The Darkest Hour - Chapter 6

Nathaniel Grave

“Of all escape mechanisms, death is the most efficient.” – Henry Ward Beecher

I try not to loathe the place that I am expected to call home. My own self-pity will not benefit anyone, certainly not me. But, try as I might, I can’t stand the new town. A little town in nowhere Virginia. Being the new person in a town this small means that my every move will be everyone’s business and it just adds to the list of things I’ll have to repeatedly explain. The main thing that will be on each person’s mind is who is this new guy? And there I will be, standing there, trying to explain the process of…

“Stop it!” I say it to no one in particular. We have been here nearly 2 weeks and I am still complaining. There is work that needs to be done and probably a few messes to clean up and all I am doing is standing around going, “Poor me”.

“Poor Nate in his nice big house, in his small town where he can start over. Poor Nate with his steady family and rich heritage. Poor Nate with his car and easily acquired friends. Poor, poor Nate.” I mutter, mocking my own self-pitying behavior. “Poor Nate. Life is not all that bad. After all, I could be dead.”

It is a fact that I know a little too well. The old, the young, females, males, the sickly, and those in good health; death comes to them all. It is the one thing in this world that is 100% unpredictable. Invited or not, it comes. For those that fear death, it is a most unwelcomed visitor who drains every ounce of energy that you have. For those that invite death, well, it accepts the invitation and leaves no room for a second thought.

I try not to loathe the place that I am expected to call home, but it is just like everywhere else. The only escape from death is death itself. Unfortunately, I do not like either of my alternatives. If dying is the only way to avoid death’s shadow, then I assume my life will always be clouded in darkness. Perhaps it isn’t the usual outlook on life. I chuckle, thinking that it certainly is not the outlook of the other guys in my classes, but as I stand in the graveyard that night, it seems to be the only outlook option I have.

I guess it is around that point when I see her. To anyone else, she may appear to have a firm grasp on the situation – to know exactly what she is doing. On second thought, to anyone else, she may appear crazed or mentally unstable. She is walking around a graveyard in the middle of the night, talking softly to an invisible man to her side. From where I am standing, it seemes possible that even she can not see the man beside her. She is not quite facing him as she speaks to him, but, instead, stands fixated on an empty spot directly in front of her. At the late hour, I can not be sure if she can not see him or if she just chooses to avoid directly looking at what is left of the man before her. Either way, I feel a stab of guilt when I find myself considering whether or not her presence is key to my escape from dealing with the dead.

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The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The Darkest Hour - Chapter 5

Ivy Mae Carter

“Healing yourself is connected with healing others.” – Yoko Ono

"Someone is already helping me," the woman in front of me says. I can barely see her in the dark of the night. The storm from earlier had blown out the electricity for this block.

"I don't understand," I tell the confused ghost. "What do you mean someone else is helping you?"

"A young man - quite handsome if I do say so myself," she says with a small laugh. "He came to me last night and offered to help me move on. At first I didn't understand what he was talking about, but after he explained it, I agreed to his help. I didn't realize that ghosts aren't supposed to stick around in our world. I thought I was doing right by watching over the ones I love."

"A young man?" I ask when she stops to take a breath. It seemed there was someone else in town helping.

"He was about your age, I believe," she says looking around. "He seemed to know what he was talking about - it was almost as though he'd done this before. He made some comment about it being his job - something he thought he could escape in a new town."

Someone my age. Someone new to town. It doesn't take me long to put together who it might be. The only question left is how to confront him without seeming like the crazy girl in town.

"I guess I'll let him help you then," I tell the woman politely before heading home to formulate a plan of how to confront Nathaniel Grave.

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The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

The Darket Hour - Chapter 4

Ivy Mae Carter

“Healing yourself is connected with healing others.” – Yoko Ono

"Why would I talk to you? You're just a teenager!" The man standing in front of me is shouting at the top of his lungs but I'm the only one who can hear him. I thought about going home after I saw the boy in the graveyard, but lingered a bit longer at my father's grave. Now, I'm wishing that I had gone home. There is a spirit standing in front of me, yelling at me because I asked him his name. Angry spirits are no fun - I'm still wondering how Benjamin dealt with so many.

"Yes, but I'm also the only one that can see or hear you," I respond calmly. There's no use in getting upset with this man - he's just suffered the terrible shock of death after all.

"I don't understand?" He has sat on the bench beside me at this point. I guess he ran out of steam on the yelling.

"I don't fully understand it myself," I tell him honestly. Ever since the coma, I've been able to see things that I shouldn't. I guess it's because I was so alert in the in between where Benjamin lived. "I was near death myself a few months ago - a coma. I was lucky and pulled back into the land of the living, but ever since then, it seems that I can communicate with the dead as well - at least the ones that need help."

"The ones that need help?" He is looking at me with raised eyebrows. "Now you want me to believe that I'm dead and that I need help?"

"Help is probably the wrong word." Once again, I'm as calm as I can be. I wasn't expecting to deal with an irate ghost tonight. "What I mean by help is that you shouldn't be stuck in the in between unless you are holding onto something. The help you need is figuring out what you're holding onto and how to let it go."

"Oh." He seems to consider this for a moment. "Well, that's easy."

"Easy? What's easy?"

"Figuring out what's holding me here." He stands beside me and heads toward the town. I follow as quickly as I can. I debate whether or not I should say something and eventually decide that it's probably best just to follow this man. He seems to be on a mission.

We wind through the streets of downtown passing small shops and cafes and even the library before he comes to a complete stop at an intersection. I start to speak, but he veers left and keeps moving. I continue to follow him for the next three blocks hoping that I'm not making a mistake. The vibration of my phone tells me that my mom or grandma is probably worried about me, but I choose to ignore it for the time being. I have a ghost to deal with.

"This - this is what holds me here," he says with certainty. I have never seen or heard of a ghost being so certain. As I peer through the window, I realize why he is so certain. A woman is sitting in the living with a young girl curled in her lap.

"Your daughter?" I ask as I watch the little girls' eyes light up at the book in front of her.

"And my sick wife," he says into the night air. "She's dying of cancer. How am I supposed to leave them to fend for themselves?" I search my brain for an answer while trying to hold back tears.

"Is there another family member I can get in touch with for you? Someone who can make sure your little girl is cared for?" It's the only solution I can offer this man. I can't reverse death after all. My heart aches at the thought of the young girl growing up without a father. I know how hard that can be.

"My father - he disowned me ages ago, but he would make sure the girl is cared for. He always loved my wife more than me. Can you get in touch with my father?" He looks back into the window and sighs.

"If you tell me what to write in a letter from you and where to find him, I'll make sure he gets the letter." I want to promise to look after the little girl as well, but I know I should make empty promises. There is no way that I could promise each and every ghost that I'd watch over their loved ones. There's not enough time in the day for that.

After one long glance at his daughter, we head back to the graveyard. I pull out a notebook from my bag and pen the letter that the man says out loud. I print his name at the bottom and hope that it should suffice. I can type it up when I get home. The important part is that it sounds like this man. He reaches out his hand and I take pretend to take it. After a hollow handshake, he begins to fade before my eyes. I watch as Andrew joins the world that Benjamin now inhabits. It is only after he's gone that I realize I should have sent a message with him for Benjamin

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The Darkest Hour by Crystal and Pamela MacLean is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.