The Girl Who Was Buried in Her Ball Gown

I was in such a state after the court case; totally mind blown and exhausted emotionally. I didn’t realise how taxing, watching Dad’s trial could actually be. It went on for the whole week! Excruciating, and Dad looked totally depressed, so did Mum. Nikki was spared the worst as she was still going to school, the holidays hadn’t started yet. I was glad actually, I don’t think she could have handled seeing Dad treated like a common crim!

Pohane came too! The evil demon and yes, she was still dressed in my ball gown and pretending to be me! I was sick of her poking her unwelcome nose into my family.

She was smirking at Dad, who actually saw her walking across the courtroom; I saw his eyes follow her. Poor Dad, thinks she was actually me. The judge nearly tried him as insane when he was telling everyone present, that his daughter – who had been dead nearly a year now – was in the courtroom. She’s so disgusting! How dare she try to be me! If I could kill her I would. She’d already be dead though, I guess. But oh no, she was very much alive and so was I.

I went to see Martin, the only boy I’d ever kissed; I hadn’t seen him for a while because things keep intercepting and stopping me.

I came into his room and saw that he was in such a terrible state. I didn’t realise how far he had deteriorated. His brown eyes looked like they were glazed over, lifeless like mine; I suppose. I pulled my eyes away from looking (and looking) at his long, curly eye lashes. Hey, I’m the one who’s had to deal with so much crap! What was his problem? Suddenly, a pang of guilt flushed over me, when I remembered he too was young, and wanted to be energetic, he needed to be, but with his busted leg it was difficult. He used a walking stick to help his balance.

He was sitting, rocking in his bed, which by the way, was a mess. I think he was crying as I heard a small sound coming from his lips, a moan or something. Oh Martin, what has happened to you? I was overcome by an almost ill feeling, as I came to his side. Should I show myself? No, I think it might be better to just ‘mind-meld’ with him for a bit and so I pressed my nose to his and our foreheads touched. I felt a flush of red go into my face again as I imagined with my mind’s eye, the closeness we were sharing right then. I still had strong feelings for Martin; even then.

It took a bit of effort to focus and listen to his internal voice; his depression nearly knocked me backwards, but I held our connection.

I’m disgusting! I killed her! She’s right, there is no hope of me ever getting over this. I’ll never walk again without this stupid stick! He threw it across the room, but then decided after a few heart beats, to get up and collect it again. I could feel the pain in his weak legs and he collapsed onto the floor on his way over, so I had to reconnect.

I’m a bloody idiot! Here I am, crawling like a maggot to get a stupid stick! I’m a maggot, that’s right. I deserve to be rotting in the ground – not her! Not Emma!

Oh! Emma I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I should join you. Yes – just like you said.

What? I didn’t suggest he join me. What is he talking about? I had to keep listening.

I’ll join you Emma! I’ll bloody join you tonight. I killed you. I deserve to die! Oh, I hope you will stop hating me! What the heck? I don’t hate him? I was totally confused. I needed to talk with him, immediately! So much for me sharing with him, how I was feeling. And so, I began my smoking thing, to appear to him. I was stunned at his response.

“No! Emma! I’m sorry! Leave me alone! Go away! Go away!”

“What has gotten into you Martin? You’re being totally stupid.”

“I’m sorry! Leave me alone!” He seemed hysterical, I needed to get to the bottom of this. “Get out!” he shouted. “Get away from me!”

“Martin, now listen to me.” The rim of my eyes felt dampness coming.

“No! I won’t listen to you anymore!” He was balling his fists up and trying to strike at me from his lowly position on the floor. I couldn’t work out what was wrong with him.

“Martin.” He tried to roll away from me, bawling like a baby. I felt bad for him but at the same time confused myself. I didn’t know what to do, so I slapped him across his face and immediately felt worse. I should not have done that. His head snapped around as if I’d just whacked a great lump of wood across his face and I could see his cheek glowing bright red instantly, almost looking like it had been painted; how hard did I hit him?

“Ouch! You evil bitch! Why did you do that?” He snapped at me so harshly that the comment alone, penetrated my heart like a dagger. Suddenly I heard the door open behind me and I cancelled my smoking–up in an instant, huddling away; ashamed and heartbroken and my stupid tears began tracking down my stupid cheeks again, to my wobbly lip. I turned to see his mother coming in, worried about the noise he was making as I rubbed my eyes with angry fists.

“Martin, are you okay? Here let me help you up.”

“I’m okay Mum, just sick of this, this…” He was pointing at his stick and his mother went to get it for him.

“I’ll get something for you, to settle you down okay. Gosh, you must have fallen on your face pretty hard honey, is that how you got that red cheek? Are you hurt?”

“Yeah Mum, I fell. No, I’m fine; just help me up okay. I want to get back to bed.” She helped him up as if he were still a tiny child and guided him back to his bed.

“Right then, I’ll see you soon.” She left the room in a dizzying flurry, but I was sure it would only be for the briefest of times; I wouldn’t have much time with him. I cautiously smoked myself up again making myself visible, trying to extract as much time as I could with him. I was crushed and wary and hoped he wouldn’t see that I had been crying. His behaviour was so uncanny.

“Oh no, not you again! Why don’t you just leave me alone?” His tone had at least lost some of its bitter edge but it still didn’t make sense to me.

“Martin, what has got into you? Since when have you not been happy to see me, even thrilled?”

“Since you haven’t left me alone. Since you have been keeping me awake all night with your vile banter and your constant weeping!” His voice went into a falsetto, “Oh Martin, you murdered me, I’m so young. I had my whole life ahead of me.” Then he defaulted back to his usual, sweet voice that I was used to, “When did you decide to become a bitch Emma? Just leave me alone!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about Martin. I haven’t done any of that!” I could hear Martin’s mother pattering down the hallway, so I had to scarper before she opened the door; a perfect excuse to hide away again, invisible and alone.

