always said to avoid stuff like that. She said they were chinks that could let bad stuff in. “Can you speak to me, try using this.” I stood opposite her staring down at the board, and truth be told, there was something vibrant about it. I reached out for the planchette and felt a jolt of electricity sting my fingertips. My spectral heart beat faster. This just might work. With great effort I tried pushing the planchette ...and finally, it moved. I saw Jessie start a bit as she felt it move under her fingers... C-A-L-V-I-N... “Calvin? That’s your name? Oh my gosh it’s great to finally meet you Calvin. What are you doing here?” Spelling out my name had left me drained. I didn’t realise how hard this was. I wasn’t sure if I could answer her. But somehow I managed to spell out ‘H-O-M-E.’ “Oh wow, this was your home? Wait a minute...” she said, ‘the family that owned the home before were the Richards, Calvin Richards, is that your name?” I was exhausted. After waiting for a few minutes Jessie pulled out her phone opened Google and typed in ‘Calvin Richards’ in the search bar. A lot of hits came up, none about me. There sure were a lot of Calvin Richards out there. She finally refined the search, down to the town and hit the ‘News’ icon, and there it was. *“Promising Journalist Killed in Accident”.* The story wasn’t long, there was a picture of me at the top and by the time Jessie had finished reading it her eyes were red. “I’m so sorry Cal, “she shortened my name naturally, adding “I can’t imagine what it’s like. And you’ve been trapped here all this time?” She reached out and touched my photo. “Such a handsome young man too.” I smiled when she said young man; she couldn’t have been older than twenty-five herself. “Oh Cal, why haven’t you moved on? Is this what happens after we die? Is there something that’s keeping you back?” Too many questions Jessie, and I barely have the energy to move that planchette again, but I did manage to spell out ‘Y-O-U”. “Me? What about me Cal? Are you saying that you’re here because of me? I don’t know what that means...” She looked a bit disturbed now, and I thought maybe I’d made a mistake. Slowly she packed away the spirit board and left the room, pausing once at the door, “Good night Cal.” My exhaustion caused me to lose myself again, and into the blackness I went. Jessie was in the studio again. She was working intently on her painting. There was something different about her attitude, I wondered if I had scared her. Dammit Calvin, you’re such an ass! I walked over to her and stood by her side, she turned then, and walked right through me to go pick up some more paint. I may not have had a physical body, but there was a cold, sinking feeling in this one. I don’t know if you have ever been in love, and if you ever did anything to hurt that person. It leaves a pit of ice in your stomach and suddenly all other thoughts are swept away other than how you can make it right. “Oh Jessie, Jessie ...I’m such a fool, I’m so, so sorry.” “I know you are Cal.” What the hell! Did she just respond to me? Oh my God! “You...you can hear me?” I stuttered. She smiled and shook her head, “Not physically no, it’s more like a whisper, in my head, and I don’t catch every word, but lately I do catch bits and pieces here and there. Ever since we used the spirit board ...I’ve been listening to you beat yourself up for the past half hour.” And then she did laugh out loud! We talked for hours, and while she didn’t get it all, I was able to tell her about myself, and how I felt about her. Her face did go flush, but she didn’t seem too put off to have a ghost fall for her. Overs the next couple of days Jessie opened up a lot more about herself. She grew up in Georgia in a devoutly Christian family. Jessie was inquisitive though, and would often question parents, relatives and teachers about everything from life after death to the existence of alien life. She also had an innate and tremendous talent for painting. Throughout her life Jessie was always searching for answers, even as she pursued her career as an artist in New York, where she met Ryan. She was obsessed with trying to find out if there was something more. So when Jessie walked into the house that first day, she knew that there was something different about it, and when I contacted her using the spirit board it helped shed light on things she had desperately sought to know since she was a girl, even though it meant that a million new questions now had to be asked. But before she could ask any more we heard the door slam downstairs. Ryan was home. “Gotta run Cal, catch you later,” she said and blew a kiss in my direction with her right hand. For some reason I felt jealous, and angry. I knew it was