The Visitor by Angela Jossy

I know its a cliche but let me start by saying: Don’t freak out. Sorry to wake you. Yes, I am in fact a ghost but let me assure you, I’m not a murderous ghost. Sure, I can kill with impunity but, ya know, it gets old. Human lives come and go so quickly anyway. What’s the point really?

The reason I am appearing in front of you today is I wanted to ask you for a favor. As favors go, this ones a doozy. Do people still say doozy? Nevermind. Don’t answer that. Like snuffing people out for entertainment, following the lexicon of the modern American vernacular has also lost its appeal for me. Who am I trying to impress? Exactly.

Where was I? Oh yes. The favor.

Do you need to sit down? You’re looking a little pale. One might think you’ve seen a ghost or something. Hardy har har.

What? A ghost can’t have a sense of humor?

I appreciate a courtesy laugh as much as the next person, I really do, but you seriously don’t look well. Please take a seat and I’ll give you a moment to collect yourself. It’s 3:05 am. Take a load off already!

This is a nice place you’ve got here. Bad luck about the neighbors though. Do you know what they get up to over there? Nevermind. Better off now knowing probably.

OK. More to the point, I’ve been dead for a little more than 94 years. You’ve probably never heard of me. Nobody has. I was just one of the many cogs in the big machine of human experience. Work all day, sleep all night, pay the taxes, consume the food … That’s the only part I miss really. Food was the best. I always say, if there is a heaven it will be filled with pies and ice cream.

But I digress, I was nobody important.

I never had a street named after me or saw my picture in the newspaper. None of the fruits of my labor were the kind that stand the test of time. I just did what I needed to do to get by. Of course back then I didn’t know I’d be witness to my own irrelevance for eternity.

You know, I wouldn’t mind if you interjected once in a while. You’re not much of a conversationalist are you?

No matter. You can just write it all in that dog-eared journal of yours. I’ll read it later over your shoulder like I usually do.

Don’t look so shocked. You’d do the same in my position.

While I’m on the topic, I would like to point out that it’s astonishing how you use “your” “you’re” and “UR.” And you call
yourself a writer? In my day you’d be pink slipped for that nonsense.

Hey … no … Don’t feel embarrassed. I only point it out as constructive criticism. You might thank me for it later.

Are you quite settled now? Shall we return to the matter at hand as they say?

I was unimportant. My legacy was mediocrity. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The world needs it’s nobodies. If everyone was trying to get noticed all the time you’d have a world full of narcissists and nothing would ever get done. But I have to say, your generation is as narcissistic as they come. Look at me, I’m eating a sandwich!

Be careful, yawning is contagious you know. Do that again and we’ll both be doing it.

Who can blame them for narcissism ¬†though. The gadgets you all have would be a distraction to anyone. The way you can communicate with everyone, all at once like that? It’s like a mirror reflecting back perceptions you’re every move. Instant gratification or sudden realization that nobody gives a damn.

And that brings me to why I’m here. You see I once aspired to be a writer like you. But now I can’t even write a grocery list. No hands, see? Whoosh. They pass right through. And the worst part about is I know so much more now than I ever did when I was alive. If you could only see the things I have!

So I was wondering, and I hope that you’ll say yes because its quite an opportunity for you as well, would you be willing to set up a Facebook for me?

Hey! What are you doing? You’re just gonna go back to sleep? Open you’re eyes! A real life ghost is talking to you! Where is your journalistic integrity?!


Fine. I’m gonna go watch the neighbors for a while. You would not believe …