Cold Feet

Last night, I resurrected a ghost. Kayo Hanagata’s presence was with me between seven until twelve midnight.
It all began when I tinkered with the contents of my laptop and came across a draft of some story written based loosely on Kayo’s wanderings. The draft was fifteen pages long in its MS Word format, double-columned. I read what things, secret though they were while she was still with me, she’d done during her stay in this lifetime. And before I neared the end of the stuff I’ve transcribed about her, she herself was suddenly very near. A presence, but this time someone palpable as if she was solidly standing beside me, very much like the Kayo who was with me on that Andalusian morning filled with the murmurs of the religious on their way to First Mass many, many lifetimes ago.
As I write this, I feel weak and her laughter echoes around me. She is again the happy one that I knew.
We were the same. Born of a nomad family. Lost a brother whom we loved more than ourselves. Tried to go on living in a strange world, a world different from the one which we were raised in. But unlike her, I am still here, recording what once were. Kayo had gone, reunited with the brothers we love.
But I write for them now.
Kayo stayed with me the rest of the evening like some damp fog. My room was very cold last night that I decided to snuggle in bed earlier than I planned to. She was there with me, looking over my shoulder and laughing at the things I’ve scribbled in my notebook. Mostly, those were things about her. Some jagged memories I had where she was included in the cast of characters. I’d given up trying to finish off her story in my laptop. My feet were cold because she was so near — why do ghosts have the power to alter the environmental temperature? I wanted to be annoyed with her. She knew I never liked the cold. But she was there, sitting beside me, amusing herself with anecdotes about who she once was.
I meant to get up early the next morning so I closed my eyes, willing my mind to shut down. Kayo was still there.
She asked me as I drifted off to sleep, “How are your dreams?” She chuckled, pleased with her prank.
If she had truly been there in form, I could have pushed her off the bed. Instead, I just brushed my hand in the air, as if I was warding off an over-eager gnat.
How could they, those who walk between the veils have so much power in a person’s subconscious? For many years now, I have not been able to sleep properly. Dreams that lose their plotline in the morning dog me in sleep. And Kayo should know this. After all, she’s the one haunting me even in my slumber.

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