I hadn’t ‘seen’ anything for years. Hadn’t experienced anything even close to a real life paranormal event. I was starting to believe the scientific explanations for cold rooms, intense emotion attached to specific places, and black spots at the corners of my eyes.
But then …
I was in the upstairs family room in a display home my husband and I were viewing on a hot November afternoon.
The girl appeared slowly and quietly, like a small child might sidle into a room they weren’t meant to enter. She could have been 15, maybe 17, no older. Long blonde hair hung in fine strands down either side of her face, big brown eyes as soft as any does, seemed to be gazing inwards, rather than outwards at the people milling past.
I’d seen her in the kitchen in the previous display home, slouched across the kitchen bar, her ankles crossed, her face a sad reflection in the shiny new fridge. Her head looked as solid as yours and mine, but her legs were so transparent they were barely there.
I found it disturbing to see her again in this display house. That had never happened before. I’d never seen a spirit this solid, or for this long, and then have it move location. But this ghost, if that’s what it was, didn’t seem interested in me at all.
The display homes were crowded that day, the girl sort of vanished among people milling around, fanning themselves with the display information brochures. I mentioned seeing her when Stephen and I got back into the car.
“Yeah.” Was his less than enthusiastic response.
Half of me wanted to talk about it; but with the other half I just wanted to process what I’d seen, and how I felt about it.
We didn’t have air conditioning in our old house then so I was still awake in the early morning, tossing and turning on top of the bed. Stephen snored on the bed next to me, our Labrador Nutmeg snored on the floor alongside the bed. I needed a drink of water. I padded down the hall in bare feet, switched on the light in the kitchen and yawned my way across the dinning room floor.
The girl from the display home stood at my sink.
Or at least her body from the hips up hovered in the air next to the sink. Her long hair hung limp across her shoulders, she held her hands in the basin with her wrists turned upwards. As I approached the sink she turned her face to look into mine.
Did she need my help? I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I don’t know how many seconds passed while I just stood there, my mouth slightly open, my hands still at my chest.
A low growl sounded from behind me. A hot nose pushed against my thigh. I dropped my hand to pat Nutmeg and her tale thumped slowly against the kitchen cupboards. The noise stirred me awake. The girl hadn’t moved but she lowered her head and gazed back at her wrists.
I didn’t know what to do. My pulse pounded in my ears. My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe. I certainly couldn’t think rationally.
I backed out of the kitchen, and back down the hallway, Nutmeg paced slowly beside me.
I lay in bed listening to the noises an old house makes, waiting for her to appear at the bedroom door. But she didn’t. If she needed any help, she didn’t know how to ask for it. Or perhaps I didn’t know how to hear her. A short time passed. She was just a young girl. I couldn’t bear it anymore so I slid off the bed and tiptoed back down the hall. There was no sign of the see through girl.
I couldn’t have imagined it. Could I?
The next week I told Cathy, a sympathetic friend at work. She urged me to see a medium she knew well, and we made an appointment for me to visit her at her home the next night.
The medium listened to my story in silence. She asked me three times if I’d spoken to the spirit at all, if I’d given it any indication it was welcome. I answered truthfully that I hadn’t, and I hadn’t seen her again. The medium traced her fingers across my palms. She told me about spirits in pain who sometimes try and attach themselves to the living. She warned me about trying to help the girl myself, and told me that if I ever saw the girl again I must fill my heart with love and light and forcefully tell her she wasn’t welcome.
It was all a bit much to be honest! I had a bucket-load of questions but the medium made it clear she was finished with us.
We plodded back to Cathy’s car and she emphasized everything the medium said. Instead of driving me to my home she took me to hers, and insisted I take a bag full of crystals and several sachets of sweet smelling herbs.
I didn’t ever see the see-through girl again. But I’ve often wondered if I should have tried to help her.
Kim writes dark urban fantasy and you find out about her books here.
Article previously published on Kim's blog October 2016.
Image by Lario Tus (Shutterstock)