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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Fairy Tale / Folk Tale
- Published: 04/05/2018
Even Though We're Ghosts
Born 1947, M, from Oceanside, CA, United StatesEven Though We Are Ghosts
First his wife died. Then a week later, he died of the same wasting disease. Except, they didn’t cross over.
“Why are you still here?” he asked, Timma, his wife. “You’re dead! I watched you die!”
“And I saw you die,” Timma said to, Backgrad, her husband.
He looked at her, his eyes having gotten huge. “I don’t understand. If we’re both dead, how can we still be in our hut here in the middle of the forest?”
Timma was about to say something when she was interrupted by a knock on their door. Each looked at the other, fear darkening their gaze. Then both looked toward the door. “Should we see who it is?” Timma asked Backgrad.
Her husband thought a moment. “I guess we should. After all, unless it’s the devil himself, we’re already dead, so we can’t be damned any further.”
Reaching for the door handle, he jerked opened the door, at the same time jumping back. Both stared curious at the figure standing in their doorway. He was tall and slender, wearing a full head of coarse-looking grey hair which meshed with his just as coarse-looking long, grey beard. He was dressed in a dusty-looking brown robe, and on his feet were sandals made from what looked like tree bark. In one hand, he was holding a very tall staff.
“May I enter?” he asked in a voice that sounded peculiarly young for his elderly appearance.
“Yes,” replied Backgrad. Then both he and his wife took a couple of cautious steps back as he entered.
Once inside, the stranger looked around and said, “You keep a neat hut.”
“Thank you,” replied Timma with a smile. “I try as mush as possible.”
The stranger nodded. “You do well.”
There was a short pause and then Backgrad asked, “Who are you, and how is it you can see us?”
“Why shouldn’t I be able to see you?” asked the stranger with a slight twinkle in his liquid blue eyes.
“Because . . . because,” Timma stammered, “we believe we both just died from the wasting disease.”
The stranger nodded. “Actually, you did.”
His brow furrowing, Backgrad asked, “Does that mean you’re dead, too?”
“Not exactly,” replied the stranger. “I am Octo, spirit of the forest.”
“All forests?” asked Backgrad.
“No, just this one,” he replied, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.
“Then what do you want with us?” asked Timma.
“I want you to continue doing what you’ve been doing — greeting and feeding travelers, and giving them shelter.”
Backgrad frowned. “But how can we do that if we’re ghosts?”
“For travelers, you won’t be ghosts. They will find you as alive and solid as they are. But once they leave your presence, you will disappear from sight.”
“Is that all?” asked Timma, feeling much relieved.
“No,” replied Octo. “Before they leave your presence, you must warn them of a danger ahead.”
“What sort of danger?” asked Backgrad.
“There is an inn two day’s ride from here. Just before the inn, there is a fork in the road. You must warn the travelers to take the left fork, not the right. If they take the right fork, they will come upon an inn. At first, it will seem friendly and welcoming. But this inn is ruled over by four brothers who are almost as evil as the devil himself. They will murder the travelers in their sleep and take all their possessions.”
Timma could feel her ghostly-self shudder. “Why hasn’t anyone stopped them before?” she asked.
“Because they pay a portion of what they acquire to the local lord. As long as they keep paying him, he leaves them alone to do whatever they wish.”
“This is devil’s work!” said Backgrad angrily.
“Indeed it is,” agreed Octo.
Backgrad straightened his stance. “In that case, we will do what you ask; we will feed and shelter all travelers and warn them against the danger.”
Octo smiled. “I’m sure you will!” he said. “And now, I must go and see to my charges in the forest.”
“Charges?” Backgrad inquired.
“The trees and animals.”
“Oh.”
But just as the forest spirit was about to leave, Backgrad called out to him, “Since you seem to be knowledgeable about such things, how long will we need to keep warning travelers?”
“Until the warning is no longer needed,” said Octo over his shoulder. And then he stepped out the door and disappeared.
Still sort of in shock, Timma turned to her husband and asked, “But how will we feed these travelers? When we were alive, we barely had food enough for ourselves.”
Backgrad shrugged, but just then, he heard the sound of a horse approaching. “I don’t know,” he said to his wife, “but I think our first traveler has just arrived.”
Sure enough, when he looked outside, he could see a young-looking man in a jerkin and britches, wearing a feathered cap and sitting astride a horse. Sticking out from one of the stranger’s bags was a lute. Right away, Backgrad realized their first visitor must be a minstrel.
“I’m glad I’ve come upon you,” said the minstrel, after having gotten down from his horse. “I’m not much of a hunter, as a result, I am low on provisions.”
“That’s okay,” replied Backgrad. “We have enough to share.” Frowning, his wife nudged him with her elbow. “I will show you where to stable your horse while my wife gets the meal ready.”
