My Boyfriends Brother

Chapter 20 Ezekiel’s Encounter

Distinctly I remember it was a cold October. Frost clouded the windows and the fire was roaring throughout the house. Heat emerging from the fireplace, it filled the room. Long I stood there watching, fearing, and doubting my body had succumbed to death. I lay there on display in the parlor of my home. My only companion was my sister as she sat next to my corpse. Ages it must have been since I was blessed by her company. Her face was sullen and her skin wrinkled around her face. Her hair had turned an ashy white, tendrils of hair framed her face. My young vibrant sister was no more, for in her place perched an old woman in mourning. Oh how the world appeared darker than the days before. All the mirrors were covered to prevent the living from seeing my reflection out of fear that they may die. The family photos were turned to face the ground to prevent any of our relatives or friends from becoming possessed by me. All fears we had when it came to the dead. Never had I believed in spirits, yet standing here now had altered my perspective. I did not desire to possess anyone, nor did I wish death upon those around me.  I acquiesced those newfound details; I was not alive. I was merely the spirit that inhabited that body. 

“Even in death your selfishness knows no bounds…” my sister had muttered. “You had to be the first of our parents’ children to die.” 

I pondered that. Was I the first to die? I had not received any news of my estranged family that any had passed. Not that I read many of the letters I would occasionally receive from them. I was consumed with my business and all the money I was acquiring. I had no time to write letters or forgather with my siblings. I left no room for pleasantries. 

I roamed the world for years before deciding on my purpose. I had watched my sisters and brothers pass, witnessing their spirits move on to the next chapter. Even their children and their children’s children had moved on without much of an encumbrance. Yet here I was, trapped in this world with no direction on what to pursue. I was alone and bewildered. At times I let my resentment get the best of me and I began to lose control of myself. I lashed out at the living. Tormenting them in their homes, forcing them to feel as trapped as I had. My selfishness had really known no bounds. I felt irredeemable. I had acquired so many torturous skills as a spirit and I utilized them any chance I could. I became the ghost from horror stories, the ghost in haunted mansions, the ghost in the shadows of your room, the ghost in your nightmares.  

One hundred and three years had passed before I encountered him.  I found him wandering the streets of the town, searching to no avail. 

“Good evening my boy! What tragic event led you to be here at such a young age?” I asked jovially. 

“I’m uh…looking for someone…” he muttered, still searching the streets with his eyes. “I can’t find them…where are they?” he whispered. 

“Whom might ‘them’ be?” I asked, reaching for his attention with my eyes. 

He looked at me then and said, “my wife and children…they were…they were murdered here…”

Realization had hit me as I understood his desperation. “My boy, if you cannot find them, they have most likely moved on,” I stated to the man. 

His face fell and confusion replaced the look of worry. “That…that doesn’t make sense! Why haven’t I moved on then?” he asked. 

“I ask the same question every day. Why me? Why must I be trapped here on this plain? From what I gather in my hundred years of wondering, nothing really matters. Take advantage of your predicament, my boy,” I offered. 

“What are you saying?” he asked. 

“You say your family was murdered, yes? Then why not take advantage of your time trapped here and seek vengeance?” I laughed. 

“Seek vengeance? How? I can’t even touch them!” he shouted. 

“There are other ways to get the attention of the living, my boy,” I said with a devilish smile. 

“My name is Luther. I’m not a boy,” he spat. 

“Well Luther, I am Ezekiel Poe, the most powerful ghost you will ever meet,” I said as I bowed my head. 

*****

I had taught Luther everything I knew. We began to lay pillage to the town, haunting and frightening every living being that crossed our path. As the days turned to months, and months to years, I saw the white light that once shown behind Luther’s eyes, turn red, matching my own crimson circled irises. He was truly embracing the chaos I had instilled in his spirit. I had not realized until it was too late that this chaos became him and he had lost any control. His anger dictates his power. 

It wasn’t until 1957, that I knew. By this time Luther and I had tracked down the men who killed his family and decided it would be best to cleanse the world of these monsters. We planned a night to rein our terror upon one of the families of the men. We began with our usual tactics, chilling the air, knocking objects to the floor, taking out the lights. I could hear the screams and we both writhed in pleasure from the experience. 

“Alright Luther, I believe we’ve scared them enough for one night,” I told him. 

