Ghosts and Agatha

VII: Back to the Cemetery

The silence that fell upon the room was so thick it was almost deafening.

My bedroom looked as if nothing had occurred: the only contrast between the room when Elizabeth was here, and now, was that the air felt colder.

I didn't know what I was meant to do. My throat had constricted until it was impossible for any noise to come out of my mouth; my feet were like roots planted into the ground. Reality was beginning to sink in and I realised something I should have admitted to myself long ago:

This was real.

I comprehended the fact Elizabeth had been murdered. She was gone; nothing but an empty shell decaying underneath the suffocating dirt beneath the surface of the ground, swathed in flowers and glossy photographs with a diamond ring thrown next to her. She was barricaded in the depths of a concrete box because of one wicked person who committed a crime with no remorse. My sister, the one who we had exchanged writing; the one who I had always looked up to as the better version of myself: platinum blonde hair cascading down her back; a complexion the same pale shade as mine except somehow managed to be more creamy; unlike mine, which looked like see-through paper had been placed over my skull.

Who could possibly have been so thick as to kill someone who was so perfectly innocent? Who could have descended to such a low level that they would murder a person who was undeserving of such fate?

I missed her. It had been months since I had seen Elizabeth alive; I had taken her existence for granted. I had never accepted the fact that yes, she was dead, and yes, she had been murdered.

This fact made me think: What really happens when you die?

I had always believed in God, although, like Elizabeth, I took His existence for granted. I mean, I never exactly went to church, although I did things such as pray to him under my breath before taking something such as a math exam. But now I was questioning my opinion regarding what happened after you died, the existence of both Heaven and Hell.

But the nagging voice in the back of my mind reminded me of thing I didn't want to accept, as awful as that sounds: my sister was still here. She was a ghost, someone who could still hold a pen, who could walk on the surface of the ground, who could touch my wrist, who could appear in the sky, who could kill a cat.

And then another question bloomed inside my mind: Why? Why would she want to do those things? To try to suffocate me, to frighten me until the fear surged throughout my veins and I was so sure there was a possibility I would join Elizabeth? Ever since she had died she had made my life unbearable. And Elizabeth was so kind when I knew her; why would she even think about doing such dreadful things to me now?

And another thought came me: she had already answered that question. Five minutes ago, while she was encircling around the room, her voice almost incoherent, her presence abrupt. When she had said Go to the cemetery, Agatha.

She couldn't have possibly meant that she wanted me to go to where she was buried. What would I do there; hang around like an idiot and wait for the presence of my dead sister?

I almost giggled at the thought.

I decided that I didn't want to remain in the same position I had situated myself in when Elizabeth was in the room. My legs were beginning to ache and my eyes were stinging because they were looking through the windowpane, which was now slightly black now, as outside was beginning to get a little dusky. Pinpricks of stars were twinkling and a dotted moon was hunched upon the clouds like a crop used in old films.

I used the shafts of melted pearls reflecting off the windowpane to help me navigate through my room. Opening my door and ignoring my oil lamp, I descended the stairs quickly.