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“I assure you; while I look like a ghost, I'm no spirit or demon. I'm nothing but a girl struggling to make her way in an intolerant world. I bleed, I love, and someday, I'll die.” --Leanna Renee Hieber
It wasn’t ever supposed to end like this. Annie was supposed to die at the age of eighty, beside her family, and of old age; her curly brown hair streaked and grey, hands spotted with age spots. Not like this. No, this wasn’t the plan. Annie was eighteen: a straight B student, surrounded by great friends, a great boyfriend, and happy. But it all flew out the window when she tripped over her shoelaces and went tumbling down the stairs during a trip to the toilet at school.
The teachers had done their best to barricade the area, but the impatient and curious students kept flowing in through the doors of the north wing of the school, all peering over the teachers to see what all the fuss was about. That Sawyer girl, the whispers carried throughout the throng. Yeah, I think that’s her. Oh, my God. She’s dead!
It wasn’t long until the ambulance crew came. When they did, the teachers yelled at the students to move out of the way. The throng shuffled back a few paces, but they didn’t leave the area; they were too fixed on the dead girl lying ungraciously on the floor, with blood pooling out from the crown of her head. The crew lifted her up onto the stretcher and shrouded her body with a white sheet (though, it was staining quickly with her blood). They carried her into the van, and she was taken away. Some people cried, some shrieked; other’s whispered and gasped.
Annie opened her eyes, and knitted her eyebrows when she saw the crowd. Looking around, she saw the pool of blood beside her feet and she yelped, jumping away from it, as if it were acid. Annie saw the stretcher and walked towards one of the teachers and asked what was happening.
“Excuse me?” she asked again, tapping on the shoulder. But it didn’t make contact. Her finger went through Mr. Harrison’s back, a trail of smoke following it. Annie looked down at her hands, turning them front to back, but they seemed normal. Annie moved on to someone else and tried to touch them, but the same thing happened.
“Can you see me?” she asked, her voice soft, unsure. “Hello?”
But no one answered.
Her gut was weighing her down, an unsettling feeling grew there. She had figured out what happened, why this was happening to her, but she didn’t want to admit it. If I say it out loud, then it’s real; it’s happening. Had she opened the door to the ambulance van, she would’ve seen herself there, she knew as much. Annie didn’t remember dying at all, but she remembered seeing something. A light—yes, that was it. There was a bright, blinding light, with two blurred figures in the distance, creeping closer to her. They weren’t walking; they were floating, and she saw that they had sticks and rope. It frightened her, so she turned around and ran away from the light and into the darkness, where they couldn’t find her.
And now she was back at school. Back at school with a group of students and teachers who couldn’t see her, let alone hear her. The more she yelled out to them, desperately asking and begging for attention, the more she realized that it was only hurting her as she began to cry with each yell.
“Please!” she cried out, clawing at her white school blouse. “Please, see me!” Annie looked, and saw her group of friends near the front, right in front of Ms. Franks, sobbing into each other’s shirts. Annie ran to them and yelled out to them, right in front of their faces. “Carla!” she screeched to one of her friends. “It’s me! Please, tell me you see me! I’m right here!”
But nothing. It was all futile and she knew it.
Annie Sawyer was eighteen. And she was a ghost.
There had to be something else for her, right? That’s what she’s learnt from the movies. There’s supposed to be a door or something that would take her to heaven or something like that. Or a bright white light. I saw that, though. But she ran away from the light, and now she was here, doomed to walk the mortal world for not a day, or a month, or a year, or even seventy years. It was forever, and there was nothing she could do about it.
Annie slumped back and sat at the foot of the stairs. She sat and she sighed. Annie stopped crying now. There was no point in crying any more. Annie wasn’t sad; she was numb, like she had a buzzing, dead arm feeling throughout her entire body. She looked down and fiddled with one of the ruffles in her black skirt, breathing out heavily. The teachers were about to move the students out of the entire building. Apparently, the last period of the day was cancelled, and students were more than happy to leave when the news of that broke.
