The Intrusion

Thirty-Two

(Wednesday, March 21, 2018)

[Andy]

Do you want to know what I think about ghosts?

Wait, don't answer that question. I don't actually care if you want to know or not. I'm going to tell you anyway.

I'm not sure if I believe in ghosts.

I've always been a skeptic. I've never seen any solid proof either way. Maybe they are real, maybe they aren't. I've never given much thought to them one way or the other.

Well, at least not until today.

I've been thinking about ghosts a lot today.

I've been thinking about what ghosts are—assuming they are real, which I am starting to think that they are. My thoughts about ghosts are this: ghosts are the piece of a person's consciousness (or soul, if you are so inclined to use that word) that remains after they have died. After their body and brain have rotted away in some hole six feet underground somewhere, their consciousness remains on earth—haunting it. Their memories.

I think ghosts are the bit of the person that is their memories. After the brain—the part that interprets those memories—has been destroyed, the memories themselves are all that remain. Sometimes, if those memories are strong enough, they eject themselves from the brain and become a new entity all of their own—a ghost.

That explains a lot of it to me—a lot of the way ghosts are, or the way they are perceived. They haunt the places where they once lived. Apparitions repeat actions they carried out during their lives. Noises—voices, whispers, screams, bangs, footsteps, a chair dragging across the floor—mimic sounds that were once heard by the deceased and were then committed to memory. Often these actions and noises are the most dramatic or emotionally charged events that happened during the person's life—his or her strongest memories.

But here's another thought I have about ghosts: I don't think they know they're dead. No, (and I'll warn you, spoiler alert if you haven't seen The Sixth Sense yet), I don't mean that they think that they are still alive. What I mean is, I don't think they know anything. I think they are just these memories wandering around unknowingly and unconsciously repeating themselves again and again over and over like a recording on a tape until eventually, it's been played so many times it wears itself away and is gone completely. Without the brain, there is no way for lost spirits to write new memories and no way for them to interpret existing ones. They become a ghost of who they once were—a broken record, repeating again and again without any purpose, rhyme, or reason.

Lost.

I blacked out for the first time yesterday.

I drank so much that I have no recollection of what happened to me after four in the afternoon.

It's an interesting concept—blacking out. Clearly I was still operating after the black out—somehow I made it back to my apartment from the bar I was at—but I have no recollection of doing that. I don't think it's that I've forgotten what happened. It's like I never made any memories of that time to begin with. I assume my brain was still working but refusing to create any new memories, or maybe just refusing to commit any memories to permanent storage. I was operating the whole time off of the last memories my brain had stored, unable to retain any new ones. In a way, I became a ghost. I was an entity walking around unaware of anything, repeating actions I knew I'd done before—leaving the bar, walking home, walking back to my apartment. I was haunting my own body. Haunting my own life.

It's 5:15pm.

I take a sip of the half empty bottle of Canadian whiskey that is sitting on my coffee table. I shudder as it stings my tongue. It burns my throat and electrifies my body in a sharp, piercing horror. I want to choke and vomit and kill something—probably just the rest of this bottle, my hands around its neck.

I've been drinking since I woke up.

I don't remember the last time I ate, and maybe that's a bad thing, but I don't remember much of anything that I've done over the past two days. I've been drunk practically continuously since Monday night, except for when I sleep.

Being drunk interests me. I'm in a different mindset when I'm drunk. Every single idea that pops into my head seems like a great fucking idea when I'm wasted.

Every single one.

It's a fantastic high, but also it is frightening. My memories get hard to interpret, and I find it hard to tell if the decisions I'm making are actually good, or if I just think that they are.

I do remember one thing I did fairly clearly, but that's probably only because it was the first thing I did today when I woke up.

I texted Jess.

I memorized her phone number Monday night. I texted her from my own phone and told her that I'd gotten a new phone as a burner for while I was in Vancouver because my old phone only works while I have Wi-Fi.

She bought it.

It really isn't that far off from the truth when you think about it.

I'm in my apartment right now, in case you didn't already guess that much. (I think I already told you I was sitting on my couch, but like I said, I've been having trouble remembering things lately.)

I haven't left my apartment since I woke up today.

It's 5:17pm.

Jordan got home from work at 4:53pm today. I've been watching her apartment.

She's leaving her apartment right now, and based on the way she's dressed, I'm assuming she's going for a run. She'll probably be gone for about an hour.

That gives me plenty of time.

I set the bottle of liquor down on the coffee table in front of me and get up. I stumble towards the door of my apartment, but it takes me forever to get there because the combination of all the alcohol I've drank, the sudden standing, and the fact that maybe I haven't actually eaten in two days all adds up to me being really fucking dizzy.

When I finally manage to reach the door, I plop down on the floor, out of breath, and put my boots on. Thank God I don't have shoes that need to be tied.

Before I leave, I look back at the bottle of whiskey sitting on my table.

Might as well bring it, I suppose.

I get the brown paper bag that guy at the liquor shop gave me and slip the bottle in.

Finally, I head out the door, checking the time on my phone as I go.

It's 5:20pm.

I still have plenty of time.