Our father told us that. The skill only passes through males and is triggered at some point during their 18th birthday. It wouldn't be exact, he said. His vision had arrived four months before he turned 18. His brothers' all came weeks after their birthdays.
Two days before my older brother Jonathan had turned 18 we were at the cinema watching Mama Mia. He had suddenly shuddered and screamed hysterically inside the movie house, pointing here and there. We exited the cinema and realized what had happened. He said he saw a dozen spirits inside.
Jonathan was more open to questions than my father and uncles, so I kept prodding him after his transition. He said the spirits aren't actually bad--they're like a community amongst themselves. They looked a lot like the living except that they shone, and that their colors are a bit foggy.
"They can touch stuff, but the action hurts them intensely." Jonathan explained one time. "That's why as much as possible they'd rather smoke by objects. Yes, Robert, the spirits can pass through walls. They also have their own reflections. Some of them are really pretty, mind you. Infirmities such as acne and scars seem to disappear after death."
"Shouldn't they be in afterlife after they die?" I asked. "I mean, that's what they say at church."
"I wouldn't know. We can only see them, Rob. We can't hear or smell or feel them. I don't think they actually want something from the living, though. They seem content with that they have."
We knew, however, that not all spirits were peaceful. Our father used to tell us about spirits that long to go back to the living world. Just like in the movies, these spirits prowl about looking for bodies to settle in. Only that they can only enter the bodies of people who intentionally left their's. And that sort of sounded impossible.
My transition happened about three months after my 18th birthday. My class was scheduled for an ocular visit to one of the city's pastry factories. Jonathan told me that in case my transition occured during the trip, I should try to be not as freaked out as he was. I might not be able to hear them, but the spirits are able to hear me. Feel me, smell me, even taste me. It wouldn't be good to spook them.
The visit started well enough. My class, all 43 in total, was enjoying each site we passed by--hilltops, mango plantations, old churches. We even stopped at one of the plazas and bought "Taho"--or ginger juice mixed with brown sugar and sago.
We spent the first night of the trip in a resort camp. Most of the class went night swimming, others played cards, others just sat on the grass and played music. We were eventually told to go to sleep at midnight. As I laid on my bed, I heard Sophia's squad get up and exit the room.
Sophia's squad was hated for their mischief and tendency to destroy everything. They were rich kids who lived to show off their braces and Rolex, who drove cars and smoked weed in public. They used to bully the poor school janitors and security guards, employees who cannot fight back for fear of losing their jobs. We called them Sophia's squad after Sophia, once the most innocent of the class, surprisingly joined their group.
By morning, we couldn't help but notice weird things about the aforementioned squad. They were unnaturally high--they kept joking and laughing aloud, using a lot of obscene curses and other spiteful actions. Out of nowhere, some of them started dancing in the bus. Sophia led them herself, immodest in her unbuttoned blouse. The rest of their squad joined in by laughing wildly.
We arrived at the pastry factory an hour before midday. The rest of the class was still unnerved as we wordlessly filed to get inside. Sophia's squad was hopping and shouting, full of life and vigor.
The ocular visit went on swiftly. As the trip ended, one by one we stepped back into the bus for the drive home. The class settled in silently until the coordinator realized that Sophia's squad was missing.
"Let's leave them," one of my classmates voiced out. "They're high. Or insane. Let's just leave them behind."
A clamor went up, agreeing with the suggestion. The coordinator turned to the driver.
"If I may, ma'am," the driver spoke. "I've seen how those kids behaved. I smell trouble. If it pleases the rest of the class, I can bring all of you first to the resort and just return for those goons."
It pleased everyone so the driver sped off. About ten minutes in the highway, my mind rang. I could feel every nerve in my head burning. Inhaling heavily, I stood from my seat and groaned in pain. That was when I realized my transition was occuring.
I saw a Spirit.
She was standing at the back of the bus, eyes wide, pointing at something. I couldn't hear her, but she seemed to be frantic. The spirit zoomed close and touched me, the pain of the contact registering on her face. She gestured me to the back, onto the squad's place, and pointed at a duffel bag.
I unzipped the bag and saw a bomb.
We were running about a hundred meters away from the bus when the bomb detonated. We looked at the smoke from a distance, crying. It wasn't much of an explosion, just enough to tip the bus' balance and send us off towards the cliffs if I hadn't opened the bag and told everyone to get down.
I wanted to thank the Spirit but she was gone. My mind struggled to comprehend how lucky I was that the transition occured exactly at that moment--even a few minutes later and I would've died along with the entire class. I smiled sadly as I recalled what happened once again.
Police investigated the incident after our report. It was discovered that the squad was into Satanic rituals and had planned out the whole murder and suicide plot for months already. After a few weeks, the cops found their bodies somewhere around the area of the pastry factory. The group had slit their wrists and bled to death while holding hands.
They did not, however, find Sophia's body. There were traces of her but searches all came up empty.
That was when it hit me. I had been so fazed with the transition that the recognition had failed to register. The Spirit in the bus had resembled someone I should know. Someone familiar.
Sophia.
