He Thought His Dead Wife Was With Us
A supernatural short piece
“We argued. Right there.” Fletcher Slack slumped down in his chair, finger still pointing at the living room door. I assumed he had some form of alcohol in the dull, brown mug he was drinking from.
By day, I am a Software Engineer for Bright Tech, Corps.
At night, I run a successful blog called Endangered Entities.
Fletcher contacted me via email two days ago. The line simply read: Oh God. She’s back. I need to process this. Help.
I’m no therapist. I’m not a ghost hunter. Sometimes people just need an outlet and I provide it for them. I’ve always been a fan of ghost stories. Why not have people tell me theirs?
I had my slim iPhone face up on the table to record the conversation. Fletcher already signed the proper documents giving me permission to air his recording or at least, share a snippet on my blog.
“Near the door?” I ask.
Fletcher nodded. His shaggy brown hair in bad need of washing and a cut. Even still, I can tell that before his wife’s death, he was very handsome.
“She found out-” He paused to take a long swig of drink. “She found out I was cheating on her. I knew her accusations were true. True, they were! But. But. Ah!” He swore a couple of times.
My good partner Brodie remained on the couch. She was a tough cookie. Tall, blonde, sharp blue eyes and trained in martial arts. Muay Thai.
She and I both kept guns on us for the crazies.
As always, she remains in the background. A silent, statuesque figure. She is never truly privy to these conversations.
The one light that was on in Fletcher’s living room, shone like a halo on top of her head. She kept her long brown coat on. It was a chilly Fall after all.
“You had a bad argument with your wife. Said some things you didn’t mean and then…” I pause, waiting for him to finish.
“She walked out the house. I was still cursing her out. Calling her so many bad names. Horrible things.” Fletcher rubbed a large hand down his face. Smearing tears down his dirty face.
I hate these stories.
He is a cheating dog, but I have to hear him out. It was crucial he explain to me every detail.
“That night you received a call.”
Fletcher grits his teeth angrily at me, but just as fast he looked away. Pain etched its ugly art all over him. His blood vessels protruded in his neck and his frown deepens, making him look more like 80, than 35.
Her death hit him hard.
Before answering, he looked over at Brodie. “Does she have to be here?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’d rather her not.” He said pointedly, eyeing Brodie as if she were an evil, entity herself.
Turns out I was close to that truth.
I was confused. “Does my assistant bother you in some way? I can have her wait in another room.”
He waved the thought away. “I’m being silly. She — just remind me of Sara. A lot.”
With some sympathy in my heart, I pat his cool hand.
He may be anemic or something. A body shouldn’t be that cold.
“I got the call she was in an accident. Her mother called actually. At the time, my mistress Jezzy was just leaving our home. I had called her over to…console me after the heated argument with Sara.
“But my heart, the whole while was aching for my wife. She was my heart. My soulmate. I hope you know that Sara! I can feel you listening!” Fletcher suddenly yelled looking up at the ceiling.
“She’s here?” I say looking at the ceiling with him.
With a deep, ironic laugh Fletcher nodded the affirmative. “She’s always here.”
Even though I don’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife, these encounters connect the human spirit. One to another. His grief. His pain was so palpable, so tangent to love and the physical, he literally thought his dead wife was with us.
“I went down to the hospital’s morgue to identify her body, which was the hardest thing I ever had to do. A white sheet and several miles of open philosophy separated us. I wanted to know where she was. I want to find her.
“Well, when I came home,” he pointed to the small sofa diagonal from where Brodie sat. “She was right there.”
I turn my back to where he pointed. “You mean. Your wife’s corporal body? She was actually there?”
“In some form,” he shrugged. “At first it was just abnormally cold in here and so I turned the heat on, but when I looked to my right I saw pale, folded hands in the seat, and although my light is dim, I could clearly see our wedding ring. Blue quartz, set amidst diamonds on her ring finger.”
“Just her hands.” I said for clarification.
“Yep.”
“Then?”
“Small things after that,” he continued. “I would have misplaced keys when I put them over there by the door, on the little hook, every day per usual. Or, I would cook oatmeal and have the stove on warm and suddenly I would find the stove has been turned off.
“Some nuances can be explained away if on a sporadic basis. But Ms. Acire. Daily? No. This is my wife’s doing.”
I bit my lower lip and looked down into my lap. Such conviction he has.
“Acire?”
“Yes, Brodie?”
My assistant held up her phone. “Are you getting the same messed up signal as me?”
“Um, let me see.” I picked up my phone, and without closing the recorder app I navigated to the wifi settings.
No signal.
“Mr. Fletcher do you have wifi? It’s no big deal but,” I looked at my screen as it suddenly blacked out. “Is something wrong with the signal here?”
Fletcher said nothing.
A small smile played on his face. It was more like a Jack-O- Lantern grimace, complete with slightly yellowed teeth.
“My wife must be insanely jealous now. Two gorgeous women in my home. Our home. Sure I have wifi, but that doesn’t stop a ghost, does it?”
“You’re blaming this on a ghost?”
“Your screen is black, right? Try tapping on it, bring up an app. Anything.”
“Ms. Acire. He’s right.” Brodie was standing next to me now showing me her phone.
Black screen.
No matter what I did, I couldn’t click the Power On and the screen remained black.
“I know you are there, honey. Just show yourself so these ladies will know I am not a crack pipe.”
Nothing happened.
After another 20 minutes (with none of our phones working at all), Brodie and I left. I let her take the wheel this time, and surprisingly a moment after the car starts, both of our phones ring.
