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Ghosts - H.G. Tudor

Ghosts - H.G. Tudor

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, we certainly behave with certain similar attributes. We appear out of thin air. It is similar to how you can never remember the beginning of a dream can you? You cannot remember quite how we appeared. We just did. We seemed to coalesce into your life with the ease of a ghost walking through a wall. We arrive and ghost into your life.

In the same way as seeing a ghost, when you experience us, it is not an event that you will forget in a hurry. We sidle up to you, insert ourselves into your lives and make connection after connection with you as we feed from you. Like some wraith we attach ourselves to you and steadily begin to suck the life force from you as we gorge on the fuel that you provide.

Often we will vanish just as we arrived, without any warning or announcement and try as you might you cannot find us again. It is as if we have disappeared off the face of the earth. Naturally we chose the moment of our vanishing act without any concern for its effect on you. We slip away like a mist evaporating. Once we were everywhere, woven around you and captivating you. Much in the same way as one might be transfixed by the appearance of some spirit. You are entranced by our appearance, there is something ethereal and mysterious about us that causes you to be drawn to us and then we are gone.

We are that elusive spirit that can now not be found. You might go to the same place where we first manifested but there is no sign of us. We have left no footprint, no trace of our existence when you try and seek us out, just like our spectral cousins and then suddenly we have returned. We ghost back into your life and continuing our haunting of you. We are incessant and ever present, drifting about you as we resume our extraction of fuel. We resume our draining of your spirit, leeching it from you as our cold, dead hands take hold of you once again.

People have many theories as to what ghosts are if they indeed exist. Some suggest that where there has been a sudden explosion of emotion, a heightened experience, then an imprint has been made on the fabric of existence. This imprint appears to those who are attuned to seeing it. That imprint is seen doing the same thing over and over again. It walks the same route, passes through the same wall and then vanishes only to appear the next night in the same place. The spirit follows the same routine like a piece of video film stuck in an endless loop. Just like such a ghost we engage in the same behaviours over and over again.

The same actions all designed to haunt you as we extract our fuel. The same gestures, the same actions all of which must be replayed. Some believe that a ghost is the soul of someone who has suffered eternal damnation. He or she has been denied entry to heaven or hell and instead has been consigned to walk the earth for eternity, stuck in an unceasing routine. Our endless quest for fuel finds us in such a similar position. We must make our way through life, restless and never finding peace. We move from place to place, unable to rest and be satisfied. Instead we are driven onwards, plagued by the curse of our need for fuel. Thus we must haunt others, our appearance bringing dread and fear in the same way as terror follows the appearance of a spectre.

Unable to quite fit in we are ghost at the feast. Even when we have vanished there is a lingering coldness that strikes you to your core. You still sense us, able to feel the effect of our chilling appearance. You are wary and anxious as you know we will appear once again. Quite when is a mystery but as we first arrived and as we first disappeared we will ghost into your life and continue our haunting of you.

Better consult that exorcist.

 

The way that our kind speaks is a language all of its own. Narcspeak appears at first to be a normal way of speaking, with the inferences, interpretations and connotations that one would ordinarily expect when hearing phrases such as ‘I love you’ and ‘I am sorry’. You will not grasp that there is a different meaning to much of what we say to you, at least not until it is too late. Once you have mastered Narcspeak however it becomes readily apparent what is actually being conveyed to you. Understand this form of double speak from us is a useful skill to achieve. Not only will it bring clarity to what has been said to you in the past and what was really meant, it will assist in understanding how to deal with the narcissist in your life going forward, if you have occasion to interact with him or her again.

Narcspeak arises because we operate in a different reality to you. We perceive the facts differently and therefore there will be an alternative interpretation attached to what we say. We know the context of what we are saying, so that it apparently fits with the situation and the discussion, but that is purely as a consequence of our ability to mimic and to convey what should be said. We know what we actually mean when we say these things. We mean something else.

This allows us to evade any culpability at a later juncture if you try to tell us that we said something. We may deny that we said it and if we do admit it, our admission is only ever in the context of what we intend it to mean. We use these words and phrases as a cloak to what we are actually saying to you and the sooner you begin to understand what we are really telling you, the sooner you will achieve a clarity of understanding which will remove the fog of confusion and enable you to decide how best to respond.

By way of example here are a number of phrases which you will always hear with our kind and beneath is what is really being said to you.


I don’t think that it suits you

You look absolutely ridiculous

 

I didn’t look at anyone else the whole time I was out.

I kissed several people. I have no idea who they were.

 

You must believe me.

I am telling you a lie.

