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      "body": "![Buried2-web.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmTeJ1Y26vRbCCx8aCUVRFLjDxTcM8GvBGpkFn7Yhha2Qp/Buried2-web.jpg)\n\nA paranormal short story...\n\nBuried\n\nIt was night. The frozen field she hadn’t been able to leave was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The amount of cars on the road had become scarce, so she’d given up her task for a while.\n\nInstead she stood, looking down at the little black shoe under the hedgerow. It was a size six and a half, ‘a big girl’s shoe,’ her mum had told her when they were in the shop.\n\nAnother car came zooming up the road, headlights full on. They blinked through the bare-bones of the bush. She waved even though she knew they wouldn’t see her.\n\nShe walked the five steps to the opening in the hedge. As the car’s lights left a white streak in front of her, she heard another one coming in the other direction. She stood waiting for it to arrive over the crest of the hill.\n\nWith its lights dipped, she could see the man inside. She waved. He had a white light running around his head and shoulders, the white of angels. She’d seen a few like that but none of them had stopped. He looked her way and with the expression he wore, she knew he could see her.\n\nHe drove on a little but was slowing and came to a stop on the opposite side of the road.\n\nHis car door opened and once stood, she saw the light traced his whole body. It was like someone invisible was standing behind him with a powerful torch, shining it right at him.\n\nAs he walked across the road, his eyes met hers. She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The burning inside her belly was rising, this was bad. She backed away, following the line of the skeletal hedge.\n\nClouds left his mouth as he breathed. You just have to show. That would be enough. So she stood beside the shoe, waiting and watching.\n\nHe walked through the gap in the hedge and turned towards her. Holding steady, she fought the urge to run away. This was important. He just had to see her body and everything would be alright.\n\nHe was a tall man, at least six foot or thereabouts. He had the dark skin of an African. He wore a beige woollen jumper and chequered white trousers.\n\nShe didn’t leave tracks in the snow anymore, he did though and his heavy footfalls crunched through the crusted blanket.\n\n‘How can I help you?’ he said in a placid, concerned tone.\n\nShe wanted to answer but was too afraid. Let him see, that’s all. She pointed. He looked.\n\nHe did see it, her fallen shoe and the shredded sock and part of her foot the fox had decided not to eat. He leaned in for a closer inspection. She couldn’t stay here. The rest of her body lay further down the hill under the hedge. She blinked.\n\nThat was all it took to get from place to place.\n\nShe stood beside her mostly buried body. He was where she’d left him, examining the black shoe now in his hand. She needed him to see her again, and waved.\n\nHe looked up to where she had been. When he didn’t see her there he looked around but not down the hill. He rose and spun around searching the rest of the field and then looked down once more at the shoe, held between forefinger and thumb and walked off towards the opening in the hedge. She blinked.\n\nShe stood in front of him blocking his path. He stopped when she appeared and stared down at her, face full of concern and contorted. She still couldn’t bring herself to talk, instead she pointed. His face turned. She blinked.\nFrom the top of the hill he saw her and started walking.\n\nWhen he was near she gestured to the remains of her body. He looked and when he saw he crouched. There was a mound and all that was exposed was her old left leg, stringy and full of dirt mixed into dried blood, from where the fox had gnawed at it.\n\n‘I’m sorry little girl,’ his words were soft and kind.\n\nSomething formed in her mind. It was like a photograph, tiny and distant, getting bigger as it drew near. There was a crowd; all dressed in black and standing in a circle. Dotted around were headstones of grey with black and gold lettering. She smiled. It was her burial, her proper burial.\n\n‘Do you know what will happen now?’ she said in spite of herself.\n\n‘Now there’ll be an investigation. Don’t worry, I’ll sort all this lot out and once it’s released they’ll bury your body. That should let you move on from where you are.’\n\n‘You mean I’ll see, Grandad Eric, again?’\n\n‘Yes, you will.’\n\n‘Thank you.’\n\nThe image was right there, she could almost feel a part of it. So close she could see the half-sized coffin between the bodies in black.\n\nShe blinked.\n\n***\n\nShe watched as the coffin, her coffin, was lowered into the pit. Her parents were there, standing at the head of the grave, huddled and crying. They both had black trench coats, which looked brand new and cosy in the falling snow.\n\nShe recognised half the people here as family, the rest she hadn’t a clue. There were three in the crowd with the white light around them. She didn’t look to see if any of them noticed her.\n\nShe watched as first her dad threw a handful of dirt into the pit, and then her mum. Everyone else followed suit.\n\nThe snow came down harder, great lumps of perfect crystalline flakes landed and stuck to all their heads and shoulders and backs. Two caretakers shovelled the big mound of dirt into the grave while the crowd crawled away. They gave up soon after there was no one left to watch.\n\nShe was still here, nothing had changed. Her Grandad hadn’t showed either. She crept forwards and looked down over her coffin, it was still visible. Could that be it? Did she have to be completely buried? It must have been. She waited.\n\nA digger showed up some time later and shovelled great scoopfuls of dirt over her resting body, far quicker than the two men doing the job by hand. She closed her eyes in anticipated wait.