When you’re dead, thoughts come out of nowhere. They aren’t always linear, or even clear, but when they come, they seem to dominate everything else. Looking at Anne, she looks like a deer caught in headlights. I catch a quick vision of an oncoming car, a distraught Anne, an emptying of her soul. And then it is gone. Not only do thoughts come out of nowhere, they sometimes disappear before you can analyze them.
Before I can try to grasp the thought again, there is a light tap on the door, prompting Assistant Principal Deaner to say, “Come in.”
The school secretary, a white haired woman whom some say has been here just as long as the building has, poked her head inside. “Pardon the intrusion, but Miss Taynor’s Aunt is here.”
I breathe a soft sigh. Despite being spirit and without form, a room can still get stuffy and claustrophobic. Deaner’s office might be simple and quaint, but I feel like I might be having the beginning of a panic attack for ghosts. I don’t know why but suddenly the room doesn’t seem so pleasant anymore. I am overwhelmed by the feeling of impending doom. This heavy weight is descending, dimming the room before my very eyes. I wonder if I’m having some kind of waking bad dream. Or perhaps this is the way nightmares are for ghosts. Maybe we can’t determine between awake and sleep. That it all runs together with no differentiating between the two.
A tall woman walks into the room. She almost looks like she stepped out of 1969 and the hippie culture of that time. She’s wearing a long flowing dress of psychedelic design, topped with a leather vest. It looks like there are runes burned into the leather. I think I recognize a few from my dad’s favorite Led Zeppelin album, the one with the guy carrying the bundle of sticks on his back. The woman’s hair is long, blond, and intricately braided. She has a couple necklaces she’s wearing. One has a pentagram charm, the other an Egyptian ankh. As she steps further into the room, I notice she is wearing open toed sandals. Her toenails are painted black with the eye of Horus on them.
“ Anne,” she says in a thick southern drawl. “Poor child. Come give Aunt Stella a hug.”
At first, I don’t think Anne is going to do anything, and I don’t blame her. Her aunt is so freaking weird. But then she gets up and allows the woman to envelop her in her arms. The woman is much taller than Anne and it reminds me of a polar bear hugging a penguin. It’s easy to see the teenager is embarrassed.
Unfazed, her aunt turns to the other adults in the room. “Hi, I’m Stella Taynor. Nice to meet you,” she says to them, extending a hand, though it’s clear she’s addressing the sole living male in the room.
He shakes her hand. “Assistant Principal Deaner.”
She smiles, though she has a curious look on her face. “Did I have you once?”
He is taken aback. “Um….excuse me?”
“I went to school here. About fifteen years ago. Were you a teacher then?”
He breathes a sigh of relief. I guess he thought she was trying to hit on him. “Oh yes. Yes of course. I was. But not here. I transferred about eight years ago.”
She seems to look him plane down and replies, “shame.”
“I’m Miss Watkins,” our guidance counselor interjects, trying to dislodge this conversation, wherever in the hell it’s heading.
Again, Stella the weird is unfazed. Or maybe she’s just oblivious, I’m not sure. She smiles at Miss Watkins. “And what are you?”
“I’m Anne’s guidance counselor.”
“Ah…of course you are.” She doesn’t shake the woman’s outstretched hand. Instead, she turns to me. “And you are?” She asks.
I am startled half out of my wits. Did she just speak to me?
“Uh….w…what?” I stammer. “Excuse me? You can see me?”
She turns back to the others. They all have looks on their faces that belie the fact she might be half crazy. “Just kidding,” she says. Then she reaches in her purse, which looks more like a potato sack, and pulls something out. “But if I wasn’t, here’s my card.” She hands it to Deaner. “I’m something of a ghost whisperer,” she says in a hushed, secretive tone. I notice she gives him a wink as well, which appears to fluster the poor man.
He’s not the only one flustered however. I’m thinking, Oh crap. I’m really in trouble now. Anne’s aunt, if she is indeed a whisperer, might have the ability to get rid of me, to send me on to wherever she thinks I’m supposed to go. But I don’t want to go anywhere. I’m just trying to find my place in all this. To discover where I belong. There has to be more than just being sent to the light or whatever.
Continue to Ghost Boy Blues 19
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“Vampire Boys Of Summer” 2018 Paul D Aronson. All Rights Reserved.