Ghost Story competition winner ASH RAMSUNDER
Thank you to everyone who entered our New Year Ghost story competition. The judging panel were really impressed by the quality of work submitted. So much so that it was difficult to determine an outright winner and there was a tie between 2. Ash Ramsunder is one of the winning entries.
Ash writes from the heart. His words carry us along the journey with Delores as she encounters the new year ghost that would change her life A really thought provoking story that will resonate with many particularly in light of the events worldwide and this strange existence that we find ourselves in.
The New Year Ghost is narrated by Michael Lamport
The story is also shown below in written form should you wish to read for yourself.
photo credits to http://www.jackiedennison.com artwork credit to Jackie Dennison
photo credits to http://www.dreamstime.com 100450784/Arcticphotoworks/184963056/Kittiphan Teerawattanakul/120299991/Jason Stitt/9859748/Anasha Belyakova/93472527/shokowen1994/ 125243937/levgenii Tryfonov/10955398/10955398/cammeraraydave/163273569/Yaroslav Veretin/177358059/Chernetskaya/114292292/Nilskrauss/5931173/Goinyk Volodymyr/107665791/GA1/4nter Abers/40358199/Colin Young/21763748/FoxFoto(null)/76349952/Bettapoggi/70595728/Nalyanab/138430821/Natalia Vyshneva/86293773/Ewa Biernacka/42371441/Pratik Panda/6001610/maciej czekajewski
the story is also available to read yourself:
The New Year Ghost
By Ash Ramsunder
It was one of those nights that seemed far too long, yet not quite long enough. Yes, Dolores had slept but she had not rested – not last night and certainly not during the nights in the past few months. She often lay half-awake in her lonely bed in the unforgiving darkness and stared blankly at her ceiling, painfully reliving each cruel, crushing memory of the past year, again and again.
Adversity was her familiar acquaintance and over the years – and certainly within the past year – Dolores had learned that emotional razor blades cut far deeper than physical ones. At first, she was able to fully anaesthetise herself with a nightly bottle of whiskey. But as the agony of her memories increased in intensity, so too did her self-prescribed homeopathic doses of alcohol, until it no longer could provide any relief. Relief! – ah yes, this is what she desperately longed for…
Dolores knew that she was in absolute pain. It could have been her head; it could have been her heart. It could have been both or it could have been neither – she could not tell anymore. All that Dolores knew was that it hurt very deeply within her as the solid walls to her comfortable life unapologetically began crumbling and falling apart, brick by brick, without her permission, consent or understanding.
She was a failure, yet again – or so she relentlessly believed.
“Nobody is ever going to love you, you wretched blight.” Her mother had been dead for 24 years, but those words that she spoke to a six year old Dolores on that rainy Spring Day in 1973, remained alive within Dolores. It was a Wednesday, she recalled.
Dolores was now 52 and the year was 2020 – a day before the New Year.
Tonight was especially dark. The leaves of the tall oak tree swooshed as they coyly danced to the whispery suggestions of the gentle, cold night breeze. It was a tender entanglement between the young night-air and ancient green foliage; two star-crossed lovers from different realms whose encounter would be temporary, but memorable.
And as the affectionate rendezvous between tangible and intangible continued outside, Dolores continued to lie in bed, staring blankly at the silhouette of her ceiling. She was there but not present. Her body heat had warmed her side of the bed and although she knew the vacant space beside her was cold, she could not feel it.
Vacant was what it was, empty was how she felt.
Within the past year, her little bookshop had collapsed during the lockdown period. Had she lived within the city, she probably could have lasted a few months longer. But being an hour away within the countryside, there were no longer any urbanites desperately attempting to escape their concrete jungles or any curious tourists looking for a rural excursion.
The bills had began to pile up, three meals a day had begun to seem like a privilege, the mortgage had not been paid in months and as a result, foreclosure and homelessness seemed horribly imminent.
To add to this, when the money had eventually run out, so too did George’s love for Dolores. George and Dolores had been together for seventeen long years and although he wanted the relationship with Dolores, he never wanted a marriage with her. They had no children, only each other – and now he was gone.
Dolores was accustomed to being lonely but what she truly feared was being alone. This was her greatest fear and from her first day with George, she reconciled within her that she was willing to be whoever he had wanted her to be. A little love was better than no love, she reasoned to herself, and now at the age of 52, she believed that her best days were already far behind and that her own yellow brick road was just never meant for her.