\n\nHer Grandad Eric would come now.\n\nShe listened to the sounds of the mechanics of the machine, not daring to open her eyes again, just in case.\n\nIt didn’t take long and soon the digger rolled away and then everything fell silent and still. She scrunched her eyelids a little more, hoping when she opened them again she’d be in heaven, or at least wherever, Grandad, was.\n\nShe opened them again. It hadn’t worked, she was still in the cemetery, a mound covered her grave and there wasn’t anyone around.\n\nThis wasn’t right. When you died you were meant to go somewhere nice, her mum had always told her. And there you would forget all about everything you went through in life.\n\nShe would have cried if her eyes worked properly. She let out a few moans instead and went and sat at the foot of her grave.\n\nIt felt weird looking across at her name on the headstone. Lucy James: it read. Not that it brought it all home, telling her that she was dead. No, she’d spent enough time in the field for that, it just felt weird.\n\nShe needed help and for someone to tell her what she had to do next. Her parents couldn’t, she was sure about that. Besides, they were busy with the wake and there was no way she wanted to be anywhere near that.\n\nShe sat a while, aware of her headstone but not looking at it, and thought and thought. She stood, the man who had helped find her body, he was sure to know what to do. She could picture him again, in his beige top and chequered trousers.\n\nShe blinked.\n\n***\n\nShe stood beside him. The club was held high over his head, coming down. He saw her, mid-swing, and flinched a little, not enough to show unless you were looking. The club hit the ball.\n\nIt sprang from its tee and came straight at her face. She didn’t have time to duck. It went right through her nose and out of the back of her head. She didn’t feel it but imagined coolness where it passed through her.\n\nThe man looked off, tracing the trajectory of the ball. He looked pleased.\n\n‘I need your help,’ she said. He ignored her and placed his club in his caddy and walked off trailing it behind. Five men, with similar chequered trousers followed. She ran to catch him up.\n\nWalking beside him she kept asking for him to stop and talk to her, told him she was upset and needed his help. He ignored her, didn’t even look her way. He had to know she was there, he’d seen her as she appeared. He played another shot, straight down the centre of the fairway and still carried on as if she wasn’t there.\n\nPeople were in groups dotted all around the course in fives and sixes. They were on different holes and from what she could tell, there was a hole between the groups, no group was playing the hole behind the group in front.\n\nOn the next shot his ball sailed too far right and landed among a small cluster of trees.\n\nWhen he went in to look for the ball she followed him. He crouched down, looking away from her, ‘Where are you?’ he said, face searching the undergrowth.\n\n‘Are you mad? Talking to a ball, I don’t think it will answer,’ she said.\n\nHe sniggered in a hushed tone. Not looking behind he said, ‘I’m talking to you. I just didn’t want my golf buddies to get frightened about what I do.’\n\nUp this close the whiteness around his body shone brighter. ‘And what do you do?’ she asked.\n\n‘I talk to the likes of you, the lost souls that have passed on from life.’\n\n‘Is that what I am?’ He nodded. She looked around, no one was anywhere near, and no one could see him talking to her. Something else and it took her by surprise that she hadn’t thought it odd till now. The grass was lush and the trees were full and flowering. ‘It’s not snowing.’\n\n‘No. It’s been five months since the day of your burial. I was there with you and saw you, but you didn’t look like you wanted to talk. You looked content.’\n\nShe was taken aback; she’d just leapt five months into the future with just the blink of her eyes. ‘I was just there.’ The man turned and gave her a puzzled look. ‘I mean at the funeral, I was just there and then when I blinked I came straight here. What does that mean?’\n\n‘Time has changed for you. I’ve seen it often enough before. It’s hard to explain but in a nutshell, you have no concept of time anymore, you can pass through it, as you say, with the blink of an eye.’\n\nShe looked at him puzzled, she didn’t understand. It didn’t matter though, she could think about it later. She had other things burning for answers. ‘When I look at you, you have a light around you. Do you know what that is?’\n\n‘Again something I’ve learned over time. It is your way of knowing who can see you and who you can talk to.’\n\n‘But in the field I saw lots like you, none of those stopped, just you.’\n\n‘Not all of us can see and talk to you. Some of us can only see, some can only talk, some, like me, can both see and talk to you.’\n\n‘Oh, so how can I tell which is which?’\n\n‘You can’t, but don’t worry. With my help you won’t need to.’\n\n‘What do you mean?’\n\n‘I mean that something is wrong, that’s why you came to me. You might not know what it is though. I can help you.’\n\n‘OK.’\n\nHe stopped talking for a moment. A thoughtful expression etched his face. ‘Do you know what happened to you? How you died?’\n\nShe knew alright, she remembered far too well. She couldn’t tell him though, not a stranger. A stranger, she laughed at herself. What does any of that matter now? She wouldn’t tell him though, not unless she really had to. Unable to speak she scrunched her face as if to cry and nodded.\n\n‘It’s OK you don’t have to tell me, so long as you know. I think that whatever happened you have to make peace. If someone was involved go to them and make them understand that you forgive them.’ She didn’t like the sound of that. No, she couldn’t do that. ‘If it was an accident, then you need to forgive yourself. You didn’t let anyone down; it was just one of those things.’\n\nShe backed away from him. Here he was asking her to do something she couldn’t. No wouldn’t do. She refused to believe she should.\n\n‘The only way to talk to anyone who can’t see or hear you is to get them while they sleep. Brush their temple with the back of your hand and tell them, make them believe that it’s OK.’ No. No way was she going to do that. But it was too late, his words had started a picture in her mind, a distant one of a man lying in a bed, sleeping. ‘I can see in you that you see whoever it is you need to speak to, so go and make your peace.’ No, she didn’t want this. It came at her though, the picture of the man lying in bed. Growing in size all around, consuming the trees and the shrubbery.\n\nThis time she couldn’t control it, somehow his words had done the job for her. She had no choice, she was going and that was that. The crouching man faded and she was there, in the darkened bedroom.\n\n***\n\nShe felt cold inside, which she found odd. She hadn’t felt anything so far, yet here, in the room with this man she felt cold. She should feel the opposite, she should feel hot with fury and ready to, to… Well she didn’t know what, but cold? No, that didn’t feel right at all.\n\nShe didn’t want to be here; she should just blink herself away and go spend some time with her parents and stay with them till, whenever.\n\nThe room was filled with blue, dark blue all around. The man, in his single bed shifted in his sleep. He faced her; his dark beard ruffled-looking was flattened to one side. She backed away from the side of the bed unsure of what to do.\n\nShe thought of her Grandad, he was all she wanted, just to be with him. The only way to do that was to tell this man she didn’t care, that he was forgiven and then everything would be alright. She liked her Grandad, they had spent a lot of time together, always frolicking and laughing. She smiled. She had to go to him, to be with him, to be happy.\n\nThe man lying in front of her was in his early forties, and lived alone. This was the house it had happened, she was sure. Not this room, no, below her, in the cellar. The smell of dust came to mind and of mould and damp as well.\nShe crept forwards, one un-eager step after the other.\n\nAt his side, when he was just within reach, she leant forwards and placed a hand to the side of his head, just above his eye. The images of what he’d done flashed before her. It was different though, she wasn’t seeing it how she remembered, she was seeing it from behind him and watched him on top of her tugging at her hair, one hand pressed firm over her mouth.\n\nShe remembered the hurt, the pain she felt and the tears she wept. His strength too, the power he had in holding her down. The back of her head stung with the memory of her hair being held tight in his grasp. She’d been freezing inside and with every breath white plumes left her mouth and dissipated about his face. How could she tell this man she forgave him, how? Him doing what he was doing to her, the girl under him with the light-coloured hair.\n\nShe snapped her hand back. Her hair was auburn. What she had just seen was not happening to her at all. He was doing it to someone else, but who? What had just happened? What was all this? She didn’t know and knew she had to find out. Her mouth fell open. Was there was a girl down there now, trapped and tethered just like she’d been? She pictured the cellar again and blinked.\n\nIt was dark, with no light at all but she could see. The way her eyes used to get used to being in the dark, she could see a dim outline of the room she had spent six months, alone but for his visits. He came sometimes with dolls and they played, and those were rare and were the better days.\n\nIt was all changed and instead of the pallets and thin mattress she remembered, there was a small bed, a child’s bed, all clean and neat with pink under sheet tucked over a deep red blanket and matching pillow. The bed was empty.\n\nHad she been seeing a memory? Of something he’d done already or was what she saw something he hadn’t done yet? Was that possible? Could she see into the future? She didn’t know. She’d have to ask the man on the golf course. First she had to go back, back up to The Monster’s room. She needed to do it again and find out all she could.\n\nBack in his room, he snored. She placed her hand as before and took in every detail. She saw red, the red of the blanket spread out all around them. Her eyes were glazed, deep green eyes under a curtain of blonde. They looked frightened and looked up at her, yet they did not see her.\n\nThat was enough, she lifted her hand. The man shifted and turned away from her. The bed in the cellar had been too clean and tidy, and something inside told her that what she had seen, he hadn’t done yet. For it to be such a vivid dream she knew he’d seen the girl before, so it had to be something he was planning.\n\nShe thought of the man in his beige top and was about to blink but stopped. She needed to know where she was. She headed for the window with its blue curtains drawn. There was a gap, not wide enough to see clearly so she leant forwards placing her face right up to the drape and beyond.\n\nShe imagined the fabric tickle the tip of her nose as she pushed her head through. There was a row of houses opposite. \n\nHouses she did not recognise. Beyond them a spire, the church spire she’d seen many times from her garden at home. \n\nNot from this angle though, from the side, left from where she was seeing it now. She looked that way, her house was there somewhere: 12 Parker Street.\n\nWith a rough idea of where she was, she blinked.