A Ghost of a Life
Created | Updated Nov 18, 2005
Raymond Vincent was a quiet, reserved and very private man. It was not surprising after the life he had led he kept his emotional barriers constantly in place, not letting anyone see his innermost feelings was paramount or indeed sharing his private thoughts with any other person.
At the vulnerable age of seventeen he had lost his elderly father to liver failure. He had been a man who had lived life to the extreme, work hard, play hard was his motto. He had drunk heavily most of his life and then at sixty he had paid the ultimate price. A kind and loving father always, Raymond had missed his guiding hand in life.
This event had changed Raymond’s life indescribably. From that moment his life was no longer his own. His time was divided between his work as a computer aided design engineer and the welfare of his ageing mother. Any spare time he had was dedicated to her and the running of the house.
All the usual trappings of youth never caught hold of him. As far as he was concerned they never existed. Ten years later following the death of his mother he made the biggest and hardest decision of his life and moved into a house closer to his place of work. Leaving his old home behind him he began a new life in his new abode.
Life for him had not changed as much as he had expected. His working life was back to the normal routine, starting at seven thirty in the morning and leaving at five thirty in the evening. Home life was also in a familiar cycle. Monday and Tuesday were dedicated to washing and ironing while Wednesday night was house work night. He had normally finished his domestic chores by nine o’clock so the rest of the night was his. The evening meal was normally a simple affair, pasta, a selection of vegetables all covered in some kind of cook in sauce. Resonantly though he had paused at the freezer section of his local supermarket and made a remarkable discovery, microwave meals. Starting on a cheese and pasta dish, not wanting to be too adventurous he took it home and put it in the microwave eagerly anticipating the slowly turning meal in the cardboard tray.
Sitting with a tray on his knee he tried the piping hot meal. Why had he been cooking with pans for all these years? He could just press a couple of buttons. The next week in the supermarket he realised that a whole new world had been opened up to him. Piling his trolley high with curries, chillies and a whole Sunday dinner he made his way to the till.
Raymond’s nights consisted of a little television and a lot of reading. He was not a fan of soap operas or reality shows so generally he turned off the set around seven thirty.
Ray sat in his living room reading, the clocks had gone back several weeks before and the nights were drawing fast. What’s more Christmas was looming. This would be the first without either of his parents. The thought of spending the festive season alone had not crossed his mind until now. As an attempt to try and enter the spirit of the season he decided to read the Dickens novel ‘A Christmas Carol.’
He was soon engrossed in the tale of the miserly old man. As he read of scrooge and his meeting with his old partners ghost Ray had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. The feeling was so intense that he dare not look up from his book until the feeling had passed.
The following night as he read of the first of the three ghosts to visit Scrooge he had that same uneasy feeling. The old well worn saying sprang to mind, but in this instant it really did feel as though someone had walked across his grave. He buried himself in his book, but as the chapter came to an end he could bear it no longer. Slowly he looked up and across the room.
Sitting on the settee under the window, curtains now closed, sat a slightly unnatural looking man. He was older and greyer then Ray, but bore a strange likeness to him.
Ray stared at the ghostly figure for several minutes. Somehow he knew it to be a phantom. Was it a trick of his mind? Had he fallen asleep whilst reading the ghostly tale and he was manifesting this illusion in his mind?
Each night the spectre returned sitting in the same spot saying and doing nothing, each night Ray saw and he too said nothing to the visitor. He never tried to communicate with the phantom at all. Was it out of fear? No, he was enjoying having the company. The house seemed warmer with another presence.
It was a strange thing to have a ghost occupying ones living room, it was not the sort of thing he could bring up at the coffee machine at work. He would be laughed out of the building for just bringing up the subject, his colleagues minds were mostly closed on such subjects as this. So he learned to live with it.
Christmas was now only a few days away and as he put the finished Dickens novel down on the arm of the settee he looked across at the phantasm, the two glasses of wine consumed had taken effect now, so with a large dose of Dutch courage he spoke to the ghost, “Who are you?” he asked in a slightly slurred voice.
The spirit seemed to pause for a moment before looking at Ray. Then it spoke, though it spoke to Ray the lips on its cold white face did not move. The voice Ray could hear speaking to him was inside his head, is this how all ghosts communicate?
The voice was chilling, but warm and friendly all at once, “I am yourself Raymond Vincent.” it said.
Ray was starting to feel dizzy, the effect of the wine was taking hold. “Sorry?” he said not believing what he was hearing.
The spirit replied, “I am your own ghost and here to help you.” The words held Ray’s attention desperate for more knowledge, “If you follow the path you currently walk you will die in ten years time. You will die alone in this very room, in this very chair where I now sit.”