“Here you go Martin, it’s alright. Drink this. Here’s some arnica cream too, for your cheek.” She handed him his hot chocolate and then rubbed the salve onto his red cheek, how strong was I? I was salivating, as I remembered the sweet chocolate I used to love. I could honestly say, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for about a year. It’s the simple things I missed the most, sometimes. Tastes and food smells had become nothing more than a distant memory to me. The things I smelled, were atmospheres and environments mostly, many still new to me; but much more edgy than when I was… well… human, flesh and blood.

Martin asked his mother a very strange question, as she was about to clear away his cup and leave. “Mum, do you believe in ghosts?”

“Ghosts, sure. Only you’ll probably find that most are not actually ghosts, rather… more complicated I think.”

“Mum, would you think I was mad if I said I’d been seeing them? Hearing them?”

“Hmm, that’s a hard question to answer. Umm, no, I wouldn’t think you were mad. I don’t really know enough about them. Are you sure you’re okay Martin?”

“Yeah, I’m fine – just really confused.”

“Oh honey, we’re here for you. I think you have been thinking too much about a certain someone lately.” She paused, mouth slightly parted, awaiting a response.

“No! No, I haven’t!”

“Come on now Martin. I’ve heard you sleep–talking. A mother knows things honey.” She was tearing up a little, I could tell; her voice was quivery. “Martin. Let me tell you something. You did NOT kill that sweet girl last year, Emma. It was a terrible accident. A terrible thing for anyone to have to deal with. It was not your fault. You remember that okay.” She paused and then sighed.

“Look Martin, I have been speaking to her mother of late and she is going through a really hard time herself. Emma’s first anniversary is not very far away and now Max, Emma’s Dad, has been locked up for manslaughter. We need to be strong honey, pull ourselves together and be there for each other.”

“I know Mum; I know.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss and a hug. She was about to leave, “Mum. I have been seeing them, ghosts I mean. I’ve been seeing Emma.”

“Oh Martin, please Martin. Emma’s dead. There’s nothing to be done about it now. The ghost you have been seeing is very likely not Emma. She would be in heaven by now; with Jesus.”

“Well how can you tell Mum? Do you really know?”

’I don’t really know Martin, no one can know. The spirit realm is beyond our understanding honey.”

She was a little flustered and I was more than annoyed and upset. She was basically saying, I didn’t exist here on earth anymore; but here I was, standing right behind her and listening to all of this. I was so overwhelmed with everything. Besides, why, why, why wasn’t I in heaven right now anyway; why was I still here? It was too much to bear, too hard! What with dying, dealing with all this foreign stuff, I couldn’t catch a grip on it all. And then Dad was sitting in jail. I nearly jumped into the mirror to get away and cry some more somewhere else. I had no one! No one to offload to. I was totally alone and totally lonely.

Martin’s mother was deep in thought before she spoke again, “Martin, even if you have been seeing ghosts, seeing Emma; you have to remember there are demons out there too, who try to deceive us whichever way they can. It is highly unlikely that it is her.”

“And how can I tell Mum, how?”

“I think, and I might be wrong, but I think that there is no way to tell truly; except maybe you could ahh – maybe you could ask who she serves. Is Jesus her Lord, or not? I think that if they were actually a demon, then they serve the devil and they would not be able to say, Jesus is Lord. Satan is their lord. Other than that, just don’t talk to them! Don’t give them the time of day.

“Come on now, it’s late, you should rest and recover. If you need me, call okay. I’m just a few steps away. Just call me okay honey.”

“Okay Mum and thanks. I love you.”

“I love you too, that’s my big boy.” Martin shot her a glance as if to say, ‘no I’m not. I’m not a baby’. “You’re my baby Martin.”

“Oh, shut up Mum.” And at that they both giggled and then she was walking towards the door. “Mum, do you think I should go and see her?”

She looked a little confused before asking, “Who Martin? Who should you go and see?”

“Mrs. Walters, Emms Mum. Would she be okay with me visiting her?”

“Oh Martin, of course! I’m sure she would love to see you.”

“You don’t think she would, you know, hate me?”

“Why would she Martin? I’m sure she would be thrilled. Yes, I think that a wonderful idea. I think we should do that. I’ll drive you over there soon, okay honey? Now get some rest. Goodnight.” And then she left.

I stood there for a while, wondering if I should have another go at appearing to him. What if he freaked out like before and called me hurtful things again? I was still a bundle of nerves and needed to tell someone what had happened to Dad.

A few more minutes passed and I still kept invisible, wondering if I should leave him to sleep; then he called out in a whisper… “Emms, are you still there? Or whoever you are?” I did nothing, I was still wounded. “Emms, I’m sorry okay. I’ve not been doing so great lately. Oh come on, come and talk to me. Please!” His brown puppy–dog eyes, where looking around the room, searching, expectant and trying to find me – I gave in. “Ahh, there you are. I knew you hadn’t left me yet. Now, I have a question for you, before you say another word.” I thought I knew what it might be. “Tell me, mysterious girl in the gorgeous green dress, who is your Lord; who do you serve?”

“Oh Martin, now let me think about that. Ahh...” I was enjoying my teasing, “Umm. Yes, I think Jesus Christ is my Lord, of course. And who is yours?” And I had forgiven him, as he had also forgiven me.

“Now tell me mysterious young man, what are these ahh, dreams you’ve been having, hmm? What have you been sleep–talking about, I wonder?” I couldn’t help but chuckle about the little episode that I knew about and he didn’t even suspect. Some secret thing which had made my own cheeks glow red, like his one was glowing, in that moment when I had hit him before. Oh, I’m such a wicked ghostie.