\n\n***\n\nThe man in his golfing attire was walking. She appeared behind him and followed. They were heading out of the golf house, ready for another round. Remembering last time, she said nothing, ran on ahead to let him see her then waited.\nAt the tee-off, he excused himself saying that he’d mislaid his wallet and was afraid he’d left it in the toilets. He left his caddy and wandered off towards the building, she followed.\n\nInstead of heading inside he bypassed the main entrance and walked out towards the car park. She saw the car he was headed to and blinked.\n\nSat in the back seat, she waited and when the driver’s door opened she could contain herself no longer. ‘Someone needs your help. Will you, please?’\n\n‘Slow down girl. Start from the beginning.’\n\nThe only way to get his help was to tell him everything. She told him about The Monster and what he had done to her and what she’d seen when she put her hand against The Monster’s head. He sat quiet un-interrupting.\n\nWhen she had finished, the man looked at her with sad eyes, eyes that understood. ‘I see why you found it hard to forgive him.’\n\n‘I will do that if that’s what it takes to be with, Grandad, but not until I have stopped him doing it anymore.’\n\n‘You might not have to. It might be enough that you help this other girl. I believe what you’re telling me and yes I’ll help you. But we have to do it right, we have to be certain before we get the police involved, OK?’\n\nShe nodded, ‘OK.’\n\n‘So, where do I find him? We’ll sit outside his house for a while and watch. When I see the girl, we’ll have him.’\n\nIt took them a while but the man was clever and they soon found the house where The Monster lived.\n\nHe didn’t come home till late that night, alone. ‘Do you want to come back to my house? We can come back tomorrow,’ he said looking at her through the rear-view mirror.\n\n‘No it’s alright. You make sure you are here and I’ll turn up, OK’ He nodded. She saw him in his car in her mind and blinked.\n\nThe next night was the same, and the next and the next. On the fifth night she felt a little foolish, she’d kept him coming here for nothing. His name was Tony, and he had two kids and a wife at home. ‘You can go if you want. You should be at home, with your family.’\n\n‘It’s OK. This is important. Neither of us knows when it’ll happen, just that it will. Be patient.’\n\nShe bowed her head and said nothing. They sat in silence a while. ‘Do you think you can go to the cellar again?’ he asked not looking at her.\n\n‘Yes why?’\n\n‘You should check to make sure she isn’t there.’\n\nShe pictured it and blinked. When she saw that it was empty, she blinked herself right back. ‘She’s not there.’\n\nThey watched in silence as the lower landing light went out, and then a short time later, the light from the upper floor window winked out.\n\n‘Do you think you can remember what you saw when you put your hand to his head? I know it’ll be hard but it’s important.’\n\nShe didn’t want to, never wanted to see that again, but he’d asked and if it helped. ‘Yes,’ she said in a whisper. Closing her eyes she saw it all again, The Monster on top of the girl.\n\n‘Just concentrate on her, never mind The Monster and what he is doing, ignore him. Tell me what you see?’\n\n‘She is about five or six, with blonde hair, cut shoulder length. It’s messy now and all tangled and needs a good wash. She has green eyes.’\n\n‘What else? What is she wearing?’\n\n‘A white dress covered in flower-heads; lots and lots of red flower-heads with yellow centres.’ The car’s engine started and they moved off.\n\nThey stuck to the main streets, following the signs to the town centre.\n\nWhen they came to a stop they were outside a clothes shop. There in the window was the girl’s dress; except it wasn’t a dress but a nightie.\n\n‘I’m no detective,’ Tony said, ‘but that tells us one of two things. He either took her at night, or he bought that nightie. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find out more about it, see if it’s only sold here. That way if the police ask, we have something to tell them. They may be able to find out who he is, if this is the only place they can be bought.’\n\nShe nodded, pleased that she had been a good help.\n\n***\n\nThe next night, Tony had come with two flasks and a box full of sandwiches. ‘We’re staying all night, just to see if he goes off anywhere.’\n\nThe Monster came home at his usual time. Tony told her that his investigations had proved that there was only one place to find and buy that nightie. Which although wasn’t solid proof, it was something and something was always better than nothing.\n\nSoon all the lights went out.\n\n‘Can you think of her again? I know it must be difficult, but it is important. I’m a believer in things happening for a reason, and I think that is the case here in that you came to me. I want to see if I can recognise her.’\n\nShe did so again, recounting everything she’d told him the night before.\n\n‘Look at her,’ she heard him say. ‘Really look. Is there anything distinctive about her?’\n\nWhen she looked she couldn’t see anything, then the girl’s head turned and looked away from her. ‘Below her left ear is a birthmark, so small it’d be hard to see if you had your hair done right. It is star-fish shaped and looks to be coming out of her lobe.’ She let the memory fade.\n\nTony looked off in thought and looked to be trying to piece her together, in his mind. She looked across the way at the house. Beside The Monster’s house was a gap between it and the one next door. It was dark as pitch there but she could tell there was no one in the alley.\n\nA light came on round the back, on The Monster’s side. The car rattled into life and lurched forwards. ‘I think I know who she is.’\n\n‘Go, I’ll find you in a minute.’ She took note of his light-blue shirt under cream coloured jumper and then blinked.