Two ghost stories
The door of the bus closed with a pneumatic hiss, and he realised how far he was from any kind of civilisation. He had not seen the darkness; had failed to notice it through the bus windows, and it now stretched endlessly out from all sides. There were no lights or buildings or people or cars in sight, only the light emanating from the bus, which he looked up at just as it drove away, the soft light inside, illuminating each window like a lantern sailing through the night. As it disappeared into the distance, the dark came flooding in, and the wind died down, and there was silence. And so he proceeded, carefully at first, stepping out into the dark; though he could not see, he could only hear the crunch of the gravel with each footfall, after which the silence would come swelling back, that dead silence in the nighttime that surrounded him.
And his eyes adjusted, and he could see, but only a little, these blades of grass as tall as him and who all stood still, and a lone tree, leaves hanging motionless, this grass and the tree in the near distance still like statues, and the silence like he had been plunged underwater. He proceeded further, and looking up, noticed the moonless sky and the clouds a lighter dark against the black of the night, and the moon up there somewhere, he supposed, obscured by cloud, illuminating, if only weakly, the clouds that covered it. And through a small opening he glimpsed, though only briefly, as the cloud moved on, a lone star, shining brightly in the gap, the only light in the night, and then it was gone, enclosed again by the darkness.
And just then the wind picked up, at least as far as he could tell from the sound of the leaves rustling in the tree, and the blades of grass brushing against each other, and the faint whistle in the night, breaking the silence. He paused for a moment, halting his step, and he left his foot dangling in the air, listening. And he could have sworn that he heard a voice speaking, but only one word, a word that he did not understand, and perhaps it was broken as it was swept along by the wind, so he could not make out what it was. He wondered if it was some foreign language, one that he could not understand. So he looked around frantically, looking for what could have originated the sound, and listening intently in case it was intoned again. But nothing else sounded in that deep darkness, nothing but the rustling leaves and the swaying grass, in the low wind on that silent night. And he began to feel scared, he was completely alone out there, in a place that he did not recognise, with no one around to help, nothing but the emptiness of the dark.
So he became afraid; he was afraid of the dark, of the starless sky, of the silence growing as the wind died down. He wondered where he could go, how he could get out of the dark, at least to a light; even the smallest light would relieve him of this dark, and to some sound, even that lonely sound, that word which he could not understand was some respite from the silence all around. And just as he began to feel truly hopeless, as he fell to the ground where he stood, the light appeared: as small as a light could be at first, only a dot, not even, just a point of light, but light nonetheless, bleeding in from the darkness. He got to his feet with a pang in his heart, here was a light, small but undeniably there, and growing; yes, the light seemed to be growing in size; undeniably, the light was growing larger as the seconds passed.
And his breathing quickened, and he began to feel his fear slipping away, here was a light, a light out of the darkness. And as the light grew larger, it brought with it sound, almost inaudible, a low hum. But the hum increased in volume, and the light grew larger still, and in the light he could see a road illuminated, bordered on all sides by the grass, and the hum increasing to a growl, now recognisable, the growl of an engine, and if he squinted into the light, which was now so large and so bright as to cause him to squint, he could see behind it the cabin of a bus. And he ran toward the light, toward the bus and the growl of the engine, raising his hand and waving, and the bus began to slow, coming to a stop in front of him. He stopped just before the door, and he could see through the glass inside the cabin of the bus, he could see the driver behind the wheel, the stairs leading up to him. And just as the bus stood still, the door opened with a hiss, and he climbed inside, leaving behind the darkness that stretched out as far as the eye could see, unbroken but for the headlights.
Like mice, ghosts must also be removed from new apartments.
I had recently moved into a new apartment. I began by testing each of the rooms for ghosts. As soon as the thought that ghosts could be present crossed my mind, so too did the evidence of their existence begin to mount. Within moments I was convinced of a ghost in the apartment. Having had experience with ghosts before, I had come prepared. I produced the ghost-detecting device. I turned it on. Immediately the light, which was normally green, flickered red and it began to emit a beeping sound. The ghost detector had detected a ghost. Intrigued as I was, I proceeded with a sense of trepidation, knowing what I did about the dangers of ghosts. I moved about the room, this being the lounge room, brandishing my device. As I moved, and according to its design, the ghost detector emitted beeps of increasing or decreasing urgency. According to this logic, I was able to assume that the areas in which the ghost was most active were those where the device beeped more urgently. I began to scan everywhere. I became more confident with the device.
Detecting ghosts is no easy feat. I was in awe of the device. It possessed powers beyond human interpretation; the ability to detect those things phantasmagoric and otherworldly. I was envious; holding it in my hand made it feel like a part of me, the extension of a limb. This was, of course, untrue, but I found myself chagrined at the realisation that I had not been somehow born with the device a part of me. It was as if it held some kind of secret knowledge that was slowly being filtered into my unknowing brain.
These past weeks the ghost has been like television. Each night when I come home from work, I watch the ghost. At first our connection was so little as to be spurious. In the first few days, even with the help of my detecting device, I found myself still doubting its existence. I have gradually cast doubt from my mind with the help of my ghost detector. Now it lies beside me on the couch, not unlike a television remote. As my doubts decrease, my ability to perceive the ghost increases. Now I am able to converse with it. What do you talk with a ghost about? Mostly mundanities. We discuss life, work, and girlfriends. Living alone, it is comforting to have someone to talk with.
More on the detector. Since meeting my ghost, I have been taking it with me outside of the house. I am increasingly surprised by the prevalence of ghosts. While I wait for my train, the silence is punctured by beeping. I am the subject of looks by other commuters, as my detector beeps on. But as presumably innumerable ghosts pass by, I cannot shake the feeling that the commuters are only being distracted. I was once also distracted by novel events on trains. A group of teenagers playing music out loud, or a man screaming obscenities. With the help of my ghost-detecting device, I can look further than they can—I am no longer distracted by the world.
I bought the ghost detector on eBay. It was sold as is. The previous owner was getting rid of it as they no longer had any use for it. It had been tested and was still in working order. I had minor experiences with it in the past, but living with housemates in my previous place, I was often asked to switch it off prematurely. The freedom of thought and action allowed while living alone is unmatched. No longer could my ghostly investigations be challenged. I supposed that my initial resolution upon detecting a ghost in my apartment was to have it removed. I don’t think that the thought crossed my mind again, not after our conversations.
We are always passing by ghosts, not noticing. All over the earth, when we sit at an empty platform, when we are the lone patient in a waiting room, while we lay awake, alone in our apartments, they are there. In the background, in the spare room, the upstairs bathroom. In the locked garage, the pool, closed for winter, my old house, in the lights flickering off automatically as the office is closed. Wandering the train tracks at night, setting off car alarms, spooking cats and dogs and horses. Rattling the windows on a stormy night, shifting the house till the walls crack. In my bedroom, as I go to sleep, the ghost is there with me. I have come to this knowledge through my ghost detector. It is a device that detects ghosts. Because of it I no longer feel so alone.