Later on, after they had eaten and the minstrel had plied them with several songs, Timma whispered to her husband, “How did you know we would have enough for a meal?”
Backgrad shrugged. “I just figured that if the forest spirit wanted us to feed and shelter travelers, he would also provide us with what we would need.”
The next day, after their morning meal, Timma and Backgrad said goodbye to the minstrel, but not before warning him about the fork in the road and the inn. Then once he was gone, it became as the forest spirit had said it would — all signs of life in the tiny hut disappeared until the next travelers arrived.
This continued for several years with both Timma and Backgrad never aging. And then one day, a knight arrived. “I am looking for an inn ruled over by four brothers,” he told them.
That’s when they explained to the knight about the evil that existed there. “But surely by now it must be gone,” said Timma. “We have been warning travelers against going there for ages.”
“There is more than one way through that part of the forest,” said the knight. “I have been told the inn still thrives.”
Backgrad asked, “But if you know about the inn, why do you wish to go there?”
“Because,” replied the knight, “I intend to put an end to its treachery.”
Timma and Backgrad fed and sheltered the knight then offered their well wishes as they watched him leave. Both were certain they would never see him again.
Then two days later, both Timma and Backgrad felt as if their spirits were becoming less and less substantial. “The knight must have succeeded in destroying the evil,” Backgrad said to his wife.
“But what does that mean for us?” she asked. He could not give her a satisfactory answer. “I wish we could talk to the forest spirit,” she continued. And right then, came a knock on their door. Timma looked at her husband. “Do you think that’s him?” she asked.
Backgrad shrugged then answered the door. It was the forest spirit who, like Timma and Backgrad, had not changed at all in appearance.
Holding up her hand, Timma said, “Before you speak, we would like to ask you for a favor.”
“And what is it?” said the forest spirit, knowing very well what they were probably going to ask.
“Even though we’re ghosts, is there any way we could remain here and continue to do what we have been doing — sheltering and feeding travelers?”
Octo’s face spread into a wide grin. “Actually, I was hoping you’d ask that.” And so, he granted their wish. They continued to shelter and feed travelers well into the next century and beyond.
These days, although the outside of the hut has not changed quite that much, the inside has grown huge, and now caters to a different type of traveler — one that usually sports two very large, almond-shaped eyes and who often hails from various parts of the galaxy.
Even Though We're Ghosts(Tom Di Roma)
Even Though We Are Ghosts
First his wife died. Then a week later, he died of the same wasting disease. Except, they didn’t cross over.
“Why are you still here?” he asked, Timma, his wife. “You’re dead! I watched you die!”
“And I saw you die,” Timma said to, Backgrad, her husband.
He looked at her, his eyes having gotten huge. “I don’t understand. If we’re both dead, how can we still be in our hut here in the middle of the forest?”
Timma was about to say something when she was interrupted by a knock on their door. Each looked at the other, fear darkening their gaze. Then both looked toward the door. “Should we see who it is?” Timma asked Backgrad.
Her husband thought a moment. “I guess we should. After all, unless it’s the devil himself, we’re already dead, so we can’t be damned any further.”
Reaching for the door handle, he jerked opened the door, at the same time jumping back. Both stared curious at the figure standing in their doorway. He was tall and slender, wearing a full head of coarse-looking grey hair which meshed with his just as coarse-looking long, grey beard. He was dressed in a dusty-looking brown robe, and on his feet were sandals made from what looked like tree bark. In one hand, he was holding a very tall staff.
“May I enter?” he asked in a voice that sounded peculiarly young for his elderly appearance.
“Yes,” replied Backgrad. Then both he and his wife took a couple of cautious steps back as he entered.
Once inside, the stranger looked around and said, “You keep a neat hut.”
“Thank you,” replied Timma with a smile. “I try as mush as possible.”
The stranger nodded. “You do well.”
There was a short pause and then Backgrad asked, “Who are you, and how is it you can see us?”
“Why shouldn’t I be able to see you?” asked the stranger with a slight twinkle in his liquid blue eyes.
“Because . . . because,” Timma stammered, “we believe we both just died from the wasting disease.”
The stranger nodded. “Actually, you did.”
His brow furrowing, Backgrad asked, “Does that mean you’re dead, too?”
“Not exactly,” replied the stranger. “I am Octo, spirit of the forest.”
“All forests?” asked Backgrad.
“No, just this one,” he replied, making a sweeping gesture with his hand.
“Then what do you want with us?” asked Timma.
“I want you to continue doing what you’ve been doing — greeting and feeding travelers, and giving them shelter.”
Backgrad frowned. “But how can we do that if we’re ghosts?”
