Sparkler Snapshots

XXVII | Ghost Town

"There is a ghost here. A lonely, heartbroken spirit. The ghost of everything that could've been and never was." – Jennifer Donnelly

Date: September 5th, 2017 (the 15th day of the 7th lunar month each year)

Occasion: Ghost Festival, Hungry Ghost Festival, Yulan Festival, Zhongyuan Festival (中元节), Gui Festival (鬼节)

Countries: China, Malaysia, Thailand, Cambodia, Singapore, Japan, Vietnam, India

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XXXII | Ghost Town

Hung beneath the darkening sky were hundreds of lanterns, emitting a soft glow as people milled around the streets. Not only were there people, however, but also hundreds of us, pearly white apparitions streaming into the heart of town. The ghosts who can only come out once a year, when the gates of the netherworld are opened. Humans think of us as the scary type, the folks who spook creatures out of their skin. Not me, though. I'm just hungry.

Under the combined star and lantern light, you'd think that it would be easy to find your way around. News flash, it's not. I floated through a crowd of people burning incense and making nice sacrifices for us, searching left and right for any sign of food, but with no success. A man behind me let out a gasp. I spun around. He was staring right at me.

Not that I was a believer in miracles, but a flicker of curiosity sparked in me. Maybe he could see me. It was worth a shot. I waved a translucent hand in front of his face, and he blinked. I shrugged and asked, "do you have any food around here?" but my voice came out as a croak from lack of use. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hello? Excuse me? Food? Where's the food?"

Gusts of wind whipped through the area. The man shivered, but I felt nothing. He and I looked at each other for a moment, but his eyes seemed to be fixed on something behind me. A second later, he strode forward and passed right through me. I flinched on instinct and glanced back to see what he was looking at, disappointment tugging at my stomach. Of course, he couldn't see me. I was just a figment of his imagination.

Remnants of burned dollar notes fluttered down around me. More offerings. They came from the same direction the man was heading towards, where a puppet performance was beginning. Another tradition to honor us ghosts, I suppose. Puppets have always creeped me out, with their blank, dead eyes. But, to be fair, my eyes are dead too. I sighed and drifted off, sniffing to pick up any scent of food. There was still none, but I did pick up a faint whiff of gunpowder.

Young children laughed as they took turns juggling scarlet apples. My eyes widened and I leaned forward, gliding towards them as fast as I could. A boy was playing hacky sack with an apple, and I had to stop myself from swearing as his foot dented it repeatedly. I made to grab one of the apples out of midair while the kids juggled them, but a girl clasped her fingers around it before I could and took a bite. I really did let out a curse this time, which was a big mistake.

Gone were the cheerful smiles on their faces. They nervously glanced around, before gathering up their apples and sprinting away. I slumped in disappointment. Most humans can sense our presence, and it certainly didn't help that ghosts have such a bad rep. Many of us are restless spirits who had improper burials or were treated badly by their families, so they come back for revenge. Not me, though. Like I said, I just come for the food.

Hungry ghosts are angry ghosts, which I believe is a fair argument. I'm sure humans would say the same about themselves, and they have to eat at least several times a day. Weaklings. Us ghosts only get one day a year to gorge ourselves. Since we're stuck between the living and spiritual realms, we can't eat or drink. Pair the thirst for revenge with literal thirst, and you've got yourself some bloodthirsty ghosts waiting to drown you in the nearest swimming pool.

Openly burning candles accompanied the lanterns, flickering every now and then in the wind. With one last longing glance at the retreating children, I drifted towards a candle. Wax was slowly trickling down its side. I glanced down at my own hand, noticing the resemblance between it and the candle, and was struck by a crazed urge to stick my hand in the flame.

Some part of me, the part with human instincts, told me to stay away. When a human sticks their hand in a flame, it hurts. I knew that, but I wanted to feel human again. Before I could change my mind, I thrust my fingers into the fire. I felt no pain, but the flame was snuffed at once. I drew my ghostly hand back and the fire reignited, burning the colors of a sunset. Disappointment clenched my heart. That settled it. I may not be fully dead, but I'm no human either.

The performances were growing more raucous by the second. I wrinkled my nose at the puppets, before gliding away and following a path of lanterns. The road twisted and turned, and the lanterns grew fainter until I was eventually immersed in darkness. I squinted to adjust my vision, before spotting a young boy hanging clothes on a line nearby.

Floating towards him, my heart leaped at the sight. Clothes, human clothes, they were right there, waiting for me to try them on. Of course, humans usually know better than to hang clothes around on this day. Ghosts leave negative energy behind in the clothes they try on, whatever that means. I suppose the kid was just hanging clothes out of habit.

Eager to try on one of the black suits, I rushed forward. I was inches from one of the sleeves when a woman stuck her head out of the open door. "What are you doing?" she called to her son. Her eyes widened when she saw the clothes. She hurried outside to scold him, leaving the door open in her haste. It took no time for me to decide between the suit and the open door. I took my chance and zoomed into the house without a sound.

Seconds later, the woman rushed back in, dragging her disgruntled son by the wrist. She slammed the door shut. The cool breeze was cut off, replaced by fireplace warmth. I shrunk into a corner, not daring to breathe. I was in a real house for the first time in fifty years. My stomach rumbled at the sight of roast beef and pork, of mashed potatoes and gravy, of apple pies and berry tarts, and I was suddenly glad no one could hear me.

"The food's getting cold," said a man beside me, which made me flinch. "Should we eat? If there are any ghosts here, they can join in. If not, they can have the leftovers." I frowned at that part. There was no way I would be eating their leftovers. I bobbed over to the table and waited for the family to take their seats. The last thing I needed was a human to sit on me.

In a few moments, the family of four were seated. They left three empty seats, which I supposed was for some of their dead relatives, but no other ghosts had arrived. I shrugged and sat down. They snooze, they lose. The girl beside me was texting her boyfriend, from what I could read over her shoulder, but at a reproving glance from her mom, she sullenly turned it off.

"Valerie," her father asked her, "can you address the ghosts before we eat?" The girl and I rolled our eyes at the same time for different reasons. My stomach was practically eating itself, and the only reason why I wasn't stuffing myself already was out of respect for the family. The girl stole a glance at her vibrating phone, before sighing.

"Ayy ghostie," she said in a bored tone. "Tuck in, or whatever. It's your time to shine." Her speech was short and sweet, just the way I liked it. I tried picking up a chicken drumstick, and was delighted to see that I could. The family didn't seem to notice. I suppose I was only picking up the ghost of a drumstick, but it was edible food nonetheless. I shrugged and took a bite, almost melting into my seat at the taste. My first piece of food in a year. It was delectable.

Loading up my plate, I listened contently to the family talk for the rest of the evening. For the first time in fifty years, I felt like I was home. I may just be a hungry ghost, but at least we were acknowledged. A day for the restless spirits to finally rest. A chance for us to eat. To feel human. So, the next time you think you have a ghost in your house? Leave some food out. Your next friend may just be a hungry spirit from the netherworld.