Living With or Without Ghosts

The normal life was never one for me. Working nine to five, driving commute, and sitting all day in an office was far from where I dreamed, but I’m here, in-between four pale walls. Time was the enemy, counting down my moments, and I begged for Saturday. I never wanted the ordinary life, but all the ghosts have gone home. Or have they gone at all?

I worked in several retail stores over the years. There was one big chain store in the mall that I was employed with for about a year, and I was doing the closing shift one night. The girls in Juniors swore up and down that their stockroom was haunted and refused to go in and to get the clothes to fill the racks and shelves. I took their warnings under consideration and walked inside, feeling nothing but cold air on my skin. I waited a beat, and when nothing moved or flew toward me, I grabbed the merchandise and left.

It was late at night. I sat up in bed and found him standing by the door. He stared at me, knowing that I saw him, but we didn’t say a word. A few moments later, he gave me a nod, and then disappeared, returning to that stockroom in the store. The next day when I saw those same girls, I said nothing, glancing at those double white doors, knowing that he was there, waiting, waiting for something, but that was a long time ago. And I wonder, “Is he still there, or did he finally return home?”

The last retail store I worked for was also haunted. The girls there warned me that someone was around, standing behind them as they cleaned the fitting rooms or whispering hello into their ears as they organized the clothing racks. I had no reply, but I hoped that they were wrong.

One night, the manager left me her keys, leaving it up to me to lock the store. The night was slow. The racks were organized, and the fitting rooms were clean. Then, it got busy, and something told me to reach into my pocket to check the keys. They were gone.

I panicked. It was bad enough working with a girl eying my supervisory position, and I wondered if she were the culprit. We got on our hands and knees, searching the floor as customers asked for help. I dove into the fitting rooms that weren’t occupied and waited for those that were. I even checked the bathroom, but the keys were gone. And I had no choice but to call the manager, and that girl smiled.

As I ran around the store like a madwoman, diving under racks, checking under clothes, the manager on the phone assured me that the keys were there. I walked into the stockroom, hoping against hope, but still there was no sign of them. Then I walked into the bathroom, and there they were, lying out in the open and on the floor. I hung up the phone, embarrassed and angered, and I lashed out at the girl, who explained to me how she could not be at fault. And then it dawned on me. It was the ghost, who to this day stills strolls throughout the store, standing behind you by the fitting room, and whispering hello into your ear as you shop for clothes.

They were the only two that I ran into when working in retail. In college, I heard stories, stories about those that killed themselves and that now haunt the dorm. When renting an apartment in Lake Ronkonkoma, I was aware of sharing it with an unwilling occupant, a woman, who radiated nothing but negative energy. I saw her once in the mirror as she glared at me, but unlike other stories I’ve heard, nothing went missing or went flying at my head. And shortly after hanging up an Asian talisman on the apartment door, that woman disappeared, but it still didn’t change the mistake I had made, moving in with a guy that was completely wrong for me. That is another story for another time.

It’s been some time since meeting a ghost. Life had grown ordinary, boring. The only supernatural encounters now belonged to the Ghost Hunters, but they don’t waste my time. Instead, I melt into fiction, trying to escape my life, and then something happens, something that reminds me that fiction is not that far from real life.

He stood in the doorway, watching me. My coworkers here often spoke of the man in the black coat. He would be seen walking down hallways or standing near open doors. A calculator calculates by itself in a locked, dark office as my coworker comes in one morning, but no sign of him. And I don’t think it was him that was watching me.

We all reach turning points. We get those knocks on the door. Two if someone is trying to get your attention. Three if someone is going to die. Sometimes, they appear in person, carrying a message, but just knowing that they are there is sometimes enough to know that something would happen soon. But who would believe that, if you told them so? We get that vibe of not being alone, hearing our name when nobody calls it, and sensing something, unsure of what it is. Every time we fall back into the comfort of regular lives, they rattle our cages. No matter the years gone by, we still remember, living with or without ghosts.


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