\n\n***\n\nIn the alleyway she walked forwards, guided by the dim light. When she was near the end she saw The Monster walking away from her, white plumes left his mouth as he ventured over the thin-trimmed grass. He was dressed in dark colours from head to foot and when he put his hand down to his side she saw a small orange glow between his fingers.\n\nHe was headed to the rear of the garden, where a four-foot high fence awaited him. In its centre was a gate, he left the garden without a sound and headed left along the back alley.\nShe blinked.\n\n***\n\nThe car had come to a stop. Tony was looking out at a house on the fringes of the town.\n\n‘Where did you go?’ he asked. She told him The Monster had come out and which way he’d gone. ‘That alley goes to the railway station. If you cross it, there is another alley that comes out over there.’ He pointed to a lane further along the road. It was near the end of a large garden attached to the property they were now watching.\n\n‘This is Hal’s house,’ he told her. ‘He is the caretaker of the golf course. I’m sure his daughter has the same birthmark you described.’\n\nWhilst they waited he told her more of Hal’s daughter, which school she attended, and the times she’d been up to the course. Of a party he’d attended right here for Hal’s daughters’ sixth birthday. ‘There was a bouncy castle over there,’ he pointed. She pictured it in her mind, with kids jumping and laughing and screaming.\n\nAfter a time, a dark figure emerged from the very spot Tony had indicated. He skulked along the pavement, coming towards them, then crossed over, looked about then jumped the two-foot wall bordering Hal’s garden. He stuck to shadows, creeping between tall bushes.\n\nTony opened his door, slow and quiet. When he was out he closed it too, with only one click, then quick footed his way to the house. He dived over the wall and stuck close to the house while making his way to the rear. At the corner he peered out. The Monster was lurking, twenty paces from a set of patio doors, hidden behind what she thought was a fuchsia bush.\n\nThe Monster came out and headed for the doors. Tony ran around the corner, straight for him, yelling for Hal as he went. She blinked and appeared ten paces behind Tony. He took another two strides and lunged at The Monster. ‘Hal!’ he called again. Lights went on somewhere in the house whilst the two men battled. She thought she saw something glisten while the two men brawled on the floor.\n\nLight appeared right next to her and soon a short man in pyjamas and dressing gown fought with curtains and opened one of the windowed doors. He came out and ran at the fight.\n\nThe Monster had rolled over and lay on top. She had seen something glisten; it was a knife he now held, poised and ready to stab into Tony. Hal stopped him though and dragged him off. Tony was quick to react and leapt up, helped Hal and somehow managed to retrieve the knife. Hal took a blow of The Monster’s balled fist to his head. On his way down, Hal punched the feet from under, The Monster, who went down as well.\n\nThe two fought whilst on the ground, one hitting the other. Blow after blow on head and chest. The monster managed to roll on top of Hal and punched him again and again. Hal kicked out trying anything he could to get him off.\n\nTony shoved him and he rolled off and onto his back. He then stamped on The Monster’s head and kicked him in the side. The Monster swung out with feet and leg and caught him a blow to his shin. Tony went down over him. In the panic and confusion he let the knife fall from his grasp. It went down, stabbing into The Monster’s chest. Tony landed on top.\n\nThe Monster screamed.\n\nEverything went still and quiet.\n\nShe walked over. There was blood coming from The Monster. She wasn’t sure if she should be happy or sad but couldn’t ignore how the cold in her belly was diminishing.\n\nAnother figure emerged at the foot of the garden. An old looking man, with grey hair and clad in a white cloak. He came at a leisured pace towards them.\n\n‘Go to him,’ Tony said. Hal grunted, quizzical. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you later.\n\nThe newcomer smiled at her as he came closer. She saw him then, it was Grandad Eric. She ran to him and jumped at him. He caught her and held her tight to his chest. He turned and walked back the way he had come. As she spun she saw the two men still sitting on the ground. ‘Thank you,’ she said.\n\nTony winked at her and smiled. The Monster’s body, lay unmoving beside him, was glowing red. There was movement. A glowing copy of The Monster rose, it was transparent. ‘Grandad,’ she said in a quavering tone. ‘Look.’\n\n‘What is it?’ he said putting her down. When he spun, The Monster was fully upright and walking towards them. He looked confused. She could see right through him, red covered his entire new self.\n\nHer granddad walked on to meet him. For a moment she thought he’d hit him, but he didn’t. Instead he leant forwards and spoke in his ear. When he turned, The Monster vanished.\n\nHe picked her up again and carried her away. ‘Where did he go?’\n\n‘Don’t you worry about that, let’s just say not anywhere near where we’re going.’\n\n‘You mean hell?’\n\n‘No, there’s no such place. No, he’s going somewhere to take penance for what he did to you. He’ll endure suffering, not like you did, but bad enough.’\n\n‘How long will he be there?’\n\n‘For as long as they see fit.’\n\n‘Who are they, Grandad?’\n\n‘Oh enough questions, come on, we have some fun to catch up on.’ His hand rubbed her back.\n\nShe looked once more at Tony and Hal. Beyond them a figure was standing among the net curtain of the patio doors, a girl. She wore a nightie, a white coloured nightie covered in red flower-heads.\n\nThe End",
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      "body": "I agree with you that the future is marked by uncertainty. I'm not sure why that would prevent ghosts of the most probable Not Yet Born from being visible to the same sense of sight that can reportedly perceive ghosts of the Already Dead kind.",