It was almost daylight now. Darkness was slowly turning into shades of navy blue and the morning sun would soon paint the sky with dazzling hues of baby pink and subtle orange.
Dolores tore herself out of bed and brushed her teeth as she routinely did. She then put on her best floral frock and the shiny pearl earrings which were lovingly gifted to her by late grandmother. She walked to her front door, stood for a moment and then took one last look at everything behind her.
She languidly followed the winding ascent which led her to the edge of Mosley Mountain just as the sun was beginning to rise. Dolores didn’t notice the beautiful pastel colours of the morning sky. Nor did she hear the melodious twittering and excited chirping of the waking birds. Even the grandeur of the pine trees with their sharp needles and ornamental cones could not draw her attention.
Dolores was not here to appreciate the dawn of a new day, she was here for one thing – and one thing only. She had come here to die.
Dolores had rehearsed this moment in her mind over and over again during the past few days. Though her heart raced and tears seemed to betray her decision, Dolores edged her way to the final few centimetres that formed the boundary between rock and air and life and death. She was fixated only on one word – jump!
She closed her eyes, numbed her mind and slowly began to count down from ten. Everything within her and around seemed to blur and go black.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four….
“Do you know what the name ‘Dolores’ means?” asked a voice from behind, suddently interrupting her from her countdown and distracting her from the surge of adrenalin that pulsed through her body as she perilously stood on the ledge.
Dolores continued to stare straight ahead at the chasm below her – partly out of fear and partly out of embarrassment of having being discovered this way.
“The literal translation means sorrows,” continued the stranger, “but it is a name bestowed in honour to the Virgin Mary. Maria del los Dolores… our Lady of Sorrows.”
Dolores slowly turned around to see who it was that had managed to creep up on her without disturbing the lush brush or loose gravel beneath him.
The man stared kindly and compassionately into her eyes, his silent gaze conveying an unspoken dialogue of familiarity and kinship. In addition to his grey hair, he had a matching grey beard and a tender smile – one which alluded to his sensitivity and kindness. He wore a robe as white as snow– almost like a toga – which didn’t seem to wrinkle or flap with the early-morning draft.
An indescribable wisdom emanated all around him and, without effort, he seemed to exude an aura of deep peace and serenity. He seemed incapable of judgement and although Dolores had seen him for only a few seconds, it felt as if she had known him for a lifetime.
His posture was one of confidence and conviction. His demeanour, one of authority and wisdom. In his right hand, he held a staff, which seemed unnecessary as the man, though old, appeared neither decrepit nor infirm. No, not old – wise. Yes, wise was how he appeared.
“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” Dolores asked, as her mind tried to process this unrehearsed situation. “I know all the men in this town and I certainly haven’t seen you before.”
The man continued to gaze peacefully at Dolores.
“In reality, I am neither male nor female,” he replied. “I am simply That Which I Am. I am your teacher, your guide, your Ghost for the New Year. My name, you already know – but it really is my message that you need to hear. You have stood on the sidelines and at the periphery of your life for far too long. Today – and if you so will it – you begin anew.”
Though his remark seemed utterly preposterous – and downright absurd – there was an undeniable and overwhelming sense of familiar connectedness that pulled her spirit towards him, like metal to a magnet. Dolores was generally adept at keeping her guard up when it came to people, but somehow within her, she instinctively knew that she was as transparent as glass before him. And strangely, for the first time and without hesitation, she felt utterly and unconditionally loved, accepted and seen. She believed him.
“Have you come to stop me?” she asked openly, as she stepped slowly towards him.
“I cannot stop you from your decisions, beloved.” the guide replied, “That is your decision and one that only you can make. The power of choice and free will has always – and will always – belong to you. You are free to choose but you are never free from the consequence of your choice. For as much as you end up making your choices, your choices will eventually end up making you.”
A comfortable silence engulfed them for a moment.
If you are who you say you are, then why have you never shown yourself or guided me before? Why now? ”
The man smiled lovingly. “I have revealed myself to you in a thousand different ways over a thousand different forms ranging from a song, an advertisement, a feather in your path, to a whisper within your spirit. It was not that I had refused to reveal myself; it was that you did not recognise me. You placed fiction before Truth, fear before faith, your insecurities before your abilities and you often chose to quiet down instead of standing up. These were your choices.”
The man paused, and then stretched out his hand towards Dolores. “You are free to choose but you are never free from the consequence of your choice” he reiterated. “Come, let us walk.”