Ray was paralysed, how could he retort to such a statement. Hang on, he thought. I don’t even know if this spectre is real or just a figment of my imagination. Was he dreaming, substituting himself into the role of Scrooge?
It seemed real enough, dreams always do until you wake up that is. Why not go along with it. “How?”
“How?” the spectre stared at him wearing a hard expression.
“Yes, how?” Ray no more believed in ghosts then he did in aliens or the theory of Atlantis.
“You die of boredom.”
“What?”
“You are leading a senseless life.” The ghost told him in a friendly sincere voice. “You work and read, work and read. There is more to life than this. As in the book you have read you have a chance to change your ways. Once you have done that I will no longer exist here, I will cease to be.”
“But ghost,” this was difficult, how did he address the phantom- the phantom of his older self. Should he call him Ray, Raymond, Phantom or one of the many other synonyms for a visitation from the dead. In the end he decided that ghost was as good as anything else. “You have become, well a companion, a friend”
“Then,” said the ghost in a melancholy voice, “I will return every night until I…you die.”
Ray sat and thought. He poured himself yet another (a third) glass of wine. After a few moments contemplation he spoke quietly, “What must I do?”
The phantom looked up at the clock, it was eleven o’clock. “Tomorrow night at seven o’clock, be ready.”
Ray felt his head spinning. His next recollection was waking up, lying on the settee; the time was now a little past three in the morning. He looked over at the other sofa, no one was there.
Had he been dreaming? On the chair arm the copy of ‘A Christmas Carol’ lay just where he had left it hours previously, an empty wine glass sat by the foot of the fire. His head thumped and his mouth had the feeling of a rather deep pile carpet.
The following evening he had followed his usual routine, tea, washing up, TV and book.
As the clock hit seven, the shimmering apparition appeared siting on the settee under the window.
“Are you ready?” said the voice in his head.
Ray nearly jumped off of the chair. It was real then, the phantom had returned as promised on time. After the previous nights drinking Ray had imagined the saga of the ghost to be part of an alcohol assisted dream.
“Come on, we’re going out.” The phantom gestured with a bony index finger to follow him out of the front door. Ray followed him, he couldn’t help himself. He felt compelled to follow just as a salmon swims upstream to lay its eggs.
As he closed the front door behind him he turned to follow the ghost and found himself in a dark noisy bar.
Scattered around the bar were a large number of people all of various ages, mostly wearing slightly embarrassed expressions on their faces.
“Where are we Phantom?” Ray was not used to being in public houses. Being around people unsettled him, people he didn’t know anyway. His work colleagues were different of course. He knew all of them much better than any of them knew him. In that environment he had the advantage, here he didn’t. This was no mans land, open fields, no protection.
“This is a singles bar.” The phantom told him, “People come here to meet.”
Most of the people in the hostelry were paired up. They seemed to be like him, lacking self confidence and self esteem. All standing next to a friend of the same sex for moral support. “It is customary to buy a drink when in these places” prompted the ghost.
Ah, that could be a problem. He hadn’t brought any money out with him.
“Your right hand pocket.” said the phantom as Ray opened his mouth to speak.
Ray checked his pocket and found two crisp twenty pound notes. That was one problem solved. Next, what to drink? He cast his eye along the pumps on the bar then the optics hanging down along the rear mirrored wall. He eventually settled for a pint of bitter. The taste was not unpleasant. He turned to his friend the ghost and was about to ask if he would like a drink then realised he couldn’t.
“Well, what now phantom?” asked Ray wiping the froth from his top lip.
“The general idea is to meet and talk to people. Take a look around. Do you see anyone you like the look of?”
Ray looked around the pub. There were many economically dressed young women, way out of his league. He was too old for many of them to even contemplate sparing him a second glance, or so he thought. He turned his attention to a quieter corner of the bar. No loud speakers pumped out mindless rhythms here. Two women sat in that area, both a similar age to Ray.
Prompted by his companion Ray edged toward the end of the bar closest to the women. One of them stood up and walked toward the bar, only after a prod of encouragement from her friend. “Offer to buy her a drink” whispered the ghost.
The women arrived at the bar. A look of embarrassment flushed her cheeks, an expression mirrored by Rays’ features. “Er, could I, that is, if you don’t mind, possibly, buy you a drink?” the words came out disjointed and nervously.
The woman smiled; her face lighting up as she did so, “Yes that would be nice. Martini please.”
An unconscious bond had been formed. Ray returned her smile on hearing her agreement. Was this the start of something? “Ray.” He said offering his name in way of introduction.
“Emma,” she replied.
“What about your friend, what would she like to drink?”
“My friend?” she asked with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Yes, over there…” he looked into the corner. The Alcove was empty. “Strange, I could have sworn…” he turned to look at his friend for one of those reassuring looks.
As he turned all he saw was the bar, there was no sign of the ghost.