A boy in her year managed to slip through the teacher’s barricades, and he looked at the pool of blood drying on the wooden planks. His blue eyes blinked curiously, and he licked his lips before turning to the person next to him.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“A year thirteen girl fell down the stairs. Annie, I think her name was. It’s horrible, isn’t it?” the girl beside him replied, pursing her lips.
“Yeah,” the boy mumbled, his eyes returning to the pool of blood; then, his eyes scanned up to the girl sitting behind it. His mouth opened slowly and a flash of confusion and panic was seen in his eyes. He looked away, blinking uncomfortably, adjusting his glasses. He saw me, she thought, totally sure of it. He wasn’t looking through her, like the others were. Why can he see me and not everyone else?
But before she could run to him, he slinked back into the throng and disappeared.
Time went slowly for the week: she had walked around the school probably a thousand and three times. Annie followed some students, sat down with her friends at lunch to see how they were doing. Most of them had taken time off in their grief, but some stayed. It was quiet around her friends now. The laughter and cheer had slipped away without Annie being there. She wanted so desperately to give them a sign that she was still there. But they would probably be pegged as crazies, and that it was ‘a manifestation of their grief’. Annie even sat in her usual classes, as if she were still a student there. She would sit at the back, in the corner of the room and listen to the teacher lecture on about the subject. It was gloomy there, too. A foul feeling that weighed heavy through the entire school.
Annie never really liked some of her classes. To be fair, very few students here did. But now that she was this (she hated the term ghost; it still hasn’t stuck to her yet), she longed for some normality. And sneaking in on a class and listening was as close as she would ever get.
But that boy from before, she saw him sitting in her English class. He wasn’t paying much attention, as he was looking outside the window. She watched him for a good twenty minutes. He knew she was there, she could feel it. It was like he was purposely trying not to look at her even though he wanted to, so he kept uncomfortably shifting his body and head in distraction.
The bell rang and he jumped up, leaving the room quickly. He was quickly swallowed by her classmates. Damn, she muttered. Missed him again. Annie stayed in her chair for a bit and made a blubbering sound with her lips. She was determined to find and talk to that boy. Though, there was a possibility that if she did find him and try to talk to him that he would just ignore her. They didn’t have to become friends or anything. Annie just needed reassurance that she wasn’t completely invisible in her new ghoulish world. Maybe he’s sensitive to the supernatural world? It seemed logical.
With period three and lunch over, the school called for a memorial assembly for Annie’s death. Students shuffled into the hall and took their seats, watching as the lights dimmed and the principle talked. Annie snuck in a little late; carefully tip toeing (there was no need for that; no one could see her) her way to an empty seat at the back.
“Students, family and friends, and members of staff,” the principle began solemnly. “A terrible thing has happened last week: one of our students and beloved pupils died. This assembly is to honour and remember her life, though, sadly, as short lived as it was.” Principle Herrick’s shrewd and almost stone-like blue eyes scanned the students. “Anna – or more commonly named Annie – Sawyer was eighteen, a few months away from graduating. She was surrounded by a great group of friends, she had a lovely boyfriend. Everything seemed grand. Teachers and students alike adored her bubbly personality. But all of that was cut when she fell down the stairs, and died.”
He kept talking for around five minutes, blabbering on about how much she meant to the school and her class. Principle Herrick had passed the microphone to some of her favourite teachers, her friends, and her boyfriend (well, she supposed he was ex-boyfriend, now), Owen, too. Annie almost very well cried when she heard their speeches. Her friends and Owen were in pieces over her.
Annie wiped her tears away and watched as a video began playing. There was a song playing (though, by a band she’d never even heard of before) behind some pictures and videos. There was one video of Annie at the swimming carnival a couple of week past, dancing around in her swimmers while she answered Owen’s questions. Another was of her in the pool, violently swimming with her large inflatable thong, shouting things to the other swimmers who were also accompanied with comically large objects.
