Short Stories

It started at a young age. I was fifteen years old. I lived in an old small duplex in a small town in Utah. One night as I crept up the dark stairs to go to bed, I thought a heard a voice coming from my bedroom. I stopped in my tracks a couple of steps from the top. I listened for a moment and I could hear a voice, yet the voice seemed distant but so close. I couldn’t make out the words the voice was saying but still I could hear the same sentence over and over again. I finished my climb to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner just in time to see a bright flash of light in the shape of human; it was heading right towards me and I felt it pass right through my body. I felt the cold chill as it passed through my body chilling me to the bone on a somewhat rather warm autumn evening. I was scared beyond belief. I didn’t know whether to run away or cry. I simply ran into my bedroom, jumped into bed and covered my head with my blanket too scared to even move. I must have frozen there in fear for hours before I finally fell asleep.

Over the years, I started seeing more paranormal figures in my life. Some just as scary as the first time I had seen a “ghost” and some not so scary. My first experience was an eye opener and I believe that is what led me to start seeing these ghosts on a more regular basis. I was staying with some friends in Idaho. They lived next door to a cemetery. One night at their house, we were watching television. The living room window faced towards the cemetery. It was dark outside with no lights around. I could feel something staring at us. I looked at the window and I could see the faint light of the television lighting up a man’s face in the window. I got chill bumps all over my body. I asked my friend to look at the window. He let out a yell when he seen the man’s face. I figured since he could see the face that it must be a peeping tom. He ran to grab a flashlight as I continued to watch the face, pretending like I didn’t see it. My friend ran back into the living room and shone the flashlight on the face and just like that, the face disappeared. He continued to shine the light out the window hoping to see the man running away. There was no trace of the man anywhere. He just vanished. My friend immediately called the police. They came out to investigate but could see no evidence that there was anyone even at the window. That was my friends first experience with a ghost but we never did talk about the incident again or whether he continued to see them or not.

From time to time, I will see a figure out of the corner of my eye during the daylight hours, but when I turn to see what is there, the figure will be gone. I call these “shadow people”. I don’t know if they are good or evil. I believe that the good spirits will visit us now and then, such as loved ones that have passed on. I believe our loved ones visit us mostly in our dreams though. The ghosts that I see while I’m awake I believe are not as good. They are the ones that always scare me the most. I’ve never been harmed by one, but I think their intentions are to scare us and torture us psychologically. The ghosts that I see more often and the ones that scare me the most are normally seen at night or in a dark room.

I was driving along a mountain road late one night. Out of nowhere, my headlights shone upon a man standing on the side of the road. I swerved away from the man as to not hit him. My heart started pounding and I

was relieved that I did not hit him, but what was he doing out there in the first place? Seconds later, the cab of my small pickup truck became cool. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the man was sitting there next to me. Once again, I had chill bumps covering my body. I was too scared to look directly at him. It took me a little while to work up the courage to ask nervously, “Why are you here?” I could see his head turn toward me but didn’t hear a single sound. I looked over to see him looking at me, but I couldn’t make out a face. I could see the aura around the man, just a dim glowing energy, but everywhere I tried to focus just looked like a faint, dark blur. As I finally reached the first town I came to, I was still trying to catch glimpses of the man out of the corner of my eye. Underneath every streetlight I would pass, the man would fade out and then become more visible in the dark. In and out the man would fade. I pulled into the first gas station I came to. Underneath all the light from the gas pumps, the man simply disappeared. I still had plenty of fuel in my truck, but I was too scared and didn’t know what to do. I got out of my truck and filled up the tank. I proceeded into the station to buy myself a drink. Still nervous and apprehensive, I climbed back into the truck and headed home. I was scared to see the dark coming but as I entered the darkness, the man never did appear again. I was relieved. To calm my nerves, I turned on the radio and sang myself back home.

This hasn’t been my last encounter with ghosts or spirits, I’m sure I will continue to have encounters the rest of my life. When you are all alone, whether it be in the bright of day or the dark of night, in the glow of the television or in bed at night. If you see something unusual, if you hear your name being spoken by someone who is not there, ask yourself, “Am I really alone?”

Bandy Naef enjoys photography, music and writing about things that could possibly make a difference in people’s lives. His book “A Life Worth Celebrating” is heart touching along with some mystery and drama, but it’s meant to send some powerful messages, whether it be helping in the community or being an advocate for something or someone that you love. Bandy believes we all can make a difference even if it’s just for one person. If you would like to join his social page for fun, to learn more about Bandy, please join at: facebook.com/bandysroom Find Life Worth Celebrating here.