It had happened as predicted, if Ray’s life changed course then the phantom would cease to be. It would appear that the ghost was right after all.
FINI
At the vulnerable age of seventeen he had lost his elderly father to liver failure. He had been a man who had lived life to the extreme, work hard, play hard was his motto. He had drunk heavily most of his life and then at sixty he had paid the ultimate price. A kind and loving father always, Raymond had missed his guiding hand in life.
This event had changed Raymond’s life indescribably. From that moment his life was no longer his own. His time was divided between his work as a computer aided design engineer and the welfare of his ageing mother. Any spare time he had was dedicated to her and the running of the house.
All the usual trappings of youth never caught hold of him. As far as he was concerned they never existed. Ten years later following the death of his mother he made the biggest and hardest decision of his life and moved into a house closer to his place of work. Leaving his old home behind him he began a new life in his new abode.
Life for him had not changed as much as he had expected. His working life was back to the normal routine, starting at seven thirty in the morning and leaving at five thirty in the evening. Home life was also in a familiar cycle. Monday and Tuesday were dedicated to washing and ironing while Wednesday night was house work night. He had normally finished his domestic chores by nine o’clock so the rest of the night was his. The evening meal was normally a simple affair, pasta, a selection of vegetables all covered in some kind of cook in sauce. Resonantly though he had paused at the freezer section of his local supermarket and made a remarkable discovery, microwave meals. Starting on a cheese and pasta dish, not wanting to be too adventurous he took it home and put it in the microwave eagerly anticipating the slowly turning meal in the cardboard tray.
Sitting with a tray on his knee he tried the piping hot meal. Why had he been cooking with pans for all these years? He could just press a couple of buttons. The next week in the supermarket he realised that a whole new world had been opened up to him. Piling his trolley high with curries, chillies and a whole Sunday dinner he made his way to the till.
Raymond’s nights consisted of a little television and a lot of reading. He was not a fan of soap operas or reality shows so generally he turned off the set around seven thirty.
Ray sat in his living room reading, the clocks had gone back several weeks before and the nights were drawing fast. What’s more Christmas was looming. This would be the first without either of his parents. The thought of spending the festive season alone had not crossed his mind until now. As an attempt to try and enter the spirit of the season he decided to read the Dickens novel ‘A Christmas Carol.’
He was soon engrossed in the tale of the miserly old man. As he read of scrooge and his meeting with his old partners ghost Ray had the uneasy feeling he was being watched. The feeling was so intense that he dare not look up from his book until the feeling had passed.
The following night as he read of the first of the three ghosts to visit Scrooge he had that same uneasy feeling. The old well worn saying sprang to mind, but in this instant it really did feel as though someone had walked across his grave. He buried himself in his book, but as the chapter came to an end he could bear it no longer. Slowly he looked up and across the room.
Sitting on the settee under the window, curtains now closed, sat a slightly unnatural looking man. He was older and greyer then Ray, but bore a strange likeness to him.
Ray stared at the ghostly figure for several minutes. Somehow he knew it to be a phantom. Was it a trick of his mind? Had he fallen asleep whilst reading the ghostly tale and he was manifesting this illusion in his mind?
Each night the spectre returned sitting in the same spot saying and doing nothing, each night Ray saw and he too said nothing to the visitor. He never tried to communicate with the phantom at all. Was it out of fear? No, he was enjoying having the company. The house seemed warmer with another presence.
It was a strange thing to have a ghost occupying ones living room, it was not the sort of thing he could bring up at the coffee machine at work. He would be laughed out of the building for just bringing up the subject, his colleagues minds were mostly closed on such subjects as this. So he learned to live with it.
Christmas was now only a few days away and as he put the finished Dickens novel down on the arm of the settee he looked across at the phantasm, the two glasses of wine consumed had taken effect now, so with a large dose of Dutch courage he spoke to the ghost, “Who are you?” he asked in a slightly slurred voice.
The spirit seemed to pause for a moment before looking at Ray. Then it spoke, though it spoke to Ray the lips on its cold white face did not move. The voice Ray could hear speaking to him was inside his head, is this how all ghosts communicate?
The voice was chilling, but warm and friendly all at once, “I am yourself Raymond Vincent.” it said.
Ray was starting to feel dizzy, the effect of the wine was taking hold. “Sorry?” he said not believing what he was hearing.
The spirit replied, “I am your own ghost and here to help you.” The words held Ray’s attention desperate for more knowledge, “If you follow the path you currently walk you will die in ten years time. You will die alone in this very room, in this very chair where I now sit.”
Ray was paralysed, how could he retort to such a statement. Hang on, he thought. I don’t even know if this spectre is real or just a figment of my imagination. Was he dreaming, substituting himself into the role of Scrooge?
It seemed real enough, dreams always do until you wake up that is. Why not go along with it. “How?”
