Sister

By Cayce B. Shelton

I never looked on my mother as being old although her hair was always white as far as I can remember. I learned that it had been blonde when she was young. I was always asking Mom questions, mostly about why I felt like this or that. She was patient to a fault, I am sure, with an answer that I could believe and live with for a while.

When I graduated from elementary school, I had to change schools which meant walking two more blocks farther each day. And another two blocks would take me to the city college later. Now, at that time in my life I knew what a girl was, I mean, is, or whatever. What I mean is that I knew about the opposite sex and all, and a man needed one of them to be a family, have babies and such, but I wasn’t into that part of my life yet. Then I saw her.

I had been in the eighth grade only one week. I was walking toward my locker and after bumping into several people bigger than me; I saw her right in front of me. She appeared to be pretty, with long blonde hair. I thought I had bumped into her and I grabbed at her to steady both of us, not wanting her to be hurt.

She was not there. One second I see her and the next she’s gone. I fell on my face and heard the whole world laugh.

Getting to my feet was worse than falling down because all of the kids walking by ignored me. Not one person tried to help me up, or even step on me, for that matter. I got to my feet and looked toward my locker and froze. She was standing between the metal lockers and the big square building-support beam.

I headed her way, fast, keeping my eye on her. I didn’t have any erotic feelings; I just wanted to find out who she was. A big guy bumped into me, causing me to turn my head toward him. When I looked back she was gone, again.

I stood in the spot I had seen her last and looked at the flow of humans passing by like the dark waters of a river. Could I just jump into that flow and disappear as she had done? Or should I stand still, feeling a strange tingling up my legs and back? When the hair on the nape of my neck started to rise up I dashed toward my next class without the books I needed.

I had no thought that the girl I had seen in the hallway was a ghost. I was not afraid of any ghost, mind you, mainly because I knew nothing about them and could have cared less. Ghosts were not part of my learning path right then. I cared more for the delights of square roots and formulas than ghosts or girls.

Several times during the first three months of that school year I saw the girl, sometimes up close and other times across a room or in the hall crowds. One time she scared me so much I almost wet myself. I was just reaching the metal lockers where I had seen her the first time. As I was standing almost in the same spot where she had stood, I got just a glimpse of her face about four inches from mine as my body was filled with the same tingling I had felt that first day.

Then, like a flash of gunpowder, she vanished, taking the tingling feeling with her. I was shaken and held onto the locker for support. I went home instead of going to my next class. Mom wanted to know why I was upset.

When I told Mom about the girl I had seen, she smiled and patted my shoulder. As I told her how she appeared and disappeared, her hand became still. She asked me to described the girl, and I told her all that I knew. When I had finished, Mom rose from the bed and walked out of my room. I lay back on the bed and thought on the things I had told her. I thought I heard Mom crying, the sound drifting down the hall from her room.

Soon, Mom came back to my room and sat on the bed. When I rose up to sit beside her, she slowly pushed an old black and white photo toward me. I could see before I took the snapshot that the picture was of a young girl in clothes like I had seen in other old pictures. As I brought the picture closer to my eyes, I gasped and looked at Mom. The picture was of the girl I had seen in the school.

I saw that Mom had been crying and was still crying. I put my arm around her and haltingly asked her about the picture. Tears fell from Mom’s face as she looked at the floor and told me the picture was of her sister that had disappeared when she was fourteen years old. The school I was attending was the same school she had attended so long ago. Some renovations had been accomplished, but basically the school was the same.

I listened in wonder as Mom related the story she had learned as a young girl. Her sister, two years older than she, had disappeared at school. The police had questioned every employee and student at the school that day without learning one thing about the missing girl. The countryside, town, and school were searched for several days, every nook and cranny being looked at by more than one person. All of the surrounding buildings, houses and cars were searched without turning up one clue. The girl had vanished without a trace. Although the search lasted for a month, the family and the police finally gave up looking.

No one had said they had seen her until I had. I sat with Mom as we both looked at the floor, each keeping our own thoughts silent. Finally, Mom rose and left me to worry about the problem alone.

I studied the problem for as long as I could, which wasn’t very long, seeing as how I didn’t have much education in spirits and ghosts to begin with. I finally drifted off to sleep with the vision of the sister on my mind.

While I slept, I had a dream, most of which I could not remember. Some of what I remembered I shared with Mom. Together we talked over the idea I had come up with from my dream, one that I knew would get me in some trouble, but one that I hoped would hold the sister close. Mom searched in the attic until she found an old dress she had worn when she was a little girl.

I stood still as Mom pinned the dress to my shirt in such a way that it looked as if I was wearing it. I put a loose, lightweight jacket over it, hoping no one would question me about it. I was hoping that the ghost would hesitate when she saw the dress on me. I waited near the last place we had met.

As I stood about three feet from the support post looking directly at the wall between the post and the locker wall, the girl slowly came into view. I figured that no one else could see her and I opened my jacket to reveal the dress. The vision faded and solidified several times until it vanished. As I closed my jacket, she appeared again, or at least half of her appeared. The girl seemed to be standing with one leg out and one leg inside of the support post.

I watched her as she looked at me. I didn’t speak not knowing if ghosts could speak or not, and not really wanting to hear her speak anyhow. I watched as the solid looking vision shifted, disappearing into the support post. The last thing I saw was a slim female hand shaking like a leaf at the end of a limb swaying in the wind. I rushed home, my heart in my throat.

Mom could hardly understand me as I told her about the vision and then about the theory I had about her sister. She held her head as her whole body shook with grief, renewed by my insistence. I wanted immediate action and could not understand why Mom kept shaking her head.

Finally, I calmed down enough to listen to her words. There was no way that the city was going to rip open a major support beam in that old school on some kid’s theory about a girl that had been missing so many years. What good would it do? The dead can’t be brought back to life. And after so long, the perpetrator of the crime, if there had been a crime committed, would certainly be long dead, anyhow.

I went to my room listening to the sobs of my mother. I had to study on the problem some more. I went to sleep, right in the middle of the morning, too, my head crammed with ideas. A dream, again, brought the answer, I thought.

When I apprised Mom of my latest idea, one that might prove the girl was inside the support beam, she smiled and nodded her head. After she hugged me and assured me that she would do her best to see what could be done, I went to school. The anticipation I felt overshadowed the punishment for the day before.

Several weeks later, Mom and I read the letter from the Mayor of the city. The letter told of the day that Mom had inquired at the police department about the possibility that her sister may have been put into the support post during a renovation at the school at the time of her disappearance.

The letter also related how the police department worked with the contracting company that had done the repairs. Researching the company records had revealed that the support beam had not been erected before the sister’s disappearance.

When the Mayor and the Police Chief had brought these facts to the attention of the press, the local newspaper, with an exclusive story rights, funded an investigation of the support beam. It was not conclusive, but enough evidence had been found to speculate that the sister’s body might have been incorporated into the cement filling the support form. The letter begged for permission to erect a plaque on the support beam. The plaque would give the sister’s name and dates and a brief acknowledgement of her burial site.

My mom and I cried together a long time before Mom called the Mayor to give her permission for the plaque. The newspapers led a movement to rename the school as a lasting public tribute.

I never saw the sister’s ghost again.