Diary of a Dead Man: Birth of a Poltergeist
Written for NYC Midnight’s #FlashFictionChallenge2019, July 2019.
Also available in audio on the podcast Story Time with Darcie: Episode 10.
June 3
I died today. An unremarkable death. I was at the park with Elliot, pushing him on the swing and teaching him to say “Daddy” (he’s been calling Oliver “Pappy” for a couple of weeks). And then I wasn’t.
July 9
Life-after-death is not what I expected. I haven’t learned the meaning of life. I don’t know if God exists. I haven’t gone to heaven, nor, thankfully, hell. In fact, I can’t leave the playground. Can’t move on. Luckily, we live down the street and if I stand atop the climber, I can see our house, glimpse my family. I try to catch Oliver’s eye, to catch sight of our love’s light, but he carefully avoids glancing at the park. I burn with desire to hold them. To tell them I’m still here.
July?
I’ve grown accustomed to children playing around me. When one asks for help reaching the monkey bars I unthinkingly reach down. My hands pass through her outstretched arms and she bursts into frightened tears, flees, tells her mother of the ghost. That word shudders through me, claims me, changes me.
Summer
Children don’t climb the structure anymore. They say it’s haunted. That a bad memory lives here.
It’s hard to concentrate. Days pass in the blur between breaths. I fade. Drift away in pieces.
When did Elliot start walking?
Fall
Is this moving on? Disappearing to nothingness? I don’t want to go! Life should blink out instantly. Not in this agonizing fade. I’m still here!
I flick a stone off the railing to confirm I exist. It clatters against the slide. It remembers me.
Winter
A forgotten rag, secured with one pin, flutters on our clothesline.
Bleached by sun, frozen by cold, tattered by wind, torn from the pin.
It drifts away…
May 26
It’s Elliot’s birthday! If not the day itself, today’s the celebration. Balloons, cake, family, friends. Elliot greets his guests with high-fives and smiles. Oh, to be there, celebrating our two-year-old. I’ve never felt joy this intensely nor collapsed into sorrow this deeply. Another piece of me floats away. I cling to the climber. Feel its sturdiness. Without a body to contain them, emotions seem limitless. Though fleeting. Elliot laughs as Oliver catches him mid-jump and he spreads his arms, becomes a bird, takes flight.
Summer
Elliot has a baby-sitter. Didn’t Oliver and I decide not to leave him with a sitter until he was three? It’s so hard to remember.
I long to take her place. To be near my son. To hold him. Console him.
They come to the park. I haven’t been this close to Elliot in over a year! She plops him in the toddler swing, takes out her phone. I gush with thanks, though she is oblivious.
I stand before the swing in entranced adoration as Elliot soars in delight, arms outstretched. Unexpectedly, the sitter pushes the swing again and Elliot’s fingers graze what would have been my beard releasing a burst of sparkles. He squeals with joy. “Daddy!” He remembers me!
My elation erupts as intense light. Elliot reacts with a soft cry of delight. Mistaking his glee for distress, the sitter pockets her phone with a sigh, collects my son and takes him away, tearing my soul open.
A soft echo of that joyful light remains, calling for me, tugging at me.
I won’t leave my son.
Fall
With each visit, Elliot brings more joy to my (after)life and the light, with its ominous attraction, grows. It shines brighter than a sunny day and features tendrils of white elation that reach for me, seeking to drag me away. Children who long since abandoned the climber dance among the tendrils. Joy attracting joy. Building on itself.
I strain against it. Cower in distant corners of the park by night, cling to the climber’s tower by day. Tossed rocks haven’t blocked the light. It claws at me, threatens to rip me apart, to forever separate me from my family. I refuse to let it.
Winter
Elliot hasn’t visited since the snow came. I stare at our house, jealous of everyone who enters, of every breath they take in the company of my family. MY family.
The snow doesn’t diffuse the light, but it dims, nonetheless. Joy turned jealous turned resentful. Shadows deepen. Light darkens. Its pull surrenders and with it my fear. I begin to control the darkened tendrils. To push them.
Day Two
I’m counting days again. Not to measure passing time, rather to measure increasing betrayal. It’s Day Two. The second day of HIM. The second day my husband left our son to spend time with another man. To look upon HIM as he used to look upon me.
I smoulder with resentment turned rage. Light darkens. Tendrils blacken. The park, empty but for shadows, pelts pebbles at those who draw near.
Day Three
Oliver hasn’t come home. Hand-in-hand, the sitter leads Elliot toward the park. I smile, reach for him and he withdraws. The sitter picks him up and deposits him in the swing. My son wails as the black tendrils caress his innocence, trail shadows across his soft skin.
Day Four
HE walks Oliver to the door. My husband drops the key, blushes. I recognize this move. This “accidental” fumble. There’s invitation in it. Desire.
HE collects the fallen key. Their hands touch. They draw closer. Caress faces, necks. When their lips join, I explode.
Under the blaze of my rage, the pebbled ground blasts upward. Outward. Shrapnel shooting through the neighbourhood, smashing streetlights, shattering windows, denting cars. HE falls limp against Oliver. I settle to a churning boil. Drape myself in black tendrils. Collect the disassembled pieces of myself. Those that remain. That propelled the pebbles into bullets.
Oliver lowers HIM to the ground. To the pool of fresh blood. Remembers another dead man.
For the first time since my death, my husband, my beloved, my betrayer looks to the darkness enveloping the park. To all that remains of me.