silly, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought of him holding her and it made me sick. I heard them talking and laughing, and I got angrier. This wasn’t like me. I needed to calm down. I closed my eyes, tried to lose myself in the blackness, but it would not come. “Damn you! Damn whatever is out there that has left me in this hell!” I shouted. I looked to the heavens, “God, are you there? Why am I here? Is this some sort of punishment?” There was no response. Of course not. I dropped my eyes. Now frustration added to my anger. I stood up and ran at the window ...and slammed into an invisible wall. It actually hurt. I shouldn’t feel pain; I’m dead ...so what the hell was this? “Purgatory Cal!” The voice boomed into my head. “What?” I spun around scanning the room, “Who ...whose there? What do you want? God?” I heard a familiar chuckle, ‘No, no son, not God at all, just someone else who cares about you.” There stood my grandfather Max Richards ...short for Maximillian. He had died when I was just 16, however we had been extremely close, and his death hurt me deeply. He looked exactly as I remembered him. Max was tall, over six feet, and had a pronounced paunch. His full head of grey hair was always neatly combed with a side part, and he wore a blue striped shirt and khaki pants. He had lines all over his face, lines that were borne out of hard work, but also left there by years of joy and happiness. My grandmother had died just a couple years before Max, and we all believed his eventual demise was as a result of a broken heart. “Grandpa Max? Is it ...is it really you?” ‘Well yes and no Cal. It is who I was, although this is no longer who I am. I was, er, requested to have a word with you, and this will be the one, and only time you will ever see me here Cal, so listen up boy, and pay good attention.” “You are stuck here because you have grounded yourself boy. First it was your parents. The door opened three times, and three times you refused to go through. Now that your parents have gone, you have found a new anchor ...that pretty little lady downstairs. You have to let go Cal, it’s a choice, and if you don’t then you will be stuck here for all eternity. Physical death comes for us whether we like it or not son. But death is simply a transition, you have things to do on the other side boy, and they are piling up the more you linger here like Hamlet’s ghost.” “The door will open once more Cal, but only when you’ve ended your unnatural affair with the young lady. She is not of your existence, and you need to let her get on with life. You should not have communicated with her, but what’s done is done. Try to forget her Cal. It’s time to move on.” He spoke with that severe grandfather look he always put on whenever he corrected me as a kid. I shook my head. This was all too much to bear, but I have no doubt he spoke the truth. ‘It sounds weird, but I really love her grandpa. You remember what love is don’t you, like you loved grandma? I never got to experience that, not until now.” He shook his head. His eyes looked sad, “I’m so sorry Cal, so sorry, but that’s different son. We were both alive, and what we had was natural. This isn’t.” “And what of the other door?” I asked, “The one with the dark shape inside?” If a specter could grow pale then my grandfather’s did just that. His eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped opened. “What other door Cal? I told him about the terrifying experience I had, and how I was being drawn into the door with the lightning. I could see it shook him, shook him to whatever disembodied core he now possessed. “Then they know you are here Cal. They know you have lingered. Your very soul is at risk boy. You end this now with that girl, end it and you go through the light, because if they get you Cal, there are no words to describe what they will do to you.” ‘They? Who the hell are they grandpa?” ‘They are the things that dwell in the darkness son. Existence is about balance; yin and yang, dark and light, good and evil, and nothing is so precious to them as to get their filthy claws on a soul bound for the light.” He sounded desperate. “I must go now Cal, my time is over, but you heed me boy. I’ll be waiting on the other side. Oh and Cal, one last thing. These beings will let nothing or no one prevent them from getting at you, and that includes your little friend downstairs. The longer you linger, the more peril you put them in Cal. Your presence is what allows those things to access this house. The best thing you can do to keep her safe, is to leave.” And he was gone. I was terrified. This had just gotten real. Some metaphysical game was afoot, and I was the pawn. But all I could think of was Jessie. How do I let go of Jessie, just when I found