Annie couldn’t stand to be in that place for any longer. The video was happy, the speeches were speaking highly of her, and yet, she still felt like she was being suffocated. Maybe that’s what comes with being dead. You can’t escape it. You’ll have to feel everyone else’s grief, too. It’s like your pain tenfold. Annie was just about to stand up and leave to get some fresh air when she saw him. The boy from before was sitting on one of the chairs, slumped down his chair slightly, looking uncomfortable. Was he always like that? She wondered. Or was it because he can see me even though I should be dead?
She had to do something, something to show him that she needed to speak to him. So, she crept towards his seat, and she saw him shift again, knowing that she was approaching, but his eyes were still fixed on the people on stage.
“I know you can see me,” she whispered, ghostly into his ear (she was a poor excuse for a ghost). She could see him shiver slightly. “Look, I just need to know that I’m not totally invisible. Just acknowledge my existence once, and I’ll leave you alone, okay?” There was a pause, and she was afraid that he was ignoring her again.
“You’re not real,” he whispered lowly at her, moving his body to the side so that no one would be able to hear him speak to thin air. “Please, leave me alone.”
She had to admit it: that stung pretty badly. He’s in denial. Yeah, that’s it—denial.
This ghost thing sucked really badly. Christ, a week felt like an eternity. Imagine what an actual eternity would feel like? Especially if she was going to be alone, and especially since she felt like she was anchored to the school. She wanted to leave, wanted to see her family and show them that she was there. But she couldn’t. She was too afraid to.
So, that was it. She was to become the creepy and weeping ghost that haunted Bristol Secondary. Brilliant.
Annie didn’t bother sitting in last period. She just went to the oval and sat on one of the benches, her finger tracing some of the graffiti her friends wrote in a thick, black font. Annie + Owen, one of them read, and she didn’t know if what she was feeling was lament, happiness or sadness. An eternity without her Owen: unable to kiss him, or hold him, or love him. She banged the table in anger, shouting out. Annie, after calming down, returned to tracing it, sighing; her elbow resting on the table while her hand cupped her cheek.
Five or so minutes before the bell rang; she made her way to the front of the school where the bus stops and pick up area was. She picked some of the dirt from underneath her nails, sighing as she watched the students leave, all chattering away with their friends. Ten minutes later, and the students had all left. The school was eerily silent. It was always weird being there after-school hours; it always seemed like a deserted town, or like something would spring out at you at any moment.
“Excuse me?” someone asked, stepping next to her, leaning on the demountable with a cigarette in his mouth. He pulled it out and continued. “Do you know where my mate George is? He’s kind of short, buzz cut, blue eyes—kinda looks like a baby, I suppose. You’ve seen him anywhere?” The man was young, early twenties, maybe. He didn’t look like a brother. Maybe it was a friend.
“Um,” Annie mumbled, turning to him. “You can see me?”
He chuckled, breathing in and then breathing out, a puff of smoke leaving his pink, plump lips. “Yeah,” he said, tapping away the ashes. “Why wouldn’t you?”
“Well—” Funny story, actually.
“—Mitchell!” George called out, hurrying over with a straight – almost board like – posture. His mouth was pressed into a thin smile, his eyes looking crazy. The guy – Mitchell, apparently – from before, looked over at Annie, then back to George. Ah. The boy finally has a name.
“You look like you have a stick up your arse.” Mitchell commented, making his way over to George. Annie watched as George’s eyes burnt into her. “Tell me why that is.”
“Nothing,” he breathed out quickly. “Now, come on, let’s get in the car.”
George opened the passenger seat of Mitchell’s car. It was dark blue and old. It looked like it came out of the sixties. Probably a family car. George threw his bag into the foot space and bent down to enter the car, but Mitchell stopped him, and he rose back up, his arms leaning on the roof.
