The Visitor

Meagan had known ever since she’d moved into the new house one week earlier that she wasn’t alone. Yes, it was a very old house, and yes, she was an empath. She not only picked up on the emotions of living humans, but she also picked up on the emotions emitted by souls on the other side. It was nothing new and something she’d experienced since the age of five. The abilities had grown perpetually stronger as she had aged. At thirty-five, it was not unusual to sense something out of the ordinary no matter where she was, but especially so in an older building.

Tonight, she tossed in the bed, the hot, humid air of the summer seeming to suffocate her. The darkness loomed, overwhelming as it moved all about her like an enveloping storm cloud. Would she ever be free of the heaviness she sensed from nearly everywhere she turned? Was there nowhere to flee where she could escape it – even for just one night?

The raw, brutal emotion that encompassed her tonight was inexplicably heavy. She was alone, and she was not exactly sure why she felt as she did. She wondered if she had been exposed to someone during the day, and their entire realm of emotions had encroached upon her, settling inside like feathers after a pillow fight. Except what she felt was much heavier than feathers – it was more akin to bricks.

She turned on the bedside lamp, intending to rise and head to the kitchen for warm milk – or perhaps better yet, a glass of whiskey - but as the light flickered across the expanse of the small bedroom, she gasped, startled by the lone figure that stood in the far corner.

Try as she might, she would never grow accustomed to the unexpected. Her heart raced as the woman’s eyes seemed to pierce all the way to the depths of her being. Instinctively, she knew that whomever she was, the woman was not of this world, but a lost, lingering soul seeking some type of help. Slowly, from where she sat on the edge of her bed, she watched the woman. As she did so, her breathing slowed and her heart resumed its normal rhythm. She reminded herself not to be frightened, even if seeing a spirit from the other side was not an everyday occurrence. Besides, this poor woman looked much more afraid of her.

She spoke to the frightened woman through mental means, as she always did when such spirits presented themselves. “What is it?” she asked. “Do you need my help? What can I do?”

The young woman appeared battered and haggard, tears filling her large eyes even in her spirit form. Meagan could sense her fear – it was a palpable force that permeated the expanse of the room. So this is what she’d felt and not the remnants of some human’s leftover emotions.

“What do you need?” Meagan pressed. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me. Please.”

The woman drew nearer to the bed, seeming to float over the hardwood flooring. “Someone needs to know,” she whispered.

Meagan was startled. This woman did not continue the use of mental communication that she’d begun. Never had she directly communicated with a spirit from the other side - it had always been through the mental means or a type of telepathy. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, but she was. Ever since she’d seen the first spirit thirty years ago, she had been in a constant state of awareness in regard to her abilities. It was a perpetual learning curve.

“What?” Meagan asked. “What do you need to tell me?”

The woman glided to the hallway just outside the bedroom’s doorway. “Here,” she prompted Meagan, her eyes pleading for her to follow.

Meagan quickly moved to stand near her. “Where?” she asked the woman, clearly confused, seeing only a bare floor.

The woman looked downwards and pointed. “Beneath,” she said, the pain in her voice all too obvious.

The floorboards in the old house were marred with years of weathered age and use, and Meagan knew it would take little effort to lift the plank. She turned and quickly sought a small screwdriver from her bedside table. At last finding it, she turned back, but the woman had disappeared and was no longer a visible apparition in the still of the night.

Sighing in frustration, Meagan went to the hallway and dropped to her knees. Using the screwdriver, she was able to lift two of the wooden planks. After retrieving a flashlight, she uncovered a small black notebook and though it was a bit tattered, as she pulled it out, she saw that it was still intact. Carefully, Meagan took ahold of the notebook and secured the wooden floor planks back into place.

Before returning to bed, Meagan went to the kitchen and poured herself a generous portion of the whiskey she had only considered moments before. It was the perfect night for such, she thought as she repositioned the pillows so that she could sit more comfortably and read whatever was in the black notebook. It must have a story to tell. The woman had been insistent, so Meagan was sure she would not be getting much sleep tonight until she knew exactly what it was that the woman wanted her to know.

Sipping her drink, she read the first entry, which was dated November 14 of 1894. Meagan knew that the house was old but was still surprised to learn it was over one hundred years old. She carefully turned the page and began to read what was written on the old, yellowed pages.

