Ghost In the Graveyard | COMPLETED

• 7/10 • Letters From the Dead

"To Build A Home" by The Cinematic Orchestra

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Sunday: October 30, 1994
12:44 PM

I stood before the front door of Jason's home. It was a two-story blue building with a creme door and shrubs wrapping all around to the back door. This place looked great compared to back when we were kids. Before, windows were cracked and the siding was falling apart, but now that Jason's older siblings had moved out, his parents had the money to fix the house up.

I tried at the handle, but my ghostly hands didn't do a thing. How was I supposed to get in on my own? Phase through the door like ghosts did in the movies?

I focused on passing through the door, closed my eyes and took a step forward. Instead of the outcome I was hoping for, my face smashed right into it painfully. I stumbled back and rubbed my throbbing nose.

How could a ghost feel pain? If I fell from a great height, would I break a leg? I had so many questions, but now wasn't the time.

I was beginning to lose hope on ever getting inside when the door opened on its own and Mr. Byers stepped out. He looked around with scrunched eyebrows. "I could have sworn I heard somebody out here," he said as he retreated back inside.

I quickly slid past him before I heard the door click shut behind me. I raced up the stairs and got halfway before I noticed Mrs. Byers crying on the couch. She held a tissue to her nose and sat perfectly still aside from shaking hands.

Mr. Byers sat beside her and put an arm around her. "It'll be okay," he said, rubbing her shoulder. "Our boy is smart. He'll find his way back to us."

She didn't reply. She just closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Honey," he said more sternly. "You need to have faith."

"Mother's instinct," she whispered. "That's what Sam's mother told me the night before they found her body. I called her to see how she was doing and she said she had this... feeling. I didn't understand until now."

I continued up the stairs, unable to listen further. Once at the top, I curved left and squeezed through the door to Jason's room, which was thankfully left ajar.

His room smelled strongly of cologne, and dirty socks and football equipment lay scattered across the floor. On his walls were posters of sports cars, and he had a shelf of framed, autographed baseball cards. On his desk was a mess of schoolwork and crumpled pieces of paper. Nothing out of the ordinary for the typical teenage boy.

I kneeled on the floor and bent over to get a look under his bed, but there was nothing but a half empty bottle of Captain Morgan and a few empty cans of Blatz. I straightened and ran a hand under his pillow, then his mattress. Nothing.

I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. Anything that could help me prove his innocence or tell me where it was he was off to before he went missing, I supposed.

My eyes scanned the room, landing on nothing that looked of importance until they stopped on his desk. I glanced over the crumpled up pieces of paper, but most were just covered in math problems or old drafts of book reports. Except one.

Bingo. It was a note between two people.

I feel like shit, the note read in Jason's handwriting. I broke up with her right before she was murdered. I bet everyone thinks it was me too. This is going to follow me for the rest of my life. I'll never get into a good college. I'll never get a good job with insurance. My future is over.