 

What are you thinking?

I am not going to tell you anything until I have worked you out first so I know what will be the right things to say to you.

 

Don’t you trust me?

I find your insecurities both irritating and wonderful. I am annoyed that you think you can exert control over me. I am pleased that you are anxious and I make you that way.

 

I promise.

I’m just going to tell you what you want to hear.

 

We will always be together.

You belong to me. I will pick you up and put you down as I see fit.

 

I cannot stop thinking about you.

You and her. Oh and her. Her as well.

 

You don’t understand me.

Everything I have told you is a lie so it is little wonder that you do not.

 

I like you.

You do what I want.

 

I need some time to myself.

I am spending the night with your best friend.

 

We are just friends.

We have slept together and we will again.

 

I am so confused.

I want someone else now.

 

We have nothing in common.

We never had, I just made it look that way.

 

You will always be special to me, no matter what happens.

Your fuel is well worth coming back for and that is why I have come back.

 

It was nothing serious.

Yes, we had sex.

 

I didn’t do it.

Oh yes I did.

 

I’d like to see you again.

You have more fuel to give me.

 

Let’s stay friends.

I want to establish a reason that seems credible to you for returning and hurting you.

 

I don’t really remember.

I know only too well, not that I am going to admit it to you.

 

 I am broken.

I know saying this will sound good and I am feeling somewhat desperate at the moment to keep hold of you.

 

She meant nothing to me.

Her fuel meant everything to me. More than what yours means to me.

 

I must have been drunk.

I was drunk. I often am. I know what I did though because I wanted it to happen.

 

I am just speaking my mind.

You had better fucking listen to me.

 

I am not starting an argument here.

It’s fuel time

 

I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better.

I haven’t a clue and I don’t care.

 

I will change.

You are a fool.

 

I want to be a better person.

You are a bigger fool than I first thought.

 

You always make it all about you.

It should be all about me.

 

I’ve no idea who she is.

I have slept with her at least a half a dozen times.

 

I don’t recognise that number.

I do. Why is she calling me when I told her not to?

 

I’m not with anybody.

I am but that is not standing in the way tonight.

 

It is all rather complicated.

It is bullshit.

 

I didn’t mean for that to happen.

Oh yes I did and I will do it again.

 

 You don’t have to if you don’t want to.

You made me do it.

I am too weak to accept responsibility.

Goodbye.

 

I don’t know who I am sometimes.

That sounds deep. She will love that.

 

I love you.

I expect you to do what I want.

I love your fuel.

 

-HG Tudor

Would you like to know what my garden is like? Before I tell you, why don’t you stop and close your eyes and picture in your mind’s eye what you think my garden looks like? That’s right, conjure up the image that forms when you think of me and what my garden might be like. Take your time, move around it and ensure you have given it due consideration as you generate the image. Have you done it? Did it take you long? I suspect you managed to envisage it rather quickly didn’t you, after all, you are well-known for your amazing imagination aren’t you? I often find I have to apologise for your fantastic tales and over the top comments, but that is to be expected of somebody like you. Anyway, let’s leave your behaviour to one side for the time being (although I will return to it when nobody is looking, you can be assured of that) and let’s consider what you created in your mind.