Rusting cast iron hinges squealed in protest as the ornate iron gate opened. Praise the Lord they didn’t keep it locked. Folks didn’t keep much up around these parts anymore. A full moon’s light filtering through the tangles of Spanish moss hanging from spreading tree limbs revealed uncut grass and weeds, unholy evidence of neglect. A gentle breeze from the East rustled the leaves swaying the moss just enough to move seemingly endless rows of headstones and monuments in and out of deep undulating shadows. In my imagination, they did a slow silent rhythmic dance; sensual and exciting. Shuddering briefly, I closed the gate behind me and joined the dancing shadows.

Midnight’s quieter in some places than others. No one wants to come here; there are no distractions; nothing interrupting the flow from my

soul through my fingers. Dead quiet. A gravestone, moonlit bordered by the shadow of a live oak beckoned. I took my guitar from my back, sat on the stone and flexing my fingers, I began with blues progressions, strumming and finger-picking until I slipped into my zone, playing mindlessly in a world as far away as I could get from Mississippi. Lyrics began popping into my head; “Don’ kno’ my mama. Don’ kno’ my dad. Got no place ta lay my head. But Ah got da’ blues…yeah, mama, Ah got da blues.” Warming to the rhythm, I sang louder, my guitar thumping like a heart.

“Hey boy! Ya wanna learn blues, ya gotta live it!” An old man sat on the opposite gravestone, his feet thumping to the rhythm of my guitar. I played a riff and ignored him and went on singing. “Don’ got nobody, not even a pet. Ah don’ remember the last time I e’t. But I got the da’ blues…yeah, mama, Ah got da blues.” Another guitar joined. Without missing a beat, the old man produced a guitar and a harmonica and took the lead. A minute later, his soulful playing had tears streaming from my eyes. I strummed rhythm the best I could and watched unbelievingly as he nodded for me to take the lead again. Suddenly, fire flew from my fingers, they raked the fingerboard as the strings screamed agony into the night. Never have I played like that! “Ah told ya, ya gotta live it,” he said as the song ended.

“That was amazing. You’re good, alright,” I said, “ But I’ve never seen you before. Who the hell are you? Why are you hanging out in a cemetery in the middle of the night?”

“Who the hell, indeed? You think you’re the only person out here at night? Look around you, boy. There’s a lot of people here. Most of ‘em tryin’ to sleep through your music. Where do you get off disturbin’ the peace anyway?” “Us? Here? What?”

“Boy, this ain’t your neighborhood. People here like the quiet…unless, of course, the noise is worthwhile. You have some potential, so I’m goin’ to make you a deal. I’ll teach you to play the blues and if you learn really good, you’ll always be welcome. If you don’t…well no amount of haint blue paint’s gonna keep ‘em off your porch and outside your windows. Fair is fair…you stir ‘em up, they get even. It’s the way of the world. “Them? They?”

“The haints. boy, the haints…I have some control over ‘em, but only so much. You managed to raise hell among them and now I have to quiet ‘em down again. I figure you’ve got soul, so with me in control and you using the licks I teach you, why you can practice here and in no time you’ll be playing in Madison Square Garden.” “What do you get out of this, “ I asked.

“Peace, boy. And you. You’ll owe me…but it’ll be worth it.” I picked up my guitar and struck a chord. “Madison Square Garden, you said.”

“If you use my licks, I guarantee it!” I struck another cord. He began to play a haunting melody inside the chord I chose. Lyrics filled my head. “My soul, it don’ belong to me no mo’ No, my soul it don’ belong to me no mo’. Cause Ah don’ sold it to the da devil and Ah don’ own it any mo’”.

Dawn broke before we ran out of songs and he began to fade with the shadows. “What do I call you,” I asked.

“Whatever you want. Temptation, the Devil, Scratch…it’s all the same. Whenever you want to jam, come on in. I’ll be around.”

Even so, I painted my porch ceiling, doors, and windows haint blue,

even if the rest of the house hadn’t been painted in years. But that didn’t keep me from pickin’ out the blues with him in that graveyard. After all, I was still years of practicing guitar licks and writing lyrics from Madison Square Garden.

End

CLABE POLK is the author of The Detective Mike Eiser Series and The Adventures of Harry Morgan Series of crime/action novels, as well as The Road to Armageddon. He has also written numerous short stories and flash fiction pieces that occasionally appear in e-magazines and anthologies. He enjoys woodworking when not busy working on his new science fiction series, or adding new books to the Detective Mike Eiser Series. He brings a deep love of natural sciences and more than thirty-seven years of professional environmental protection and public safety experience to his writing. He lives near Atlanta, Georgia with his wife, two daughters, and the family’s Cockapoo named Annie.