ghostly business.

By Celeste Lau

It had been four years since her mother had died. 

The day wasn’t anything special. No going out with a bang. It was just a normal day. They were walking home from lunch at the local cafe, crossing the road. It hadn’t even been a red light- the light had already turned green. But still, that didn’t stop a car from rushing out towards them, almost barreling into her. That didn’t stop her mother from jumping in the way and pushing her away. That didn’t stop her mother from collapsing on the ground. 

Her mother, crumpled in a heap on the floor. Fresh blood spilled from her neck, her face pale and waxy. The driver had rushed out of the car, slammed the black door shut, and frantically apologised. Someone had dialled 911. 

Mara had gasped, reflexively shutting her eyes. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t- 

But it was. 

“Do something!” she remembered screaming at Mrs Wilkinson, who lived next door. She had walked out to see what the commotion was. Mrs Wilkinson stared at Mara blankly. “Something! Anything!” 

“Mara,” she said, her voice warm and comforting if a little shaky. “Mara, there’s nothing more we can do. We’ve already called emergency services.” 

“But you’re an adult!” 

“Mara, all we can do is wait for the ambulance to arrive. Do you want to go home?” Mara refused, not wanting to leave her mother. Mrs Wilkinson took her phone out of her purse. “I’m going to call your father,” she said softly. “Stay here.” 

Three years hadn’t helped. Nothing would help. Nothing would fill the emptiness inside her, the mangled hole inside of her heart that slowly gnawed away at her soul. 

It was supposed to be me, she thought bitterly. 

Four years hadn’t helped either. Mara was convinced nothing would ever help. The missing piece inside her would never fill up, slowly widening until there was nothing left, until she was beyond saving. Mara pulled her wooden chair out from underneath her desk– white paint chipped, papers and photographs and other miscellaneous items strewn about. It had been a mess for four years now, with no neat-freak mother to remind her to clean it. Just as she was about to sit down, she felt a gust of wind tickle across her skin. 

“Mara,” a familiar voice echoed from the room. Her hands gripped the chair in front of her, knuckles turning white. No. But the voice spoke again. 

“Mara,” it said. She recognised the voice. She was going crazy, she was sure of it. Perhaps the hole in her heart had destroyed her mind before it destroyed her heart. 

“You’re not crazy,” the voice says again. 

Mara turned around. There her mother was, laying down on Mara’s bed, reading a magazine, like she always had before the incident. But she was different. The wrinkles around her eyes had turned finer, the lines on her face more tired. And she was transparent. 

Her mother’s ghostly form stared up at her, her form glitching in and out, slightly transparent, and tinged white. 

“Mom,” she whispered, the words tumbling out of her mouth. The words were barely audible – she was afraid to speak them into existence, that her mother’s ghostly apparition would fade away if she spoke. But she couldn’t help it. It had been four years since she had seen her mother in something that wasn’t a photograph. There was something about her that a camera could never quite capture. 

Mara felt her eyes drying up, but she couldn’t bring herself to blink. Would her mother disappear if she blinked? Was this all a dream, her grief manifested into the very thing she was supposed to move on from? Had she finally gone insane? Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. She looked away to wipe them, but before she could turn back, she paused. Would her mother still be there when she looked back? She blinked her tears away. She felt a gust of wind beside her. 

Her mother wasn’t on her bed anymore– she was right in front of Mara, grinning. She sat on the desk, shaking her head as she looked at it. 

“Mara, you need to tidy your room. This is a mess!” She gestured lazily at her desk. “Have you cleaned it this year?” 

Her throat closed. How could her mother act so normal, so natural, as if nothing had happened. As if she hadn’t left Mara behind, moping in a pool of her own sadness and grief. 

“I’ll do it later,” she said, voice raspy. “I haven’t had the time.” 

Her mother tut-tut-ed. Mara turned away again. When she finally turned back, she forced the words out of her mouth. 

“Not that I’m not glad that you’re here and all, but why are you here? How are you here? Aren’t you-” her voice choked up. She’s never quite been able to say the word. Dead. Died. Death. She and her father have always skirted around the word, avoiding it at all costs. “An unfortunate accident” he would call it. She called it many things– the incident, the thing, the event. 

“Dead?” Her mother laughed. “Why yes! You saw my body, didn’t you?” 

Mara stared in disbelief. 

“I can’t stay for long, I’ve just barely-” her mother’s head swung back, looking at some invisible enemy behind her. Mara couldn’t see anything. “I have to go soon,” she continued. “Find me-” something made her fall to the ground. “The land of the Unliving… the Black Forest… Schwarzwald-” 

She vanished. 

Mara gaped at the missing spot where her mother had been. Nothing had changed. It was as if she had never come back, never talked to her. Mara’s heart hurt even more. 

❦

It was frighteningly easy to get to Germany. All Mara had to do was mumble something about “discovering herself” and “getting over her grief” to her father and he booked her a flight to Germany, no questions asked. He hadn’t even offered to go with her. He had just nodded, booked the flight, and collapsed back onto his wooden rocking chair, looking tired. 

The day of her flight, he had heaped a large stack of Euros to bring with her, and a quick “call me if you need anything, stay safe, good luck.” It felt like she was only going to a sports match, not a foreign country on another continent that she had never been to. 

Now she sat, looking out a car’s  window. She met a group of hikers at her hostel – young, fresh out of University– who were heading to the famed Black Forest. They had offered to bring her along- with no guarantee of a drive back. Mara figured that she could work it out later. It was a popular tourist attraction- she could easily find some way out. 

“This is it!” one of the women– Emma, was her name, another American–exclaimed when they arrived. “This is where we leave you.” 

“Thank you so much.” Mara smiled gratefully. “Truly.” 

“Don’t worry about it. Remember, we probably can’t pick you up, but here’s my number just in case.” Emma smiled. “Stay safe! Don’t eat any witch houses!” 

“What?” 

“You know, this is the Black Forest! The one of Hansel and Gretel,” she explained. 

Mara nodded slowly. 

“Have fun!” 

Her mother appears roughly four hours into her walk. She’s deep in the forest now, the air dark and misty.  

“You’re here.” 

Mara whips around. Her mother is still ghostly, slightly transparent and colourless, but she somehow looks more solid than she did in Mara’s room. Perhaps it was the jetlag. 

“You said to come here, I came as soon as possible-” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Her mother floats forward, almost running through the forest. Mara follows, barely noticing that the trees are thicker, less sunlight flowing through. The shadows are larger, imposing. But Mara only focuses on her mother, still barely in sight. 

People turn around to glance at them. They’re all transparent and ghost-like, tinged white and slightly colourless. They’re all ghosts. 

“Where are we? Mom, stop! Where are you bringing me?” 

They arrive at a small clearing. Ghosts mill around, no humans about. 

“Mom?” 

Another ghost floats towards her, poking Mara. 

“You can touch her.” The ghost’s voice is echoey and deep. Mara steps back. 

“Is she living?” another ghost asks. 

“The living can’t see us. They cannot enter here. Only ghosts can come. Only ghosts can stay.” 

Mara never leaves the forest.