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      "body": "Hello, Erin, and welcome to Steemit. I look forward to reading your posts, you have led an interesting life. WHAT ON EARTH provoked people to have you arrested over what you did with a patch ground? I really want to know.",
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      "body": "Welcome @djinnifer-sz, I wish you all the best with the Steemit community. I'll certainly be checking in to see your posts. Love the pics at the end here, what a marvelous/wondrous place you live. FYI, I'm a pig farmer, or was before I left it behind to concentrate more on my writing.",
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      "body": "Hey thanks for including me in your post. My dad used to be a long distance lorry driver all across Europe, mostly, Italy and Spain, he has exhausted us with many a good tale, (during the war... lol)",
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      "body": "Hey dynamicgreentk, thanks for this welcome. I'll be sure to check out your advisories.",
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      "body": "Thanks for the welcome. You make a valid point, though I don't believe we live in a preordained world. We can't see the future because nothing is certain.",
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      "author": "charlesfbond",
      "body": "![sunflowers-1240578_1920.jpg](https://steemitimages.com/DQmQJjbuejAysiWTwCC2Msi2eWtKChA3nuX7ctkbkeeyJk2/sunflowers-1240578_1920.jpg)\n\nSunflowers\nA short story by Charles F. Bond\nCopyright © By Charles F. Bond 2018\n\nIt is a hot summer day long into July. I stand in the doorway of the greenhouse, a small one I grant, but within its global harmony lay all any gardener really needs − three tomato plants, five feet tall, with ripening fruits among their emerald boughs. Being a late developer, they aren’t quite ready for picking, yet their scent fills me with a taste of heaven each time I come in to pick the little unwanted shoots that seem never ending.\n\nI'm rushing today for I am to join my wife of ten years down on the coast. She left with our two children Aidie and Jack at the beginning of the week (four days earlier) without me. I had a check-up with the doctor’s which couldn’t be missed − what with the wait for new appointments − and she wanted to be sure to be by her sister's side when the new baby arrived. I was pleased to miss all that huffing and screaming and suggested she went on ahead without me.\n\nWith the last task in the garden done, I leave the door open for my good friend Cecil, who will be arriving soon for the key exchange, and who will be keeping an eye on the place for the next five to seven days.\n\nThe front and back gardens are small affairs and I make full use of all space, growing enough vegetables (not to see me the whole winter, but well into it), and plants of all sizes, colours and smells. My favourite of all, the sunflower, has been somewhat a tyrant of a devil to establish in either garden, and I gave up trying. The first attempt, the seedlings grew well in their tray, but on planting in the ground, flopped and withered, and shrunk to nothing. The next year I planted straight into the earth, fearing the transplant is what killed them the previous spring, and they didn't start at all. I tried over the next few seasons an array of different techniques. None survived, nothing seemed to work. I guess I was destined not to have them.\n\nAs I walk along the lawn, all ten steps of it, I get a feeling, as I always do, of being watched. This very spot I tread is overlooked by Aidie and Jack’s room, and a chill runs down my spine. My usual ritual of looking up reveals the window to be vacant.\n\nWhat lurks there is unpleasant. What I know of the spirit world is vague, but the things I’ve experienced, not just in this house, have made me a believer. Cecil knows more about it and has told me he’s spoken to her in short bursts, enough to say her name is Catherine. Whatever else he's learned of her, he's kept to himself, and hardly talks of her at all. In fact whenever I've broached her with him, he's changed the subject. It was her, he claimed, who pushed the armchair behind the living-room door one night when he babysat Aidie as a baby. She hadn't been able to sleep so well, and only in his arms did she finally drop off, so he curled up with her on the settee and dozed himself. Clara, that's my wife, and I came home to find them resting peacefully, and though his explanation of the armchair deal was not out of the realms of possibility I believe he did it himself. In short, he's scared of her.\n\nIn the kitchen, some thirty minutes later, I rinse the mug I used last for coffee and its accompanying spoon and leave them to drain. Through the dirty pane of the window, (a task I keep meaning to get around to), I see Cecil come in the rear garden gate. When he sees me he offers a smile I return, and I pop the kettle on as he enters the house.\n\n'Coffee?' I ask over my shoulder. He always takes coffee, and seems to thrive on the stuff.\n\n'Yeah, I'll have a quick one before you go.'\n\n'You can stay if you like. You know you're welcome to use the kid’s room while we're away.'\n\n'No not after last time. Thanks for the offer but there's no way I'm staying in that room again.' Cecil shakes his head as I hand over the steaming mug.\n\nI laugh it off, but remember the night well. He was half drunk (we'd set up a single camp bed) and as far as I knew, was just about getting off to sleep when he came rushing out of the room, trying not to make a sound, with a face white as lily. I met him on my way to the toilet to relieve my somewhat coffee addled bladder, and he hasn't set foot in that room since, saying he never will again. I believe him. He never did tell me what happened, and remembering his shocked expression, I'll never press the matter further.