The woman’s name had been Anna Beth Gibson. It appeared she had made entries in the little black notebook for well over twenty-five years. As she read Anna Beth’s journal, Meagan was filled with a new depth of sadness and more emotions to which she could not lay a name. The woman had been horribly abused by her spouse, who had been named Rudy. Slowly, Meagan flipped through all the pages and read them at length.

There was little joy in the woman’s day to day existence. She had appeared to live a lonely and unfulfilled life, miscarrying baby after baby due to the physical abuse she suffered at the hands of Rudy. However, as Meagan neared the end of the journal, it took on a new life and a completely different train of thought.

Ten pages from the end of the small black notebook, Meagan learned that Rudy had robbed the local bank and hidden the money from the authorities. According to what Anna Beth wrote, Rudy had buried the stolen money in a metal box just outside on the corner of the red barn next to the oak tree. Despite Rudy’s attempts to hide the money and proclaim his innocence, he had been arrested and had died of typhoid fever in jail while awaiting trial. Anna Beth, ostracized by her neighbors and friends and fearing further retribution, had left the money buried in the ground. Fear had gripped and crippled her, but she had left a detailed drawing on the final page of the journal as to exactly where the money was hidden in the backyard. She had also written that she could no longer live and was choosing to take her life that fateful August day in 1919, asking God to have mercy on her soul. However, it appeared that instead of leaving the book out for someone to find, Anna Beth, in her fear and shame, must have hidden it beneath the floorboards believing that eventually someone would find it and uncover both the truth and the money.

Meagan slowly closed the book. It was no wonder that she had felt such immense sadness. Anna Beth had lived a life filled with nothing but sorrow and fear. And she had been waiting on the other side for well over a century for someone to find the notebook, and more importantly, for someone to find the money. Anna Beth was desperate. She needed to absolve her conscience and be able to move on in peace after all these years.

“First thing tomorrow morning, Anna Beth. I promise,” Meagan whispered. She turned off the lamp, and relaxed by the whiskey, at long last slept.

As the sun began to climb in the sky early the next morning, Meagan awoke and quickly pulled on her clothes before making her way to the backyard. There was no one for at least a mile on either side of her house, so she did not have to worry about who might see her. Finding a shovel in the old barn, she made her way to the spot shown in Anna Beth’s detailed drawing and began to slowly and methodically dig.

It was nearly an hour later. The sun had climbed high in the sky and Meagan was beginning to feel the early heat of the day when her shovel hit metal. Quickly dropping to her knees, she used her hands to scoop, digging all around and further uncovering the top of the metal box buried deep in the ground. After considerable effort, she was able to pull the box from the ground. It was covered in rust and dirt, obviously a far cry from its once new and shiny exterior.

Meagan held her breath as she lifted the lid. Sure enough, encased therein were several bundles of old currency. Sorting through it, she was able to see that there was $20,000. She could hardly believe her eyes. She sighed. Twenty thousand dollars had been an enormous amount of money all those long years ago when Rudy had stolen it, but in today’s society, it would hardly purchase an automobile.

What a horrible waste of two lives, she thought to herself, continuing to look at the box of money. She knew it had to be returned, so she would call the authorities as soon as she cleaned up a bit and report what she had found. While she could not possibly tell them a spirit had led her to the stash of cash, she could certainly tell them that she’d found the little black notebook hidden beneath the floorboards, and what its contents had divulged to her about the stolen money.

It was a full week later. The money had been turned over to the local authorities and all was well. She had learned that the robbery had remained unsolved despite Rudy’s arrest all those years ago, and the case had still been a mystery with no clue as to the whereabouts of the money. The local bank was highly appreciative of its return and gave her a small reward of $1,000 although she had insisted it wasn’t necessary.

It had been a full day and a very long week and it was very late. Meagan was exhausted as she lay in bed, anxious for sleep to come. However, of a sudden she was instinctively aware that she was no longer alone and quickly reached to turn on the bedside lamp. As she did so, she sat up in bed and smiled. “Hello, Anna Beth,” she greeted her visitor.

Anna Beth stood in the same corner where she had first appeared only a week earlier. However, the former distraught and battered figure had been replaced by one that was now peaceful and nearly perfect in its new appearance. A white light appeared to emanate from her as she seemingly floated where she stood.

“Thank you,” Anna Beth whispered, her voice now melodic and no longer strained as if in pain.

“You’re welcome,” Meagan said. And with the brief exchange of words, Anna Beth was gone, as suddenly as she had first appeared, at long last finding a peace that had eluded her for so long. Contented and pleased, Meagan turned off the lamp and slept.