Ghosts We Learn To Forget

It was a peculiar kind of day when Ted, at 115 Gloushire Road, Wadford Grove, hears a set of knocks at his front door; a fresh pair of pants halfway up his legs.

Since awakening, the cat had been sick on the bed covers, his baby sons’ bed had been soiled thanks to a cursed, faulty nappy, and the cup of tea his wife, Monica, had made him somehow slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor, but not before staining his slacks.

Chaos. That was the only word Ted thought before rushing into action alongside his wife.  

“Honey, can you get that?” Ted yells for Monica as the knocks echo slowly through the house.

“I’m cleaning Ryan up.” Her piercing tone shouts back from their second bathroom.

Finally shimmering his pant legs up all the way, Ted concedes to his wife. “Alright!”

Another three knocks assault the house, causing Ted to growl out. “Coming. Coming!”

Stopping at the door Ted doesn’t hesitate to turn the lock and pull the handle forward, curious to see who the shadowed form he spotted through the door’s frosted glass panels.

Expecting their neighbour, or at the very least someone from their village, swinging the barrier open reveals the disheveled form of his best friend from high school.

Unchanged. Pale. Almost translucent. Yet still gangly and riddled with pimples. Still impatient with the toe of his foot tapping the small paved path.

“Thomas,” Ted’s voice shakes with surprise.

“Ted,” His friend croaks back. “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

Sadness prickles Ted’s throat. But he swallows it down. Forces his voice through the sudden barrier. “You shouldn’t be here buddy.”

Too much time had passed. Thomas’s fate was not his penance. A fact which had taken Ted a decade to realise. And seeing Thomas, here now, on his doorstep, shifting on his feet. Scratching at his arms. Ted feels a peaceful acceptance wash over him.

“Goodbye Thomas.” Ted says, closing the door on Thomas’s restless soul.

“Wait, please. For old times’ sake.” Thomas’s desperate voice tried to pluck at old sown seeds.

Looking back down the hall to his kitchen, Ted hears the delighted giggles of his son with whatever game his wife had conjured up. He had to think of his family, think of the life they had together.  

“I’m sorry Thomas,” Ted doesn’t look up at his old friend again, pushing the timber door away. Willing his eyes to lift only once the latch in the door catches the frame. Quickly turning the key and hearing the comforting click of the dead bolt, a sigh escapes Ted.

Through the frosted window pains of the door, he watches, relieved to see Thomas’s form slowly dissolve. Automatically Ted’s eyes cut to the small cross his wife had hung above the door when they first moved in together.

He had laughed at her need to “protect” the entry into their home. But now he was grateful for such a thing. Crossing his body with a sudden faith, Ted holds his palms together for a minute.

“Who was it?” Ted turns to see Monica bouncing Ryan on her hip. Brows pinched, curious just as Ted had been.

“It was Thomas…” Ted watches his wife visibly pale, the pinch to her brows deepening. “From high school.” He adds, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

“Ted,” Monica hugs Ryan tighter, “Thomas died in high school.”

“The car crash.” Their night had started with a party. A merry consumption of drinks they had garnered off a college student. Ending in a nightmare only Ted had survived; reborn amongst the ripping of metal and the last wheezing breath of his friend behind the crumpled wheel.

It was the last year of his schooling, but the first year of his depression. Until he had met Monica, coming clean in her strong, understanding arms as to why guilt oozed from his every pore. The next day he booked to see a therapist, to begin talking to someone about the ghost that haunted him.

Thomas.

But even with help, he still wondered. Still questioned. What if?

“Should I ring the priest?” Ted asks.

Monica nods vigorously, her brown hair jumping. Ryan gurgles in glee, trying to reach for the wavy, brown lengths. Bouncing him on her hip again to distract his clawing hands, Monica turns back to the kitchen, “Hopefully he can help.”

Ted follows his wife and looks at the magnetized calendar stuck to their fridge. Realization dawns on him as today’s date catches his eye.

March 31st.

A date never marked, or circled. But always remembered. Always a seed of guilt growing at the back of Ted’s mind.

Until this morning… When life had shown him there was only one way to forget a ghost.

What a peculiar day indeed…