A Ghost Story, by Pamela Wight

Pam Wight ghostI know it’s going to happen tonight. All the signs are right. Children off on their own, husband away on business, my two best friends gone on vacations with their families.

I am alone. Finally.

For the past two months I’ve been preparing for this time, not knowing that it would come, but preparing nonetheless.

The sun finally loses its power over gravity and sinks down into the dark rose horizon. The moon floats ahead, but herds of black clouds cover its cheerful shine, darkening the sky and the earth below.

I turn off the lights to the living room, the hallway, then the stairway, and finally my bedroom.

I am swathed in glorious blackness.

I close my eyes, then open them so the room is revealed to me like a developing photo in a dark room.  Familiar shapes and shadows relax me.

Then an unfamiliar form floats from the window to the door and stops a few feet away.

“Virginia?” I ask.  She nods her head. I see no face, no female body, but still, I know it’s my dear friend of many years, my mentor, dead over 15 years now. I have talked to her so often in my prayers, but never a response.

Now she speaks, though no words fill the room.

We revel in memories of the life we shared, and she laughs heartily. My soul fills with the sound.  I have missed it, but now realize that it has always been part of me, and shall remain so.

She answers my personal questions of what lay beyond.  I won’t tell you what she says.Pam Wight cat

Felicity, my cat, creeps into the room, staring at me with her yellow eyes.  I’m afraid she may think her mistress has lost her mind, but instead she meows to me.  “Why stay here? Take a cat nap and see the world.”

Oh, I suddenly realize; I’ve always been able to go back and forth between worlds. I just don’t nap enough.

I close my eyes, feeling Virginia’s presence close at hand.  We soar off through the window panes into the black night.  I am so happy my heart balloons twice its size. I see George, then, and grandmama, and, of course, Pauli.  They are just as free as me.

We head toward the prism that has suddenly appeared, and just as suddenly we’re in a garden of roses and delphiniums and hydrangeas. The soil is moist and smells like cut grass, starfish, and summer moonlight.  Felicity joins us and converses with a butterfly.

“Change is imperative,” the colorful flying insect says wisely.

I wink and find myself back in my dark bedroom, seated Buddha style, petting Felicity in soft gentle strokes.  She gazes up at me and says only one word in a long, low purr.

“Llllllooooooovvvvvvvveeeeeeeeee.

***

Pam Wight photoPamela Wight loves stories of fiction and lore as well as tales of real life. Her blog, Roughwighting, contains fast flashes of life that highlight her passion for writing and living.

Pamela publishes books of romance and suspense, offering an escape into worlds that are very real (even though they are fictional). In The Right Wrong Man, Meredith Powers’ career as a medical editor seems safe enough as she searches for love with the right man, until she is pulled suddenly from her serene world in Boston to one of intrigue, kidnapping, and murder in the Caribbean. Twin Desires, a romantic suspense set in San Francisco and the quiet CA town of Stinson Beach, follows Sandra Eastman and the two brothers who almost destroy her world. Both e-books are available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

To share her love of writing, Wight teaches a class on creative writing for fun – calling it Rough Writing. Her students have renamed her class ROUGH WIGHTING, which she thinks is just perfect.

Connect with Pamela on Facebook and on Twitter.

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18 Comments

Filed under Guest Writers & Bloggers, Special Events

18 responses to “A Ghost Story, by Pamela Wight

  1. Thanks for publishing my spooky (?) spiritual tale, Karen. My own take on ghosts – hope your readers enjoy!

    • karenrsanderson

      Ghosts don’t have to scare the crap out of you. I love “visits” (little reminders) that get sent to me from the great beyond. Voices…eh, I’m not so sure I like those!

      • Yes, we may be visited more than our consciousness wants to acknowledge…
        And how about that little voice in our head that says, ‘no, you really shouldn’t.’ Think that comes from nowhere??

        • karenrsanderson

          I know exactly where that little voice comes from, and her name is Lois. 🙂 Aunt Agnes would have said, “Oh, go ahead and try it.”

  2. Oh my, this is wonderful…both eerie and comforting. Also a good reminder of the power of our imaginations to experience a different, but no less valuable, reality.

    I think it’s true that those who’ve gone before can travel lightly on our hearts, and the essential things about them never really leave us. But sometimes we need to create that sacred space to call them forth.

    • karenrsanderson

      The essential things never do leave us – I agree – Whenever I see a hummingbird, I think, “Mom sent that,” or if I hear “Silver Bells” I think, “Ang sent that.”

      • Ahh, the sacred space, a wonderful way of describing it. Our world is so fast now, that most of us don’t take time to crawl into that sacred space. We’re missing some wonderful encounters.

        • “Ahh, the sacred space, a wonderful way of describing it. Our world is so fast now, that most of us don’t take time to crawl into that sacred space. We’re missing some wonderful encounters.” Ahhh yes, and sometimes guidance.

  3. I have had more than my fair share of spiritual encounters both good and evil. Thanks Karen and Pamela for this lovely post!

    Donna L Martin

    • karenrsanderson

      I’ve had a few evil encounters…oh wait, those were ex-husbands. And I’ve had a few good encounters, too. Stay tuned!

      • Haha. Love your sense of humor, Karen! Yes, the evil encounters are the scary ones. I’ve been told that if we just shine a (spiritual) light around ourselves, the evil can’t get through. I choose to believe that!

  4. Mmmmm, I like that time when “the sun finally loses its power over gravity and sinks down into the dark rose horizon,” nice Pamela.

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