“How?” the spectre stared at him wearing a hard expression.
“Yes, how?” Ray no more believed in ghosts then he did in aliens or the theory of Atlantis.
“You die of boredom.”
“What?”
“You are leading a senseless life.” The ghost told him in a friendly sincere voice. “You work and read, work and read. There is more to life than this. As in the book you have read you have a chance to change your ways. Once you have done that I will no longer exist here, I will cease to be.”
“But ghost,” this was difficult, how did he address the phantom- the phantom of his older self. Should he call him Ray, Raymond, Phantom or one of the many other synonyms for a visitation from the dead. In the end he decided that ghost was as good as anything else. “You have become, well a companion, a friend”
“Then,” said the ghost in a melancholy voice, “I will return every night until I…you die.”
Ray sat and thought. He poured himself yet another (a third) glass of wine. After a few moments contemplation he spoke quietly, “What must I do?”
The phantom looked up at the clock, it was eleven o’clock. “Tomorrow night at seven o’clock, be ready.”
Ray felt his head spinning. His next recollection was waking up, lying on the settee; the time was now a little past three in the morning. He looked over at the other sofa, no one was there.
Had he been dreaming? On the chair arm the copy of ‘A Christmas Carol’ lay just where he had left it hours previously, an empty wine glass sat by the foot of the fire. His head thumped and his mouth had the feeling of a rather deep pile carpet.
The following evening he had followed his usual routine, tea, washing up, TV and book.
As the clock hit seven, the shimmering apparition appeared siting on the settee under the window.
“Are you ready?” said the voice in his head.
Ray nearly jumped off of the chair. It was real then, the phantom had returned as promised on time. After the previous nights drinking Ray had imagined the saga of the ghost to be part of an alcohol assisted dream.
“Come on, we’re going out.” The phantom gestured with a bony index finger to follow him out of the front door. Ray followed him, he couldn’t help himself. He felt compelled to follow just as a salmon swims upstream to lay its eggs.
As he closed the front door behind him he turned to follow the ghost and found himself in a dark noisy bar.
Scattered around the bar were a large number of people all of various ages, mostly wearing slightly embarrassed expressions on their faces.
“Where are we Phantom?” Ray was not used to being in public houses. Being around people unsettled him, people he didn’t know anyway. His work colleagues were different of course. He knew all of them much better than any of them knew him. In that environment he had the advantage, here he didn’t. This was no mans land, open fields, no protection.
“This is a singles bar.” The phantom told him, “People come here to meet.”
Most of the people in the hostelry were paired up. They seemed to be like him, lacking self confidence and self esteem. All standing next to a friend of the same sex for moral support. “It is customary to buy a drink when in these places” prompted the ghost.
Ah, that could be a problem. He hadn’t brought any money out with him.
“Your right hand pocket.” said the phantom as Ray opened his mouth to speak.
Ray checked his pocket and found two crisp twenty pound notes. That was one problem solved. Next, what to drink? He cast his eye along the pumps on the bar then the optics hanging down along the rear mirrored wall. He eventually settled for a pint of bitter. The taste was not unpleasant. He turned to his friend the ghost and was about to ask if he would like a drink then realised he couldn’t.
“Well, what now phantom?” asked Ray wiping the froth from his top lip.
“The general idea is to meet and talk to people. Take a look around. Do you see anyone you like the look of?”
Ray looked around the pub. There were many economically dressed young women, way out of his league. He was too old for many of them to even contemplate sparing him a second glance, or so he thought. He turned his attention to a quieter corner of the bar. No loud speakers pumped out mindless rhythms here. Two women sat in that area, both a similar age to Ray.
Prompted by his companion Ray edged toward the end of the bar closest to the women. One of them stood up and walked toward the bar, only after a prod of encouragement from her friend. “Offer to buy her a drink” whispered the ghost.
The women arrived at the bar. A look of embarrassment flushed her cheeks, an expression mirrored by Rays’ features. “Er, could I, that is, if you don’t mind, possibly, buy you a drink?” the words came out disjointed and nervously.
The woman smiled; her face lighting up as she did so, “Yes that would be nice. Martini please.”
An unconscious bond had been formed. Ray returned her smile on hearing her agreement. Was this the start of something? “Ray.” He said offering his name in way of introduction.
“Emma,” she replied.
“What about your friend, what would she like to drink?”
“My friend?” she asked with a puzzled expression on her face.
“Yes, over there…” he looked into the corner. The Alcove was empty. “Strange, I could have sworn…” he turned to look at his friend for one of those reassuring looks.
As he turned all he saw was the bar, there was no sign of the ghost.
It had happened as predicted, if Ray’s life changed course then the phantom would cease to be. It would appear that the ghost was right after all.
FINI