I should imagine that the landscape you have formulated is one of two outcomes. I expect that some of you will have pictured nothing but concrete. All plant life and flora banished by a solid slab of grey cement that has solidified into an impenetrable barrier that stretches in all directions, lifeless and uninspiring. Once there might have been a flourishing and verdant garden but it has been banished by this concrete covering which has extinguished anything that grew or blossomed. If the concrete carbuncle is not what you saw in your mind then you will have opted for the alternative.
You will have pictured solid, barren and lifeless soil which will not sustain anything of beauty. A toxic and poisonous stream flows through the centre of it, dead fish floating on their backs as they drift lifelessly along. Not even algae grows on this polluted stream. The few trees there are in this garden are dead. The bark grey and lifeless, forlorn limbs stretching into a dark grey sky, where there is always cloud. The branches and twigs are leafless. The bushes consist of brambles which hinder anybody who might try and move through this uninviting place. There is no grass and there a few brown, dried-out husks which suggest there might have once been something greener and vibrant. There are no sweet smelling flowers here, only the awful stench which rises from the slow-moving stream which looks more like treacle than water. Even the weeds are few and far between, struggling to find any sustenance from the sterile soil.
Is this what you saw?
Come and follow me as I take you into my secret garden. I produce a key from my jacket explaining that very few people ever get to see my secret garden but I am letting you inside because you are special and I like you. I open the thick gate and usher you inside. You do not see me hurriedly lock it behind you since you are busy staring at the beautiful garden that rolls out before you. Capability Brown must have laboured long and hard here. The lawn is flat and even, the grass has been rolled so that stripes have formed and there is not one blemish to be seen amidst the green, green blades. The edges of the lawn have been carefully cut so that no grass overhangs so that there is a distinct line between the lawn and the flower beds.
The soil looks fertile, well-nourished and is free of weeds. A dazzling array of flowers grow from this well-tilled soil. Strong stalks reach up towards the azure sky, shiny leaves sprouting from the stalks before the injection of colour appears. Every shade of the rainbow is represented amongst the many varieties of flower that flourish in my secret garden. Brilliant blues, fiery oranges, ruby reds and sunshine yellows abound. The flowers have short petals, long petals which move in the gentle breeze, there are bell-shaped flowers, trumpet shaped flowers and others shaped like stars. White, purple, scarlet and ochre all combine to create this tapestry of beauty. A stream gurgles as it passes through the garden, cutting across the magnificently manicured lawn, so that an intricate bridge has been created allowing one to traverse from one side to the other. Bushes ring the flowers, an expert in topiary having crafted them into sensational shapes. Beyond the bushes are the trees, tall and trimmed so that they form a fence around this paradise. You stand on the edge of this magnificent garden utterly transfixed. The scents waft from the roses, from the lilies and the sweet William combining to create a heady concoction of fragrances. You are over awed by this display.
Do you like it?” I ask.
You are dumb-founded, unable to speak. All you can muster is a slow nod as you feel a tear trickle down your cheek from your left eye as you are overtaken by how beautiful it all is.
I beckon to you and you follow me to a nearby apple tree which is festooned with fruit. The red and green apples hang from the branches and I pluck one and pass it to you. You smile and take a bite anticipating how fresh and crisp the apple will be. Your teeth easily sink in as you are surprised to find the flesh of the apple soft. You taste bitterness in your mouth and instinctively spit out the piece of fruit.
What’s wrong?” I ask as I select an apple too.
“It is sour,” you explain. I take a bite from my apple and you hear the crunch as I take a chunk from it. I chew and through the mouthful explain that mine tastes fine. I hand the apple to you and you bite into it. It is soft and again tastes sour. Confusion rises inside you as you look at the apple and see a maggot wriggling beneath where you have bitten into the apple. You hurl the apple away as I invite you to sniff a magnificent rose nearby. You lean in and inhale its perfume, pulling the petalled head towards you. There is no scent and instead you sneeze.
As you let go of the rose you give a short cry of pain and find that a thorn is wedged in your finger, the blood already spooring from the wound and trickling down your finger. You sneeze again,your nose irritated by something and you keep sneezing as your eyes water. You stagger away from the rose still sneezing and into a bush but it is not the sculpted creation you saw moments earlier.
Instead, you feel a prickling sensation as you are stung and realise you have stumbled into a bed of nettles. Pain rising you stagger away, eyes streaming and make for where you recall the stream is hoping to use the cool, clear water to wash away the irritation you have suffered.
You can just make out where it is through your blurred vision as you drop to your knees only to cry out again. You have knelt on some thistles.Where did they come from? This lawn was flawless before. You reach out flailing for the stream but there is nothing, The water has gone and the stream has dried up. You feel something wrap around your left wrist and as you try to wipe away the tears from your eyes with your free hand, you feel pain as a vine begins to tighten about your wrist. You pull trying to free yourself from it and twist around to call to me for help.
The smooth lawn is no longer there. Gone is the rolled grass. Instead you are looking at a mountainside, rugged and steep. You yank your arm as the vine is trying to pull you and look upwards. You can see me standing there smiling at you, looking down from my lofty position atop this mountain which has sprung out of nowhere. A cold wind begins to blow as you shout for help, another vine beginning to snake towards you. I tilt my head as if I cannot hear you, a smile still plastered across my face.
“Help me, what is happening?” you shout.
Nothing,” I call back, ” I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“This. The garden, it has changed,” you yell above the gathering wind. You see that I am shaking my head.
No it’s not, everything is just the same, Beautiful isn’t it?” I reply.
You frown. How can I not see what has altered? The beautiful glade has become a hostile and hurtful place. How has this happened to you?

You try and crawl forward and I stand watching you, offering no help as more vines snake towards you, the ground beneath you hard and stony. The vines wrap about you and threaten to pull you into the abyss below you. All the while I stand and watch smiling.
Welcome to my secret garden.

 

-HG Tudor

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