\n\n'Well, sleep on the sofa then.' I say knowing he won't. 'It'll do you good to get away from your lot, absence from the heart and all that, and will give you some peace to get on with that novel you keep saying you want to write.'\n\n'There is that I suppose. But no, you're alright, I'll stay at home and come here to keep an eye on the place, water your gardens, and feed the fish.'\n\n'And the hamster.’\n\n‘Yeah, that, too.’\n\n‘If you change your mind about staying, you know you are more than welcome.’ Cecil nodded. ‘Well, you know how the roads are. I'd like to get there before dinnertime.' I reach into my pocket, take out my bunch of keys, fondle for the house key, unclip it, and hand it over.\n\n'Yeah, I know what you mean. I'll finish my coffee and come back later. I'm sure you'll have your greenhouse open, won't you?'\n\n'You got it, Cess.' I'm about to leave but spy the vase at the back of the sink, and notice its water is nearly gone. Then chastise myself quietly for not remembering to top it up. I run the cold tap and soon have the vase filled, replacing the glass when I'm done. The vase holds two sunflowers a neighbour up the road cut for me, knowing how much I like them. \nThey are a new addition to the house and Cecil hasn't been here since they arrived. With them being the only house plant, I'm glad to have topped up their water with him here. 'Don't forget these will you.'\n\n'I won't,' I hear his reply, but when I turn he has one of those distant stares, as if his thoughts are off battling those dragons he likes dreaming about.\n\n'Cess, don't forget the sunflowers,' I repeat and this time his stare returns to mine.\n\n'Yeah, don't worry. Now you go off and have a good time. Give your kids a hug from me.'\n\n'I will.' We shake hands and I leave. I've known Cecil since our school years. He's a good friend, though a little weird at times with his daydreaming, and I know the place will be well cared for.\n\n\nOn arriving back the next Friday, it is late and the kids are restless. They've slept most of the four hour drive, but I insist they go to bed.\n\n'Stay, Daddy, stay.' Aidie says as I tuck her in. It's become a habit, staying until they've dropped off to sleep, but I'm so tired from the journey I need to get to my own bed.\n\n'No, Treacle, I'm tired and worn out from the drive. I told you I can't tonight. You go to sleep, you'll be all right.'\n\n'No, Daddy, stay.'\n\n'I can't. I need to sleep.' My eyes are closing and opening.\n\n'Can we sleep with you?' Jack asks.\n\n'Come on then, but promise to go straight to sleep.'\n\n'Promise,' Jack says.\n\n'I pwomise,' Adie exclaims.\n\nWe all climb into the double bed and I fall to slumber before they're snuggled.\nThe next morning, waking with the kids between Clara and me, I reflect on our nightly ritual. Back when they were still babies − there is 18 months between them − they would be scared by the ghost in their bedroom. So much was their fear that they refused to be left alone and always needed either me or Clara to sit by them till they were sleeping.\nThis time of year things seem to worsen, and they take forever to settle and sleep. More often than not, Clara or I are so tired before then, we bring them to our own bed. They've told me of what happens in the night; once Jack woke up to see a shadow overlooking Aidie as she slept, (it'd prompted him to sneak out of the room and into our bed, but he'd felt so guilty at leaving his sister, we found him in her bed the next morning); Aidie once said of her toys, that they'd moved about when she wasn't in the room. We told her she'd probably forgotten where she'd left them and it was nothing to worry over. She wouldn't lie about it, we knew, and were trying to make her come to other reasoning in the hope she might stop believing, and not be so scared. It would happen; Cecil assured me once, once they were older and had chosen to forget the spirit world.\n\nI slip from the bed, unsticking Jack's arm from mine, careful not to wake him. It is still early out, and being the weekend, the kids and Clara like to lie a while after dawn.\n\nThe fish look healthy enough, and the hamster in the living room, bought at the last local fete for Aidie, looks well fed and watered. I saunter out into the garden, with coffee in hand and check the plants. They are all flourishing and the soil beneath is the dark of damp. Cecil has been very good in his minding. I open the greenhouse door, pin it to allow in fresh air, and breathe in the finest aroma on Earth − fresh growing tomato.\n\nOnce the gardens are tended I head back to the house and prepare breakfast. Clara is first down, closely followed by the sleepy-eyed kids. After we've eaten I leave them all to the cartoons and set to washing the dishes. As the last bowl is placed on the draining board, I fill a pint glass to fill the jar with the sunflowers. It is then I notice they are withered and wilted. The bottom of the container is dust dry. Cecil had neglected them. I wouldn't mind so much, but I told him twice about them, and he knows how much I adore the plant.\n\n'Remember he did it for free, Al,' Clara says from over my shoulder.\n\n'I don't care,' I bark back, unable to contain a growing rage. 'He knows how much I like them.' I storm out of the kitchen, out into the back garden. The best place for me is in the greenhouse, plucking those extra shoots on the tomato plants that I know I will have missed earlier.\n\nAn hour or so into it and I've calmed. Most of my pottering has given me time to realise how silly I was to get so annoyed over something I can do nothing about. They are dead and I can simply get more. I walk out of the open door to see Clara running to me with tear stricken eyes.