A Hallowthankmas Visitor

by Vali Hawkins-Mitchell

A ghost materialized, and I was…nonchalant.

Which, in hindsight, might’ve been the most remarkable part of the whole thing. But it wasn’t a Steven Speilberg event with CGI, or anything, but a calm moment while I was reading. 

It was the upper-half of an old woman I had barely known — a resident from the convalescent home, where I visited my Grammy years earlier when I was a little girl. She used to sit by her door in a wheelchair, legs wrapped in a blanket, always smiling.

She’d called me “Little Freckles.”
I’d called her “Big Freckles.”
That was the entirety of our friendship. Friendly smiles and nods in the hallway.

So, when she appeared in my living room, as if she were actually there, she said,
“Hello, Little Freckles,”
I just said,
“Hello, Big Freckles,”
like it was any other Thursday.

She faded.
I went back to reading.

A few days later, while visiting my parents for our traditional family gathering for Hallowthankmas, the time between all of the majors holidays, when we could all get our schedules together, my mother asked:

“Do you remember Mrs. Hart?”

I hadn’t heard that name in years. I had honestly forgotten it. But that was the ghost.
I nodded, keeping the visitation to myself, along with a new and strange tension in my bones.

I’d been nonchalant at the appearance of an apparition, because, well, I just was. But now, something made the hair on my neck crinkle.

Mother continued, “She gave me something a long time ago. Told me to give it to you when you were older. I found it the other while I was looking for a casserole dish.”

She leaned into the depths of her cluttered and crammed china cabinet —
emerging with a faded, wrinkled envelope.

Inside was a folded piece of paper, yellowed and softened by time.
Written in the trembly, but elegant, penmanship only the very old seem to perfect, it read:

“Listen and follow the advice of the spirits that will now fly above you to help and understand your work and your journey.”

I thanked Mom, didn’t mention the visitation, and slipped the note into my purse.

I’ve hesitated to share the story about Mrs. Hart, or others that came after…until now.

BIO: Vali Hawkins-Mitchell writes from her office across the street from the Honolulu Zoo, where she works as a Trauma & Disaster responder. Published in numerous literary journals, such as Sky Island Journal, Spank the Carp, of Rust and Glass, and others. See more at www.valihawkinsmitchell.com or her company at www.eapacific.com