her, just when we found each other. But if my grandfather was right, then that very love was going to condemn me to something terrible, something infernally terrible! Sometime later she opened the studio door and popped her head in. “Cal?” I didn’t answer. “Guess you’re tired,’ she smiled, ‘can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow. Good night.” And she shut the door. But I didn’t talk with Jessie the next day, or the next week despite all her efforts. She even brought back out the spirit board a couple times, but I just ignored it, I ignored her, and we both suffered. The days came and went, and I could see that Jessie wasn’t sleeping. Her eyes were red and she had stopped eating. She’d argue with Ryan - I can’t say I was too sorry about that one - but I could see she was in pain. She even stopped painting. It took every ounce of will to stop myself from responding to her, even when she begged. I was quiet, and I wept bitterly. One day she came into the studio and sat down, eerily looking at just the spot where I stood. “I don’t know what’s going on Cal, or why you’re treating me this way because I know you’re still here, I still feel you. If it’s Ryan then there isn’t much I can do about that. Cal, you’re a ghost. I mean, this entire freaking thing is crazy. I guess men are all the same though huh? Dead or alive? Maybe I’ve lost my mind, for heaven’s sake I’m sitting here talking to a frigging ghost. But for my entire life I have searched for answers Cal, and when I found you, well, I’d found more than answers. It’s stupid, but really connected with you.” I closed my eyes, rivers of fire running inside me, but still I held my tongue. I’m doing this for you too Jessie. I couldn’t bear being the cause of any harm that would come to her, and the best way to keep her out of danger was to go through my door. The only way that would happen was to break this connection. I drifted, but still I could hear her small sobs, and I wept with her. Time passed on again, how much time I’m never sure, but I found myself in the living room again. The house was empty. I drifted up to Jessie’s studio, she had started painting again. I did not recognise it at first, but then it hit me with a jolt. The painting was of a huge door, a door I had seen before. It was surrounded by light, with lightning crackling around the edges, and a dark shape inside. There was a hand reaching out from it. A hand I recognised with a feeling of trepidation. Oh my God! What did this mean? Where would she have gotten those images from? I looked around and with dismay I saw the spirit board on the floor in front of the painting. It seemed Jessie may have tried to contact me again, but God alone knows what she actually made contact with. Did that account for the strange sketch? Jessie! I felt panic coming on when the front door opened. It was her, I knew it, and relief washed over me. I ran downstairs. She was just taking off her coat, a grocery bag on the ground in front of her. She paused briefly as I stared at her, but then carried on with what she was doing. As Jessie pushed the door shut however ...it came back! It was the door of light. Thank you God I thought. I turned to look over my left shoulder. Jessie was now in the kitchen packing away the groceries. I was overcome with bitterness and sadness, but even as I felt those things the door flickered. I had to leave her, I had to go, and I could not even say goodbye. I sighed dejectedly and started walking toward the light, when I heard something else, something that sent a chill through me; a buzzing sound. Wide-eyed I paused and slowly turned to where the entrance to the basement was. The other door was also back, and now there appeared to be countless dark shapes swirling around in there. The light seemed sickly somehow; contaminated, stained. The growls were back too, seeming to come from dozens of different throats. I hastened my pace, but then I heard a voice come from that other door. It was a heavy, growling voice, with an accent I could not determine. It was a foul voice, and simply hearing it made me feel dirty. “Go through that door and we will take her instead. She will take your place here with us Calvin Richards.” It laughed, and the laugh was of a thousand entities mixed together. An icy hand gripped the centre of my being. No, no. no, this couldn’t be happening. This thing had threatened Jessie. “Cal,’ it was a whisper, from in front of me this time. Grandpa. “Cal, son, move now! You have to hurry son.” He sounded terrified as well, “they will take your soul and they will shred it Cal. Come now!” My soul. My soul or the soul of the woman I loved. I had to make a decision. But deep down at the very core of my existence I already knew.