\n\n'The kids?' is all I can manage as I rush to her.\n\nShe shakes her head. 'It's Cecil, Al,' she looks off trying to find the right way to say whatever it is she must.\n\n'Just tell me.'\n\n'He's been in a car crash,' she blurts, 'he's in hospital. It's bad.'\n\nTen minutes later, I drop Clara and the kids off at Cecil's, to relieve the neighbour looking after their daughter, a year younger then Jack, and rush to be by my friend's side.\n\nThe doctors say the coma will be a long one. His wife Martha is beside herself. I telephoned Cess’s sister an hour ago, and she'll be here come morning.\n\nThat night, sitting by his bed, I recount to Cecil of the wonderful mini break we've had. How the bouncing bundle was eight pounds two. How the donkeys at the seaside were Jack and Aidie's favourite pastime, taking rides every day. How they had built the finest sand castle, Jack, at least, with my help, and how creamy the ice-cream was down that way. I whittled on at length about nothing in particular, long into the small hours.\n\nOver breakfast the next morning, I realised I hadn't mentioned the sunflowers, and vowed to chastise him for it, laughing about it, and then saying it would be all right, so long as he replaced them when he woke up. I never did.\n\nCecil was in his deep sleep for three of the longest days of my life. Angie, that's his sister, implored the machines be turned off when we were told he might not ever wake up, pleading he'd never want to be a vegetable. I wouldn't allow it and, with faith in my heart, protested so profusely I managed to gain him an extra 24 hours. In the end the doctors sided with his sister, who'd managed to convince Martha. Apparently family have far greater say in these matters than best friends, even though the siblings hadn't seen eye to eye for many years.\n\n\nThe place seems so quiet. My family, I guess, are giving me time to grieve, as I sit in my deckchair at the foot of the garden. Looking around, the weeds are a plenty. Everything can go to seed for all I care, right now. The funeral is tomorrow, three days after they terminated his life, a short time from death to earth so Angie can be off to her corner of the world all the sooner. In my life I've never hated anyone, Angie I detest with a vengeance, and it is making me not want to attend my best friend's final farewell, at all. I'll go of course, but won't be at the wake, nor will I attend the ceremony. I'll be there for the important part; lowering him into the ground. He'll be here, in my heart, after all, if not in spirit, though I will never see him, nor hear his voice again.\n\nIt is nearing dinnertime so I set off back to the house. The eyes are on me again from the kids' room window as I cross the lawn. I get a sense they are bearing on me harder than ever before as if she might be feeling my loss, knowing it is more to do with the time of year. I researched the house when Cecil gave no answers and discovered Catherine Tate. She was a single mum living in this house in the early forties. Her husband hadn’t come back, and when she learned of his death she lost her mind. Her kids were taken from her, and with little else in life she left it of her own accord. A neighbour complained of the bad smell wafting into his house and got the authorities to check out our house, finding her lying on her bed slits in both wrists. They put the date of death as 28th July.\n\nLater, in bed, the kids went down without complaint, and Clara slides in beside me, silent as a burglar, snuggling into me, a hand on my chest. She knows I'm hurting, and try though I might I don't know what to say to her, on this the eve of the burial of Cecil. I kiss her cheek, cuddle her back, and drift to a reminiscent sleep.\n\nScreams startle me awake. It is Jack. He is screaming for me, and calling Aidie's name. Opening their bedroom door I'm horrified to see my little Aidie turning around the room, as if someone invisible was there spinning on their heels like a living merry-go-round, holding her under her shoulders turning her round and round in circles at chest height. Jack is crying. Aidie is quiet; her body limp as she sleeps on. Clara gasps at my shoulder, pushes passed, and lunges at our daughter. Aidie pummels into her, throwing Clara to the bed. It shakes Aidie awake, and she screams, spinning ever faster. I rush forth as Clara jumps from the bed. She goes to Jack, and I watch for my moment to grab Aidie. She comes around and I move into her path. As I take her in my arms, I turn on my heel. Aidie realising she is with me, wraps her body around my chest. I rush out of the room. 'Come on, Clara, let's get out of here,' I say as I rush down the stairs. She is two steps behind me, holding Jack by the hand as I reach the hallway. We don't stop there, load the kids in the car and drive to Clara's sister's house.\n\nIt took two days to organise an exorcist. He inspected the house reporting there was no need for his services − the house was clear − and left with no charge. I gave him enough to cover fuel costs, and on this he was grateful.\n\nThe next day we moved back in, and the vibe had changed. I knew what it was, I knew it was Cecil. I can feel him, have felt his presence from time to time since, and somewhere inside I know he is the reason we have no more Catherine. I tended the garden, ridding it of the infestation of many weeds, pruning where necessary, and trimming the grass. Under the kids' bedroom window some odd new shoots had sprouted. Unclear at first what they were, I worked round them. Research told me their genus, and I nurtured them better than anything I've ever grown.\n\nThey are the tallest, fullest sunflowers that I have ever seen.\n\n‘Thanks, Cess,’ I whisper, ‘these will do nicely.’\n\nThe End",
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