The house is on the small side. Nothing special or worthy of note, save the persistence of ordinary. It is clean and well taken care of, and while there are signs of improvements “waiting in the wings,” there’s no sign of neglect. So, the house is nice and pleasant enough – its vibe is normal and average. Wealthy folk have never lived there, and never would, but there is a kind of gentle opulence.
In death there are no wealthy; no landed gentry – just as there are no poor or in-firmed. In death we are more similar, and there is a strong possibility and every indication that spirits visit this house. Sometimes there are “situations” that challenge the people who live there, because things happen which probably should not. At the very least, there are experiences which defy the obvious explanations, or suggests more than meets the eye must surely be afoot. Sometimes, the family just can not understand, and every once in awhile they are afraid.
The oddities which occur do not discriminate; they show no preference or madness of method; they happen when they do, defying predictability and the comfort of something expected. When a cheerful and warm morning sun bursts through the window blinds or especially in the dead of night, it is surely spirit which comes. Don’t fool yourself into thinking it is misunderstood normality – someone visits. There have been voices, and movement, and things from just outside the periphery – a cloud of occasional darkness that confronts the regular. Always subtle at first, occurrences crescendo simply because they cannot be explained. This syndrome of presence screams in its silence and becomes overwhelming by the very fact of its continuance. This is not the stuff of movies – no one is ever harmed, but this is a true horror story because no one knows why. Or who. Or how.
Most of the time, they manage to forget. Or maybe it is that they choose not to remember, because life goes on. People eat; they shower and watch favorite shows or rented movies. They entertain occasionally, splurge occasionally – they plan vacations, make grocery lists, call the plumber – occasionally. They do what we all do, and much the same as we all do it. It is only when they least expect it, and when all things point elsewhere, that their lives are touched by something else.
We might say there is a haunting. We may even think they live horrific lives cloistered within walls of terror, locked in alone with God knows what or who. At the very least, we are not envious, and would not welcome the ordeal they must surely be courageously surviving. But that’s not how it is – they recognize and adjust; make the most of things, and frequently embrace it as though part of the mortgage, or paint on the walls. They’ve even been known to laugh about it, and yet no matter how accepting they are, this will always be too far away from their senses. It will never be relatable; will always seem invasive – like something they must endure. It feels like penance, and it’s all too foreign; distracting. They are the living and do “living” things, so they are finally weary, and it is time for things to change.
So, one day it just stopped. Probably not because some steel-trap-minded investigator came and rummaged through their list of symptoms. Not because a medium sent someone to the light or arrogantly attempted to explain the impact of death to the dead. Not because sage was burned or Holy Water sprinkled. It is over because this was a symbiotic relationship, so simple communication did the deed. Sometimes reasonable people just find a way to work things out, and it doesn’t matter whether they’re “dead” or alive. For all we know, spirit is still there, where it probably belongs – but hiding, since the deeper truth is unimportant here. Regardless, the persistence of ordinary continues, even if we think we know better.
Voices From Forever by Randall Keller http://goo.gl/ZBBmj Available on Amazon
There Is No Silence by Randall Keller http://goo.gl/U6KY7 Available on Amazon.