“Why are you in such a rush?” Mitchell asked, exasperated, throwing his cigarette to the floor and suffocating it beneath his boot. George stared at his friend blankly as he made his way to the driver’s seat, opening the door but not getting in.
“I just want to get to yours. I hate it here.”
“You and probably every student ever, George,” Mitchell shook his head and breathed in, sharply. Mitchell turned his head and looked at Annie, rubbing his nose. “You waiting for anyone?” he asked her.
“Hm?” she replied, dazed. This was the first actual human contact she’s gotten in almost a week. And she freaking loved it.
“Are you getting picked up soon or what?”
“Oh, no. I’m not.”
He seemed surprised. “You’re just staying here?”
“I can’t really leave, actually.”
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. “Well…do you want a ride or something? I don’t mind.”
Annie tried to keep a straight face, but she could feel her muscles clenching and moving into a grin, but she supressed it with her teeth.
“Nope! No, no. She’s fine, aren’t you? Yes. Come on, Mitchell.” George spluttered quickly.
“Jesus, George. You’re being rude! It’s my car.”
“It’s your dad’s old car.” George corrected, mumbling as his finger cleaned off some of the dust on the roof.
“He isn’t my dad.” Mitchell snapped. Realizing his outburst, he sighed heavily. “Look,” he turned his attention back to Annie. “Do you want a ride or not? Forget about my eccentric friend over there.”
“I can’t leave.” Annie replied, sadly. Maybe she could, but maybe she was too scared too. Even in death, fear has ruled my life. “It’s really…um…” – she scratched the back of her neck – “…really complicated. But thank you.”
Mitchell nodded. “Okay, then.” He climbed in and started the car. It rumbled and made a weird sound before it finally began moving. Mitchell peeked his head out of the window and glanced at Annie for a moment before looking back. He reversed and pulled his head back in and drove through the gates, slowly disappearing.
She had to overcome this fear, and she had to decide what to do very quickly. Annie tapped her foot against the concrete, a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t go flowed through her head. But a few were reasons on why she should leave. They can see me, one of them was. I can finally be seen by two people, maybe even more. This could be my chance at being normal-ish for a bit.
Annie closed her eyes, and landed in the backseat of a car.
“Holy shit,” she said in absolute awe, blinking a few times. Did I just teleport?!
“What the fuck!” George shrieked, and Mitchell jumped, almost swerving off the road. He collected himself and looked at the back seat, eyes going wide when he saw Annie sitting there, the biggest grin on her face.
Mitchell breathed out heavily and pulled over. He paused; then turned to look at her again.
“How did you do that?” he asked, his thick eyebrows knitting together in confusion.
Annie licked her lips and looked away.
George sighed in what could only be described as defeat. “I think she’s a ghost or something.” He looked in the mirror. “She died about a week ago at the school.”
Mitchell paused, glancing at George, then back to Annie. “So, you’re the one Herrick’s been talking about? Shit. I haven’t seen one of you since France two years ago.”
“Wha—?”
“I mean…” Mitchell’s face went sad and serious. “…sorry for your loss.”
“No, no, not that,” Annie shook her head. “There are more of me out there?—of ghosts, I mean.”
Mitchell chuckled. “Yeah. Like, a planet worth.”
“Please stop talking to her,” George mumbled lowly, playing with his phone, looking down.
Mitchell shushed him.
“How can you guys see me?” she asked, slowly, blinking.
Mitchell paused and the two boys exchanged a glance. “Well…it’s complicated.”
“I can handle complicated,” Annie replied. “I’m a ghost, for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t think we should say, Mitchell.” George added.
“Tell me!”
“I’m a vampire—”
“Werewolf.” George raised his hand, sighing, not ripping his eyes away from his phone for even a moment as he did so. Annie’s mouth gaped open. Okay, she thought. I can’t take complicated.
“See?” George turned over to look at Annie. His eyes flicked over to his friend. “Told you we shouldn’t have said anything.”