“NO, they haven’t had enough yet!” He shouted. I looked into his eyes and noticed the red ring in his eyes glow brighter than I’d ever seen. The chaos was taking control. 

The family was screaming in fear. 

“Be gone devil!” the man of the family shouted into the air.

“Not until I see your death!” Luther shouted back. The man could not hear Luther but the young girl with amber hair was in the mother’s arms and seemed to look up at Luther, staring into him. 

The house was shaking aggressively and everything was falling. It felt as if the earth was about to open up and swallow this family whole. 

“Luther this is enough. We do not need to kill them to send a message,” I shouted at him over the sounds of rumbling and the falling objects. 

“Daddy, why does that man want us dead?” the little girl asked quietly, her parents ignoring her question. My eyes widened in shock. This little girl could hear us. I looked over to Luther and he appeared unfazed, he did not hear the child.  

The father got up, lifting his family with him. “It must be an earthquake, quick!—get to the doorway!” the man shouted, stumbled on the shaking floor. A crack was heard in the ceiling and the man looked up noticing the ceiling was about to cave. He pushed his wife and child to the door just as it caved in, taking the man down. His scream ended quickly, presumed dead under the rubble. Luther stood there laughing at him. I looked into Luther’s eyes, pleading with him to stop. 

“Luther! This is enough!” I yelled. He snapped his head in my direction and I noticed a crack crawling out of the red ring in his eyes. The crack glowed an evil blood red. He killed that man. Luther turned from me to look at the mother and child. The child looked into his eyes. Her eyes were wide but not with fear but with confusion. 

“Why did you do that mister?” the little girl asked Luther. 

He stopped in his tracks then. The shaking of the house abruptly halted. The mother cried out as she ran to the rubble where her husband was trapped, leaving the girl to stand in front of Luther, staring him in the eyes. Luther dropped down to his knees, moving his face inches away from the girl. 

The girl blinked her wide eyes and said, “you don’t look so good, sir.” 

Luther blinked, stood up and vanished. That was the last time I saw Luther. He was such a troubled soul; lost and abandoned by the spirits of his family. For they had moved on before he had the chance to see them again. He let the chaos consume him and in doing so he killed this young girl’s father. He became like the murderer he hated. We began this tirade to instill fear in the living, make them suffer as we had. What had that accomplished? I was still trapped here and so was Luther. I was so caught up in my selfishness of creating my own joy from their fear that I lost sight of the wonder that is to be alive. I cannot continue this path. In all my many years of being a spirit, I had not killed. Yet, Luther was so caught up in the dream he lost himself to chaos. Will I find redemption for my soul? Or am I doomed just the same… 

 The little girl turned to me and whispered, “His eyes don’t look so good…yours don’t look so good too.” I nodded my head and the girl began to walk towards her mother. She was innocent. She had not murdered Luther’s family. She probably didn’t even know of it. Luther was no doubt unaccomplished in his vengeance and would seek to destroy more. I would have to keep a keen eye on this child. 

*****

40 years later…

“I fear my death is coming soon Ezekiel,” Susan whispered to me. 

“I fear for you, my child. Death is not easy,” I told her. 

“Ezekiel, I am no longer a child, I am 47 years old,” she huffed, running a hand on her bare head. Susan had lost all her amber hair with her chemo treatments. A few years ago she discovered she had cancer and what a tragedy that was. I spent most of my days by her bedside. Waiting for the day that would come where I would have to guide her in the next chapter. I knew death was coming for her. 

“Old habits, my child.” I smiled at her. “Is your daughter coming to visit you soon?” I asked. 

“I can only hope. Her pregnancy has been hard for her you know…she’s due any day now,” she rasped. 

“I pray for you to hold your granddaughter before you pass,” I told Susan. 

“Ezekiel?”

“Yes, my child?” 

“Do you think I’ll be able to move on?” She asked looking into my eyes. Her face was riddled with pain and worry. 

“For your sake, I hope you are able to move on.”

“Will you watch over her? My granddaughter?” she asked, her voice getting weaker. I could tell she was getting closer. 

“I promise, Susan. I won’t allow anything bad to happen to her. Just as I protected you.” 

“My daughter said she picked out a name,” she smiled. 

“Oh, my child, don’t keep an old dead man waiting, tell me, what is the name?” 

She let out a small laugh and said, “Sierra…her name will be Sierra…” She smiled at that and closed her eyes. I heard her take her last breath as the machines attached to her began to ring a steady line.