The Lost Soul ( part 2)- by guest author Jackie Summers

Guest Poet Jackie Summers

Looking back, I can almost understand why my first ghost attached himself to me. Years later I was watching a program that explained how ghosts attach themselves to people who are young, when their minds are not closed off, and if there is turmoil in that persons life, they are more likely to meet with a dark soul than a friendly spirit.

Yet that does not explain the second soul that came to visit me one evening.

Four years after my first encounter with a spirit, I met my second lost soul. A child about the age of two.

I had left home at the age of eighteen, after living with my mother and sister, and was living out of wedlock and pregnant with my first child. I had been agonizing over the fact I was going to have to tell my father I was pregnant. My father whom was very much unlike my mother, was a rather strict person, with ideas of being Catholic to be used as a predominant  threat of discipline. Of course it wasn’t that his faith brought him to this, it was just something he would use as we got older, as we were now to old to be spanked.

My Mother, was more pragmatic raising us. I remember times that she tried to instill a bit of feminism into our upbringing. I suppose if you you have three daughters you want them to have as much potential as any man has in their affairs, with a no nonsense attitude, and a self reliance that you do not need a man to support you. Of course I wonder if it sometimes didn’t have a whole lot to do with the relationship she had with my father. I guess that is why I have a very strong independent streak in me, and have often mentioned myself as being a nonconformist.

I was apprehensive the day I met my father for lunch. I had already told my mother, who appeared to be more upset over my pregnancy, than my father appeared to be. He wanted to tell my grandmother, and suggested telling her at the chinese restuarant would keep her from creating a scene. Well she cried which I never expected her to do, and I was suddenly seized with the innability to swallow. I was not sure if it was not brought on by the dissapointment of news, or that the food was loaded with too much MSG. Luckily for me, it abruptly ended the dinner.

My grandmother and I were very close as I was growing up. She favored me over the others, to see her upset over my pregnancy hurt me greatly. It also changed things with our relationship. Of course she wanted to do the string and needle thing. Where you take a needle and suspend it with a thread over the abdomen of the pregnant woman  and determine the swinging direction to decipher the sex of the child. For me it swung not only in a circular direction- girl, but also in a perpendicular direction- boy . So as I suspected, it was inconclusive. My grandmother thought herself clairvoyant too. She also would read my tea leaves when I would visit her as a child. Of course I think because she was born on All Saints Day Eve (Halloween), had a lot to do with how she wanted you to think of her as having special powers. In any event, she did have a certain nack for telling the most spookiest kind of stories.

A week after the resturant fiasco, I somehow suddenly seemed to have popped. My abdomen was now that of someone most pregnant. I was managing to hide it rather well before, but I guess now that the secret was out I was able to relax. It also meant I was now beginning to feel the discomfort of my belly. Sleeping on my stomach was becoming more difficult, and I was never comfortable sleeping on my back. As I tossed and turned one evening, I decided to get up. I know this sounds wrong, but I lit up a ciggarette and was sitting up in bed smoking, staring out into the kitchen at the light illuminating on the old gas stove, contemplating my life, and my relationship, and  wondering if I was going to have a girl or a boy. Then out of the quiet of the night I heard a child crying. I listened, and waited again to hear it. I looked over at my then significant other to see if perhaps he was dreaming aloud. The sound did not come from him. Again a childs cry, this time it cried out for… Mommy. Returning my gaze to the kitchen, there standing at the end of my bed was a blonde toddler boy dressed in winter blue feet pajamas.  I tried to wake my partner with a nudging of my elbow, but it was not working, and I didn’t want to scare the toddler away. He was very much a real figure,

not a shadow of imagination, yet I knew he was not of this earth. He cried out once more… Mommy. I didn’t dare speak. I had heard once never speak to a poltergheist. I don’t remember exactly why one should not converse with them, but I don’t think I could have if I wanted to. Then he was gone. I watched as he slowly turned and slipped out of the room, almost vanishing in form as he left.

I finally managed to jostle my then not yet husband out of a sound sleep, and asked him if he felt anything different about the room. I told him what had just taken place, but he simply rolled over and went back to sleep. I stayed awake for a very long time after that wondering if the toddler would come back. By the time I fell asleep, dawn was on the horizon, and I instinctively knew the child I was carrying was going to be a boy.

That afternoon I went next door to tell my girlfriend what had taken place. She told me something quite fascinating, and something truly very sad. She mentioned that another neighbor that lived on the apartment floor above her, also had a strange encounter that evening, though she would not tell me what it was.

I pleaded with her to share with me what she knew, but she would not. Instead she gave me the grave news of a car accident that happened less than a quarter mile down on our street. At aproximately the same time I had my little visitor, a women and her toddler son were both killed in that automobile accident.


© Jackie Summers – 2012

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