PAST & PRESENT
STORY TIME: A GHOST STORY
Hi there lovely readers,
I hope you and yours are well.
A very warm welcome to new readers and a genuine thank you to those have been with me for longer and continue to support my writing. I am always grateful to you all for giving me your time and reading my newsletter.
This week’s Story Time offering foreshadows the annual festival of Halloween. The origin of our pumpkin-lit, candy-consuming celebration began centuries ago, when the Celtic festival of Samhain acknowledged the one time in the year when the ghosts of the dead could return to earth. These spirits could be mischievous and offerings were laid out to appease them.
By the Middle Ages, the medieval practice of souling was popular. This was when poor people prayed for the dead of rich people and were given ‘soul cakes’ as payment. Today we appear to have combined souling with the earlier Celtic tradition in one celebration: Halloween. Families — especially children — celebrate with dressing up in various spooky costumes where the origin of the festival remains visible in the number of skeleton and witchy outfits worn, and in the giving and eating of lots of sweets.
If you’re in the area, check out how they celebrate this festival in Edinburgh, Scotland, also famous for its New Year firework display and the summer Comedy Festival.
https://www.visitscotland.com/info/events/samhuinn-fire-festival-p2755741
Another traditional belief I find fascinating is that of guardian angels. Guardian angels and spirit protectors have been revered across cultures for centuries, offering a comforting presence in people’s lives. In Italy, it’s believed that everyone has their own personal guardian angel ready to lend a hand. In indigenous traditions worldwide, spirit animals are considered protectors, and many African cultures have ancestors who serve as spirit protectors, believed to guide and watch over their descendants, helping them deal with life’s challenges.
As this month’s flash fiction deals with the supernatural, there is no better time to tell this story than in the month of Halloween. So, dear readers, let’s dim the lights, huddle closer to each other and listen to this benevolent ghostly tale…
PAST & PRESENT
The monsoon was late, the subcontinent’s atmosphere a pressure cooker and the ground hot enough to cook chapattis. Mr. Aravind smoothed his lapels and wondered if his thin synthetic shirt would remain crease resistant.
A young lady strode towards him. This must be the Ms. Dillon who booked his taxi. Wearing a green and yellow striped tunic and black trousers — both cotton — she walked with confidence, head up, eyes filled with eager curiosity. She sported the same sturdy sandals he’d seen on many western travelers’ feet. He thought them practical, but ugly. A wide-brimmed straw hat gave protection from the hot sun.
Mr. Aravind opened the door with a bow. “Good morning, Ms. Dillon.” Welcoming them by name was a personal touch that often increased his tip at the end of the trip. As soon as his passenger was settled, he slid into the driver’s seat. He checked the rear-view mirror and, to his surprise, a white-haired elderly lady had appeared beside his passenger. Where had she come from? Had she waited hidden behind the nearby stand of eucalyptus trees? He shrugged and put the keys in the ignition. The price for two was half again as much as for a single person.
He turned the ignition key, frowning as the engine sputtered, coughed and died. He tried a second time. The third time, the car obliged and purred into life. Ignoring the sweat beading on his forehead, he set off for the booked visit to the famous temple of Lord Shiva.
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“Where are you from?” he asked, checking his mirror.
“I’m from Jamaica. Kingston, originally,” Ms. Dillon answered, “but, I’m studying in the UK.”
The women sat close together. He could see a clear family resemblance in the high cheekbones, curve of their full lips and thick curly black hair. But while the younger wore a modern outfit, the elder’s clothing was more traditional: a colorful red and orange bandana, white blouse and ankle-length skirt of coarse fabric gathered at the waist. She often cast loving glances at her young relative, whose gaze remained on the landscape outside the window.
They passed a coconut stall. “Stop,” Ms. Dillon cried. “I want fresh coconut water,”
With the aplomb of one accustomed to carrying out sudden orders, Mr. Aravind braked and reversed.
The instant Ms. Dillon was out of the taxi, the aged matron spoke, her voice strong. “I was born a slave.”
“A tragic business,” he agreed, nodding.
“But I became a freed woman with an educated son. Now my people live without that curse, though they shackle us in other ways.”
The young tourist returned, and he caught a fleeting smirk on her ancestor’s face when the engine repeated its capricious behavior as he endeavored to start the car. As previously, it took several attempts before they were barreling along the road.
Upon arrival, he pulled up near the ornately carved temple gates. “Ms. Dillon, I will wait for you over there.” He pointed to a shady spot farther back, then watched his passenger stride toward the entrance. Wasn’t her companion going to see the famous deity as well? He turned around.
“There are a multitude of fierce angry spirits in your country,” the elderly lady informed him. “I am here to protect my great-great-granddaughter.”
Mr. Aravind’s jaw gaped wide, his pupils dilated and his heartbeat boomed as the ancient matriarch’s image flickered and became transparent, the seat visible through her body. Then she vanished.
When he found the courage to move the car, the engine started without a glitch.
***
Thank you for reading. If you want to see what else I get up to, check out my website where you can find details of my books and audiobooks, free and otherwise:
https://www.writingmynovel-noworkingtitleyet.com/
Stay safe and well. See you soon
Best wishes,
Teagan.
