Page 8 of Dancing with a Ghost

Feet first. Shiny black boots, blue trousers leading to a blue jacket, brass buttons, a belt around my waist, two pockets at my chest, a white shirt and black tie. Not understanding if he could see me, I hoped for a miracle.

What had I looked like? Dark hair, partially hidden by my cap, the gold emblem on the side. Brown eyes, and pretty lips. My grandma had always said I had pretty lips.

I opened my eyes, looking for any sign he could see me. Just a little more effort from me. I tried harder, the soft words leaving my lips.

"I'm here."

Finally, he turned to me, his face full of wonder.

"I see you. You're, you're an airman." His eyes widened as he spoke.

"I was, a long time ago, but yes."

He stepped closer to me, reaching out. I wasn't sure what would happen. Could he touch me? Would he touch me?

Indecision crossed his face, and he withdrew his hand as if burned.

"I won't hurt you," I said.

"No, I don't think you would." His voice was almost a whisper, and I strained to hear him. He lifted his hand again, and this time, he touched the sleeve of my jacket.

"I can feel you. You seem real enough. How are you doing this? Why have I never seen you before?"

So many questions, I didn't know where to start. The amount of energy I was expending just to appear to him was already exhausting me.

"I don't have long." I managed to say. "I can't explain a lot of it, things are very jumbled in here." I tapped my head. "I've been here a while. I know that much."

"I'll say. That's what, a World War Two uniform?"

I nodded.

"So, you died in the war?" I nodded again. It was better for him to ask the questions. I was struggling to maintain my form and I could disappear at any moment.

"How? When? Why are you here?" I looked down at my hands, seeing them become transparent. I was losing it.

"1943, aircraft came down. Burned." I struggled to speak but when he touched my hand, a zing of electricity shot through my body, igniting something inside.

“Woah,” He exclaimed, taking a step back. “What the fuck?” Looking down at his hands, he reached out again, touching me, skin on skin.

The effect was the same but less so, but I felt more alive. Just more. My skin was glowing, no longer fading, but bright, complete. I was me again.

As for Toby, he was mesmerised, watching me as I went from transparent to solid.

“What happened?” I had no idea and told him so.

“I don’t know. One minute I was struggling to stay seen and the next, when you touched me……I can’t explain it. It’s very new to me. I’ve experienced nothing like this.”

I didn’t know if this would be something that was permanent or whether, in time, the effect would diminish and I would fade to invisibility like before. Now I was here, though, standing in front of him. I was lost for words. I’d always watched from afar, never daring to approach him, but something tonight had triggered a response in me. Seeing him manhandled, spoken to like that, had stirred something long forgotten. The need to protect.

“I mean, I’d always believed in the afterlife, but I never expected I’d ever see a ghost in real life. Certainly not one as….” Toby waved his hand up and down my body. I wasn’t sure he knew what to say. “As complete? Can I touch you again?”

I nodded, more than happy to feel his hands on mine. He touched my chest, but the effect was different, a slight tingle but nothing like the shock I’d received the first time.

“Touch my skin.” I had an idea and needed to check my theory.

His long fingers grazed my skin and there it was again, that jolt. It seemed to jumpstart me and if I didn’t know better, I’d have said my dead heart had pulsed, so very softly, I could have imagined it. That couldn’t be, though. I’d been dead for almost eighty years. I was dead. I knew that.

“I've got so many questions,” he said, his face full of wonder and awe. “This is fucking amazing. Wait until I tell Georgie we have a ghost.”

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