They Don’t know
By Donna J. W. Munro
“That’s the thing. They don’t know they are dead.”
“Ghosts?”
“Yeah, they’re clueless. Reenacting the motions of their minutes days, trying to find the groove of their life only to slide with a shriek along the ridges of reality.”
“They know something’s wrong though, right?”
“Maybe. Or Maybe they just keep trying because it’s all they know. Not who they were or what things might have been, just what cost them their lives. They don’t know it’s all over, the fat lady sang, and the ushers are sweeping the aisles.”
“It’s too dark in here. Turn on your headlamp will you? The ghosts never find out? They keep going around in circles, until what? Doomsday?”
“I thought that maybe we’d let them know. Like if we found a way to tell them that they were gone, then maybe we’d be heroes, right. Ghost busting heroes. Oops, watch it. I almost ran into the door. It’s like this place eats the light.”
“Where do we find them? If they don’t know that they are dead, then they aren’t like… seeking out help, you know. They just are wherever. We gotta tell them, but to figure it out, we gotta find them. Stay close, there’s no windows in this hallway. No moon, no light, broken up mansion on hill—it’s perfect for finding ghosts.”
“That’s what I thought when I saw it. But I still don’t get how we’re going to do this. We’re going to help them by telling them they’re dead. If they just keep going on and on, living the last few minutes of their lives, over and over, how are they going to tell us who they are if they don’t remember?”
“They’ll be doing the same thing over and over. Maybe that’s where we start. Watch them… you know… die again. Then we can research about them, figure out who they are, and tell them. Maybe they can move on then.”
“Do they always show the way they die?”
“I dunno, do I? I’ve never done this before. We just watch and wait.”
“Maybe if I check the cellar? Seems like a good place for ghosts.”
“These stairs, don’t they seem rickety to you?”
“They’re fine. Go look in that corner, will you?”
“I am. Don’t get worked up. So, if they don’t know they are dead and they just keep repeating their lives…”
“Their deaths, you mean.”
“Right. How do we know that anything is real? Know what I mean? Like us even?”
“I think there’s something back here. I feel air or something. Help me pull this shelf away from the wall.”
“Okay… how do we know? Damn! That’s heavy. Put your back into it… What’s your name again?”
“Huh…I don’t… Push, there’s something…”
“Watch it… the shelf is falling!”
“The shelf was… not solid? Went right through me!”
“How can a shelf be a ghost?”
“Or maybe…”
“What?”
“Why can’t I remember my name? Or yours?”
“Hmmm. But… I can’t…”
“I can’t remember anything.”
“That’s ok. They can’t either.”
“They?”
“The ghosts don’t know they are dead.”
“So, they’re just clueless?”
“Clueless. We’ll just tell them then?”
“That they’re dead.”
“Dead.”