Dolores strode beside the “New Year Ghost” in small decisive steps. The loose gravel crunched under the weight of her own shoes, yet seemed to be undisturbed by the man of wisdom. The branches of the trees sashayed coyly to the whisper of the early morning breeze and the sleepy daffodils yawned as they unfolded their beautiful yellow petals to the morning light.
Dolores found it difficult to reconcile the events of the past few minutes. There was a strong, tangible cohesion that existed between them and there was a certain solidarity of unspoken trust that spanned for eons. However, despite the hidden evidence of Eternity that existed between them, Dolores still felt hurt, angry and confused.
“If you are who you say you are, then why don’t I remember you? She asked. “Why can’t I recall you?”
“You will, but it is not necessary for this moment.” he replied. “For now, you may not remember me but you resonate with me. You may not be able to recall, yet within you, you cannot deny the Knowing. Memory relies on processed external stimuli. It is merely facts and data which have been accumulated from all that is around you. Knowing extends into the finer and deeper states within you -the place of All-Possibility that requires no explanation, but which already is. That is the place from which I come… and so do you too.”
“And I want to go back there, I really do!” Dolores protested in sheer desperation.
“You will. You all will’ the man replied, gently walking upon the dewy-ground.
“No, no, you don’t understand!” said Dolores. “Life is hard and I just really want to die and get away from this horrible world!” Her tears had once again begun to flow freely and unabashedly.
The man stopped and turned towards her. He looked at her understandingly, fully knowing the ache and agony that resided in Dolores’ heart.
“You don’t really want to die. You just want your pain to end – you all do. But I will share a secret with you – you don’t have to end your life in order to end your pain. You just have to choose differently. If you want a different outcome in life, you have to make a different choice. Choice and outcome go hand in hand” His words of truth rung through the air like the peal of bells.
“And besides,” he continued, “suicide does not end the process, it merely postpones it. What you refuse to confront in this lifetime you will have to confront the very same in another. This is not a punishment, rather an opportunity. An opportunity to know and fully demonstrate the power of Who You Are.”
Dolores stopped; her mind was numb and her gaze drilled into the ground below her at this new revelation.
“No no no! Wait, you mean, ending my life is not an option?”
The man peacefully smiled as he tapped his staff on the ground. “Well, it is an option,” he responded. “Just not a long term solution. What you refuse to confront, you will carry over. You repeat what you do not repair. And just to be clear, you cannot ‘end life’ as much as you cannot take the wetness out of water or heat out of a flame. You can merely terminate your particular incarnation, but the essence of you – that which is truly alive and is life itself – will continue to go on in multiple cycles and incarnations. Life is not what you have been given; instead life is what you are. You are a personification of the Creator that is expressing itself in the ever-Eternal moment called Now. It is an extraordinary and wondrous gift, yet somehow you have all led yourselves to believe that the journey of life is one of sheer endurance – an extreme sport – where you experience repeated and continuous bouts of inevitable suffering alternating with temporary and elusive moments of fleeting joy.”
“But then why was 2020 such a difficult year for me and for most people?” Dolores inquired honestly.
“Because you were forced to do something you all rarely do – to break out of your comfort zone and re-examine your lives.” The man replied. “You were forced to face something which appears terrifying to you – your connection with yourself, your connection to each other and your connection to the environment. The lockdown has taught you that nature will flourish without you. You were forced to pause, re-examine and redefine your way of living; to step aside and understand that making a living does not constitute as making a life; to understand that it is one thing to consume from the world and quite another to contribute to it. In this regard, COVID was not your enemy but rather your teacher – albeit a harsh one; but a teacher nonetheless. The question humanity really needs to ask itself is not, ‘When will this end?’ but rather, ‘What can we learn from this?’ Through this, a pandemic becomes a lesson, a collective calamity becomes a collective opportunity and what you consider to be your greatest captor could be your greatest liberator… You all live on such a beautiful planet but have created such an ugly world.”
The words washed over Dolores as if it were a baptism. It was as if a light bulb had illuminated within her as the New Year Ghost – her guide –spoke. Yet in the moments of clarity and plain truth, questions still lingered.
“I understand this. It makes sense to me when you say it like this,” said Dolores, “but so many people have died worldwide. So many! Millions, actually”
“Beloved Dolores, you all die, but not all of you live. Most people die decades before they are buried. They go about through life as expressive as an automaton but they have already died within. Death is not the end of life; it is the end of the exuberance of the expression of life.”
