The Past Can't Stay Buried Forever

By: Jaque Rizzuto

After the death of my sister, I moved away from my home and town, everything I had ever known, to escape the debilitating memories of the past. I found a quiet town on the shore. It was small, and no one knew me. I found a place where I could start over. The house was small, with the outside painted blue, which had faded with the seasons. Wilted flowers lined the garden, leaving only a remnant of the formal glory this house once was. I opened the door, and as I stepped in, the reality hit me that this was my new life. 

I spent the day moving my boxes of stuff inside and called it a day. I was exhausted from the stress of moving and needed to go to bed. It was about two in the morning when I awoke to a loud crash. I walked downstairs to find that one of the piles of boxes had toppled over. Memories of my past life poured out across the floor. I thought it was odd, but found myself too exhausted to investigate more. As the days passed, I explored the town, went job searching, and tried meeting new people-all to no avail. After that, I spent most of my days at home. 

As I spent more time in the house, incidents similar to that of the first night kept occurring. Things moved, strange noises, and I felt like I was being watched. I couldn’t tell if I was losing my mind or if this was something I should be concerned about. I had never been one to believe in ghosts, but it was better than the alternative, which was that I had completely lost it. I tried my best to ignore it, but it got to a point where I couldn’t do it anymore. I was barely sleeping with the impending idea that my fresh start could be ruined by a haunted house. 

Finally, on one of the following nights, I heard the noises again, this time coming from the guest room. I rolled myself out of bed, threw on my slippers, and made my way over. I had shoved all of my boxes in there because the thought of those memories was too much. This made it quite hard to navigate the room. As I moved further into the room, I could see a dark silhouette. As my eyes adjusted, I could see it more clearly, and what I saw froze me in place. It looked like me, only I looked less worn down and like I didn't have a care in the world. This was my past self. Me before the accident, me before the world collapsed in on me, me before I lost myself. I was just the shell of this version of myself. It traveled with me in the boxes of memories that lined the wall. As I sat there staring at a room of everything I was before, I realized I could never erase these parts of myself. I was never going to be able to go back to the ghost I saw in front of me, but I also couldn’t stay this version of myself either. The memories of the past may hurt, but that doesn’t mean I should try to erase them. I went back to bed, and the next morning went back to that room. I unpacked every box and everything that came with it. Afterwards, I went back out and tried my hand at finding a job. I got an interview at a local coffee shop. When I got back home, there was a great deal of weight lifted off my shoulders. 

From that night on, I didn’t hear any more noises. I kept moving and slowly found my way back to an evolved version of the ghost that haunted me.