It’s not something that I’ve always been able to do it’s just a recent thing, but I wanted to share my experience with you.
My background isn’t relevant, but you should know that I’ve never believed in the supernatural. My father never did either, so I suppose he passed it on to me, he died last year, and I miss him terribly. You tend to copy the most influential people in your life I guess.
So when anyone mentioned ghosts, demons or angels I would laugh every time and mark them down like a crazy person. But that was before my car crash.
They said I died for 1 minute and 23 seconds, that’s how long they said my heart stopped and how long someone else pumped air into my lungs. But when I finally did come back
from where ever I went, I remembered seeing a face.
It was orange and blurry to start with, and I was confused as shit. But as time passed and the soothing words in my ear became tangible, my eyesight came back too.
I remember the eyes the most as the world blurred around the edges. They were the green of shamrocks and mint, oval-shaped and held a hint of fear. I can recall them now as I close my eyes, I don’t think I will ever forget them.
Her name was Sarah, and she was the paramedic at the scene, and although this story isn’t about her, I want to mention Sarah because she brought me back, and I’m eternally grateful, but it wasn’t just me Sarah brought back, and that’s not her fault. She didn’t know any better.
I don’t recall how long I remained hooked up to the machines. I had broken both my legs, six ribs, my collar bone, my right arm and suffered some internal bleeding. The white walls, wires and the beeps of the heart monitor became a part of my daily life.
At first, when the morphine faded and the pain came I would wake up for brief seconds and glance around with blurry confusion. It would take a moment to remember what had happened and where I was. My girlfriend would be by my bed, squeezing my hand and cooing in my ear.
I remember that someone else was in the room too, but as the drugs still addled my brain, I just assumed it was another family member. After a week they lessened the dose of medication as my internal hemorrhaging had healed, and I started to spend more time awake. That’s when I noticed the other person.
He was always sat in the same chair in the far corner. Just sat there staring at me, I tried to speak to him once, but he just shook his head and continued to stare. I was kind of freaked out so when the nurse visited next, I asked her if she could get security to remove him.
She glanced over to where I pointed but said that no one was there and the drugs sometimes can cause hallucinating. The man sat there smiling, and I couldn’t help but stare back. He’s wasn’t that old; I would say in his mid forty with dark hair and mustache. But something about his eyes seemed familiar.
I didn’t buy it that it was just my imagination so when the nurse had gone, I spoke to him again. But like the last time, he shook his head. The door opened up, and my family walked In. As the rotation of kiss and hugs went by, my sister went to sit in the chair; the man got up moments before like he knew someone would want it.
He looked around at my mother, brother, sister and finally at my dad. His face softens, and he lingered a moment longer before turning and walking through the solid wall behind him out into the ward.
My family put my reaction down to the medication, and I did eventually calm down, but I could tell my mother was worried about me by the look in her eyes. After that, the doctors sent me for an MRI to make sure there wasn’t any blood on my brain. I know I wasn’t crazy and It also dawned on me that I knew I saw a ghost.
They moved me into the public ward as my injuries were healing nicely and the nurse said that other families need the privacy of the room. I didn’t mind as my family had to go back to their normal activities and only visited at the weekend by this point.
I asked the nurse about the car crash and If anyone else had died thinking that the man who was walking by my bedside through the hospital, was probably haunting me because my actions had inadvertently killed him. But she told me that no one else had died, and the lady in the other car had been so drunk that she only suffered a slight concussion.
The hospital ward I was placed in only had one other patient, a senior man with his frail wife by his bedside. They spoke in quiet whispers, but I could see the love they had for each other by the way she never let go of his hand. My visitor – as I had started to call him – stopped to look at the couple.
The old lady must have felt something or was just curious to see who had come into the ward. She turned her head and glanced at him. I didn’t know if she could see him or just sense him but I’m sure she knew someone was there. I thought that maybe when you reach that age your senses return to what there were like when you were a child. My visitor turned back to me and came to sit in the chair beside my bed.
I must admit that I had grown so used to my visitor by now that I watched the old couple with him by my side for some time until I fell to sleep. That night I awoke to some screaming and a group of loud voices passing my ward. The man came to stand by my side and placed a hand on my arm.