“For travelers, you won’t be ghosts. They will find you as alive and solid as they are. But once they leave your presence, you will disappear from sight.”
“Is that all?” asked Timma, feeling much relieved.
“No,” replied Octo. “Before they leave your presence, you must warn them of a danger ahead.”
“What sort of danger?” asked Backgrad.
“There is an inn two day’s ride from here. Just before the inn, there is a fork in the road. You must warn the travelers to take the left fork, not the right. If they take the right fork, they will come upon an inn. At first, it will seem friendly and welcoming. But this inn is ruled over by four brothers who are almost as evil as the devil himself. They will murder the travelers in their sleep and take all their possessions.”
Timma could feel her ghostly-self shudder. “Why hasn’t anyone stopped them before?” she asked.
“Because they pay a portion of what they acquire to the local lord. As long as they keep paying him, he leaves them alone to do whatever they wish.”
“This is devil’s work!” said Backgrad angrily.
“Indeed it is,” agreed Octo.
Backgrad straightened his stance. “In that case, we will do what you ask; we will feed and shelter all travelers and warn them against the danger.”
Octo smiled. “I’m sure you will!” he said. “And now, I must go and see to my charges in the forest.”
“Charges?” Backgrad inquired.
“The trees and animals.”
“Oh.”
But just as the forest spirit was about to leave, Backgrad called out to him, “Since you seem to be knowledgeable about such things, how long will we need to keep warning travelers?”
“Until the warning is no longer needed,” said Octo over his shoulder. And then he stepped out the door and disappeared.
Still sort of in shock, Timma turned to her husband and asked, “But how will we feed these travelers? When we were alive, we barely had food enough for ourselves.”
Backgrad shrugged, but just then, he heard the sound of a horse approaching. “I don’t know,” he said to his wife, “but I think our first traveler has just arrived.”
Sure enough, when he looked outside, he could see a young-looking man in a jerkin and britches, wearing a feathered cap and sitting astride a horse. Sticking out from one of the stranger’s bags was a lute. Right away, Backgrad realized their first visitor must be a minstrel.
“I’m glad I’ve come upon you,” said the minstrel, after having gotten down from his horse. “I’m not much of a hunter, as a result, I am low on provisions.”
“That’s okay,” replied Backgrad. “We have enough to share.” Frowning, his wife nudged him with her elbow. “I will show you where to stable your horse while my wife gets the meal ready.”
Later on, after they had eaten and the minstrel had plied them with several songs, Timma whispered to her husband, “How did you know we would have enough for a meal?”
Backgrad shrugged. “I just figured that if the forest spirit wanted us to feed and shelter travelers, he would also provide us with what we would need.”
The next day, after their morning meal, Timma and Backgrad said goodbye to the minstrel, but not before warning him about the fork in the road and the inn. Then once he was gone, it became as the forest spirit had said it would — all signs of life in the tiny hut disappeared until the next travelers arrived.
This continued for several years with both Timma and Backgrad never aging. And then one day, a knight arrived. “I am looking for an inn ruled over by four brothers,” he told them.
That’s when they explained to the knight about the evil that existed there. “But surely by now it must be gone,” said Timma. “We have been warning travelers against going there for ages.”
“There is more than one way through that part of the forest,” said the knight. “I have been told the inn still thrives.”
Backgrad asked, “But if you know about the inn, why do you wish to go there?”
“Because,” replied the knight, “I intend to put an end to its treachery.”
Timma and Backgrad fed and sheltered the knight then offered their well wishes as they watched him leave. Both were certain they would never see him again.
Then two days later, both Timma and Backgrad felt as if their spirits were becoming less and less substantial. “The knight must have succeeded in destroying the evil,” Backgrad said to his wife.
“But what does that mean for us?” she asked. He could not give her a satisfactory answer. “I wish we could talk to the forest spirit,” she continued. And right then, came a knock on their door. Timma looked at her husband. “Do you think that’s him?” she asked.
Backgrad shrugged then answered the door. It was the forest spirit who, like Timma and Backgrad, had not changed at all in appearance.
Holding up her hand, Timma said, “Before you speak, we would like to ask you for a favor.”
“And what is it?” said the forest spirit, knowing very well what they were probably going to ask.
“Even though we’re ghosts, is there any way we could remain here and continue to do what we have been doing — sheltering and feeding travelers?”
Octo’s face spread into a wide grin. “Actually, I was hoping you’d ask that.” And so, he granted their wish. They continued to shelter and feed travelers well into the next century and beyond.
These days, although the outside of the hut has not changed quite that much, the inside has grown huge, and now caters to a different type of traveler — one that usually sports two very large, almond-shaped eyes and who often hails from various parts of the galaxy.
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