When the Dead Speak

By Arya Varma

Posted on April 1, 2025

Cover Image Title: Living with a Ghost

Cover Image by: Kenny

Classification: Digital

Specifications: 2048 pixels X 2048 pixels

Year: 2025

Location: Colorado, U.S.A.

The ghost was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

Well, sort of. Eating may not be the best way to describe it, but I can’t find a better word. The food rose into the air, slowly dissolving into translucent, golden mush. Jif spread had never looked more unappetizing.

“Can’t you at least eat at the table?” The exasperation in my voice was obvious, but I tried to keep my face neutral. Ghosts have notoriously short tempers.

“T’is too bitter cold in thy dining hall.” Came Ed’s sullen reply. “Here t’is comfortable.” 

I rolled my eyes. “I know spirits can’t feel the temperature, Ed.” 

His lips twisted into a translucent pout. “The bitter cold doth be a sentiment, young sir. And I’d prefer to be called by mine own proper title, Edw-” He choked, his voice catching as he tried to finish his name. 

It had taken me weeks to figure out who he was when we first met. He couldn’t write his name out for me, nor say it aloud - no ghost could. Hours spent poring over history volumes and old mailbooks finally yielded the answer: Edward Dudley, Earl of Leicester.

The Earl of Leicester - or, Dead Ed, as I liked to call him - liked Wonder bread far too much for an Englishman. Ed was whiny, but not malicious (also surprising, for an Englishman). It was more than I could say for most spirits; especially the ones that appeared after dark. Worst of all were the wraiths; vengeful things constantly searching for new creatures to corrupt. Whenever we heard their eerie tapping at my windowsill, Ed and I would turn off the lights and wait them out in silence.

I haven’t seen a living person in months. 

It didn’t happen all of a sudden; at first, it was just a flicker of light, the odd specter turning the corner on the street. Then, I began seeing them in my house, at work, at the supermarket. Ghost cashiers would ring up my groceries, ghost baristas would make my coffee. One day, I stopped seeing the living altogether. 

As ghosts went, the harmless ones retired for the night, but sundown brought poltergeists and wraiths with it. I didn’t talk to the daytime ghosts much - not that they were very talkative. Most conversations ended with begging for peace in the afterlife, which wasn’t really something I could dish out. 

This brought me to my next problem; Ed. The reason I couldn’t ditch the guy? He knew my name. He was the first ghost I spoke to, and I didn’t know at the time that introducing yourself was a no-no. Thankfully, he hadn’t expressed any interest in offering me up to the wraiths, so I was safe for now.

It was at this moment that Ed decided to toss his sandwich crust at my feet. “Giveth me another, Thomas!” I cringed at how loudly he said my name. “Please, don’t let the entire undead world know my name. It’s almost sunset, too.” The spirit looked sheepish for a moment, before glancing back at the crust. I let out a sigh. “I’ll get you another sandwich, you drama queen. Matter of fact, I’ll make two. That can be dinner.” Ed straightened his ragged cloak, silver fingers hopelessly attempting to smooth out the wrinkles. “I am not a queen, but an earl.” I shot him a questioning look, before heading to the kitchen. “You act like a peasant.”

The cold lights in the kitchen began to flicker. Once, then twice, before holding steady. My skin prickled, as if the room itself was watching me. Faulty wiring, my brain offered automatically, trained on 9 years of electrician work. But the other part of me, the part that knew better, had already gone ice cold. Only one thing made lights flicker these days; the dead. 

“Ed, is that you?” Ed and I bantered a lot, and it would be uncharacteristic of him to have gotten so worked up. All the same…

Ed floated into the room, tapping his buckled shoes nervously against the air. “Methinks t’is best to err on the side of caution now, young sir.” I snuck a glance out the window; sure enough, the sun was going down. “Methinks much the same, Ed.” 

The dying light gave a few feeble rays, shadows creeping up the walls like restless hands. My fingers fumbled with the blinds’ slippery cord, the mechanism rattling louder than it should have. “Get the lights,” I hissed.

Ed drifted up to the lights, passing his translucent hands over the fluorescent bulbs and putting them out with a soft whoosh. We were enveloped in darkness, with only Ed’s faint glow to see by. He descended, sitting cross-legged on the floor across from me. Outside, footsteps emanated from the front porch. 

Ed’s hands fidgeted with his tattered cuffs, his silver fingers flickering in and out of focus. “They doth hunger tonight.”

“Do you know why?” I knew the answer, but I needed to hear it.

“A perished creature such as myself can only be corrupted. But thou’rt flesh and blood, living and kicking. The wraiths doth yearn for’t.” 

A faint tapping echoed from the french door in the living room, like the ticking of a clock. Ed’s translucent face paled further. 

It sounded again, transforming into a harsh, deliberate knocking. My ears picked up a resounding sob, wheezing breaths isolated in the silent night. Ed was wrong; this was no wraith.

Silence pressed against the walls, thick and unnatural. Ed floated behind me, his glow dimming as I inched toward the french door. My fingers froze in hesitation, before I peeled back the silk curtains and peered through the glass.

A little girl stood barefoot on the porch, her dress torn and smeared with dirt. Her wide eyes glistened with tears, and in her trembling hands, she held a faded stuffed rabbit. “Please,” she whispered, her voice small but clear. “Let me in.” 

I shoot Ed a look. Her form is entirely solid. An illusion? Or… Ed locked eyes with the girl, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. 

“No spirit should speak their own name, the forbidden moniker. I doth be the guardian soul of this homestead; leave us, spirit. Thou art not welcome.”

The girl tilted her head, her lips wobbling. “I’m not a spirit.” She patted her tear-stained cheeks as though to prove it. “I’m Lily.”

[ Writing Editor: J.Y. ]