Sarah had never wanted to scream so much in her life, but nothing came out. Her heart began to pound. “Oh, I…” said the ghost. He looked solid, like a real man, but gave off an ethereal glow that Sarah couldn’t comprehend. He was clearly embarrassed.
“He said you’d be asleep,” John said. Sarah just stared, still lying down, her mouth agape. “You…look so much like her.”
“What…are you doing here?” Sarah almost hissed. She began to kick her right leg backwards gently into David, trying to wake him up without the ghost noticing.
“He said that…we’re related.” The ghost had a soft voice, almost on the edge of tears. (Can ghosts even cry? Sarah thought.) “That I needed to meet you. So that I can be with my wife again. I mean you no harm, please. Don’t be frightened.”
Sarah found herself calming. She believed him. For some reason, she believed him. Her heart slowed down. Her leg stopped kicking. She sat up in bed. He looked a little like her uncle. Actually, more than that; the vision before her was almost uncanny.
“Your name is John?” said Sarah.
“It is.”
“Well…I, uh…I guess it’s nice to meet you, John. My name is Sarah.”
The old man – for he was a ghost in Sarah’s mind no longer – began to cry uncontrollably.
* * * * *
John and Sarah talked for what felt like hours, quietly, in the bathroom, so that David wouldn’t wake up. John seemed constantly surprised by every detail he spotted (“What are those gold things?” “Taps. For water.”) – Sarah had to keep reminding herself that this was a man who’d been dead for over a hundred years.
They talked, mostly, about family. About Sarah’s great grandfather, Jack – John’s son – and his descendants, about Kathleen, and about what had happened in the world during the past century.
It got to around six in the morning. The dim night beyond the window started to brighten. Sarah wasn’t remotely tired, and John wasn’t either – although she questioned whether he could feel tired. “Hmm,” John said. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Just…agh!” He touched his stomach. Sarah started to notice something too. He wasn’t solid anymore. He had started to fade. He was becoming slowly more transparent. “I think this is it,” he said. “I think I’m going to see Kathleen. God, you look so much like her.”
Sarah blushed a little. She didn’t want him to go. But she didn’t see that there was anything she could do. He was leaving. It was no longer St. Martin’s Eve.
“Thank you,” John said. “And the best of luck to you and David.”
Sarah smiled. He was nearly all gone now. “I hope you can find peace.” She stood from her perch on the side of the bath, and broadened her arms to hug him, as did he. They moved together…and then he was gone.
Sarah stood alone. The hairs on the back of her neck were like soldiers standing to attention. She ran her fingers through her golden hair and just thought for a moment. Did that really happen? she asked herself. John was here, and now he wasn’t. She went back into the bedroom. David was just starting to stir.
“Mmm…” he said, not really awake. “You’re up early.”
“Yeah. I didn’t sleep much. Listen, I was wondering. There’s something I’d like to do today.”
Shane Rynhart 