The toga-clad man bent down and stared at a blade of grass covered in droplets of dew. “And what is death?” he asked rhetorically. “It is merely a movement of the soul from one realm to another. In this way, what you call birth is ‘death’ to the Spirit-world, and that which you call death is ‘birth’ to the Spirit-world. Do you see, now, how it is merely the vehicle that changes but not the driver?”
He pointed to the rivulet on the blade of grass and continued.
“This droplet becomes vapour, vapour becomes a cloud and a cloud becomes a droplet once again. You call this the hydrologic cycle. Throughout the process, the essence, which is the molecule, is still the same, merely its outward form and state changes. Nature doesn’t mourn when a water droplet has evaporated and neither does it mourn when the cloud finally releases the raindrop. There is merely a continuous cycle from Earth to the heavens and from the Heavens to the earth – each cycle serving its particular purpose. On the ground, the water droplet provides life-sustaining support to the biological and biochemical processes of every living cell on your planet. In the heavens, the water droplet in the cloud helps to regulate the Earth’s energy balance by reflecting and scattering solar radiation and by absorbing the Earth’s infrared energy.
Do you see the perfection of the cycle in a droplet of water? Imagine how greatly this perfection is expressed with the cycle of your soul.
You were created on purpose for a purpose by a purposeful Creator. This is you.”
Dolores stood for a moment in quiet contemplation. “I never thought of it that way before. I suppose I am a water droplet.” she said.
“Yes, I suppose you are.” said the man amiably. “But I will tell you a secret… More than just being the droplet itself, you are the power within the droplet. It is what the droplet carries within it that sets it apart. If it carries salt, it can dehydrate. If it does not, it can quench thirst. The conundrum is NEVER with the droplet itself, but rather, with what it carries.”
The spirit explained further, “You carry life itself within you. Like water, you ebb and flow, rise and fall, soak and absorb. Consider the power of water and then liken it to your own – it is soft enough to float through the air yet tough enough to cut through solid rock; it is gentle enough to support life, yet destructive enough to take it away. It is tender enough to kiss a blade of grass on an early morning, yet powerful enough to erode an entire mountainous landscape.”
“But life is hard!” Dolores protested. “I grew up with an abusive mother! I have no money! George left me and I will be homeless soon.”
Her guide bent down and looked at one of the yellow daffodils that grew along the patchy path.
“Look at this flower,” he said. “It does not consider its environment. It grows among the dirt, the stones, barren terrain and receives little to no water. It does not say to itself ‘I wish I were in the fertile valley over this mountain’. Neither does it say to itself ‘I wish I were created a rose and not a daffodil.’
No, it is merely interested in growing into what it was created to be – a yellow daffodil. Irrespective of the environment it finds itself in, it wishes to BE. It does not consider the ground or terrain, the deficiency of sunlight or the scarcity of water but merely seeks to be what it was created to be. ‘To be or not to be, THAT is the question” as Shakespeare once wrote. Let this flower be your teacher today… No matter where life plants you, bloom with grace.”
“I think I am beginning to understand.” Dolores found herself saying as she crouched down. “It begins with me. It ends with me. I am the author of my experiences. I paint the canvas of my life with the choices that I make and also with the choices that I do not make. The power has never belonged to fate or destiny. Neither did it belong to my mother or to George… It belonged to me.”
The spirit smiled and gently nodded his head in loving agreement.
“You have remembered well, beloved. When life gets difficult – and it will – always remember to let nature be your teacher. Let the stars remind you that in order for them to be seen, there has to be darkness. Let the moon remind you that you can be whole but still go through phases in your life. Let the sun remind you that no matter how many times you go down, you have to valiantly rise each day. Let the trees remind you that no matter how bare you may feel in the winter of your life, growth and rejuvenation is only a season away…
Learn from everything around you – the flowers, the trees, the animals, and yes, even a droplet of dew on a blade of grass. Happy New You”
Suddenly and without warning, the man in white and his undeniable wisdom had vanished as swiftly as he had appeared. Dolores closed her eyes and took a deep breath in as she smiled to herself. She listened to the rustling of the leaves and felt the warm rays of the morning sun dance on her skin.
She felt a deep peace within her and knew that no matter what the New Year would bring her way, she would be alright.
She stood up and looked out towards the peak where the man in white had first appeared. “Thank you Melchizedek. I remember now” she whispered under her breath as warm tears streamed down her cheeks.
With that, Dolores turned around and began to walk along the gentle slope of the winding foot path. An hour ago, she had left her house. Now, she found herself returning Home. It would be a long journey – one with many rocks in her path – but it was one that she was now ready to take…