The touch was cold but somehow reassuring. I felt a kind of warmth seep into my battered bones and I drifted off to sleep again. When I woke the next morning, he was gone, but we did have another patient in the ward. The curtains were drawn, but I could hear their heavy breathing. The person must have been in such pain because they moaned continuously. I also noticed a Policeman talking to the nurse just outside the door.
The nurse came in around breakfast time and pulled the curtains to enter, but didn’t close it entirely. I was able to see into the chamber and what I saw chilled me to the bones, if my legs had healed by this point I would have run and would not have stopped.
A man in his early twenties laid handcuffed to the bed with bandages on his head and a bloody dressing wrapped around his chest. He was hooked up to a few machines, and the nurse checked them while I stared at the other thing that was in there with them.
The nurse didn’t see it because I know if she did, she would have screamed and run too.
The thing was black, not the black you see in the paint pots or the color of your car but rather black like the absence of light. Devoid of anything but darkness. It crouched over the young man, ten or twelve tentacles like appendages wrapped and pierced his body. Every time the creature moved the man moaned and thrashed in pain.
I couldn’t make out a head from the furry blob of a body, but I knew it looked at me before squeezing the man, one appendage snaked out from the curtains and came towards me. My visitor stepped out from nowhere and stood in front me. The thing snaked back its tentacle and plunged it back into the young man’s body.
When the nurse finally came over to me, I asked what had happened to the guy. She said that he had was involved in a murder case, and that was all she could tell me. I asked if he had died and she looked at me quizzically before nodding. He had died at the scene, but the paramedics had been able to save his life, although he was probably going to serve the rest of it behind bars anyway, she said behind her hand. I asked if I could move to the other side of the room where the elderly man was, and she agreed to get the porter
to come and move me.
After a few sleepless nights, the young man was transferred to a secure wing of the hospital, and the room filled up with other people with various injuries but none had that black thing attached to them, so I was happy. That night I woke to a strange sense brushing my mind. I don’t know how else to describe it. I rubbed the sleeping from my eyes and sat up. The Elderly man was coughing and seem to be having a hard time breathing; I noticed my visitor was standing at the foot of the bed and the frail lady was also standing beside her husband’s bed.
The next moment the old man stopped breathing, and the machine connected to him flat-lined. The nurses came to tend to him, but I paid them no attention. The old man spirit defused above his body and floated there for a second before coming to stand next to his wife. I couldn’t help but mimic the smile on his face as he lovingly looked his wife over. Suddenly she held out her hand, and he took it, they turned and smiled at me, then disappeared. The tears came unbidden to my eyes and I sat there crying for a while.
That was three years ago, and when I realized what I was actually seeing, I didn’t know why my ghost came back with me, and I don’t know why the black thing come back with others. I think it’s because they have done something wrong or are horrible people, I’m not too sure, but it seems likely to me. You see I see all sorts of things now. I watch people walking down the road or doing their shopping and see a shadow on their back or a patch of light shining on their shoulder. But they’re not the ones I’m afraid of; the black
things are the ones that terrify me.
Last year I lost my father to a brain tumor. When he was admitted to the same hospital, I was in, and it seemed ironic that it was now my turn to stand at his bedside while he was hooked up to the machines. The doctors told us that they were nothing there could do and thought it best that we said our goodbyes. I paid no mind to the shadows and black things that lurked in the hospital; my world was crumbling. My dad must have heard us as we all said our final goodbyes because after my mother had finished, his heart stopped beating.
It was hard to see through the tears in my eyes when my dad’s spirit drifted out of his body and came to stand in the room with us. His face was shocked at first, but when he saw us standing around his body, he seems to accept what had happened. My father looked at us all of in turn, and when he noticed that I was looking back, he grinned. It was so infectious that I smiled too.
My visitor appeared at my side, and my father’s jaw fell open. The man hurried to my dad and embraced him. It was then that I realized why his eyes were so familiar. There were the same as my dads. My father didn’t talk much about my grandfather because he had died when he was little. I started to cry more tears but this time for a different reason. I will always remember my fathers face as he looked at his parent. Eventually, he turned to me and smiled again.
He tried to say something to me but realized that I couldn’t hear. He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then to mine before pointing them at my mother. I understood what he wanted and nodded. My grandfather held out his hand to my father, and when he took it, they both vanished.
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