GHOST OF A CHANCE

by Roderick Stewart

Logan was your typical security guard on the night shift.

Fresh out of university, he graduated with honors with a Bachelor of Arts degree. But due to the global recession, a low-paying job was all he could muster.

It depressed him, among other things. Thousands of dollars spent and all it got him was here. He felt helpless, as if his future had been stripped away by an unforeseeable force leaving him utterly defenseless.

After finishing his rounds, he returned to the main lobby. It wasn’t a large building and his patrol only took him ten to fifteen minutes tops. He paused momentarily, then returned to the security office located at the end of an alcove behind the elevators.

But after climbing the three steps leading up to the office, he paused curiously when he noticed the door was propped open, for which he knew he had closed it when he left. Inside was another guard.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he said to the mysterious, young man. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

The guard briefly eyed him and then turned back to write something down in his notebook.

Logan sat down in a chair next to the other. The guard was from the same security company.

“No one told me I was training someone tonight,” Logan said causally.

But the guard ignored him.

Puzzled, Logan raised his voice. “Hey man, I’m talking to you!”

“I know,” the other replied calmly.

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

Logan leaned over and looked at the guard’s name on the front of his notebook after he closed it.

“Shaun Michaels, eh? Like the wrestler?”

“Yeah, but spelled differently,” the other answered coolly.

“So why did the company send another guard here?” Logan asked.

“Because they needed someone to fill the slot.”

Perplexed by Michaels answer, Logan frowned. He paused momentarily before speaking. “But I work here, and this is a single guard shift,” he said questioningly.

“Yes, and I’m that guard now,” Michaels said candidly.

Still confused, Logan said, “I’ll get to the bottom of this. If I’ve been terminated, I want to know!”

He took out the site cell from his pocket and dialed head office, but all he got was dead air. There wasn’t even a dial tone.

Michaels looked at Logan nonchalantly. “You won’t get through,” he said.

Logan growled under his breath frustrated after trying twice more, but Michaels was correct. He couldn’t get through. It was dead. “What’s with the phone?”

Michaels expression mirrored empathy. “How long have you been here?”

“I was assigned here a few months ago,” Logan said.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean, how long have you been here?”

“I just told you!”

Michaels gave Logan a serendipitous look. “I see, so you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Michaels nodded. “I understand. You’re continuing as if nothing’s happened.”

There was a slight pause whereas Michaels looked thoughtful. Logan had seen this expression before, just before someone delivered bad news.

Michaels stared at Logan with sensitive eyes. “You’re dead,” he said bluntly.

Logan laughed. “This is a lame April’s Fool joke.”

“I’m serious. The police came and everything. Don’t you remember?”

Logan sat back in the chair. “Stop it. That’s not funny.”

“Your body was found in one of the underground parking storage rooms with a punch number lock.”

Logan snorted angry. He stood, and the chair rolled back with force crashing into the wall. “Stop it! Who put you up to this?”

Michaels shook his head. “You’re totally unaware of it, aren’t you?”

“Of what?”

“That you’re dead.”

“That joke’s wearing thin. I’m calling head office and reporting you!” Logan dialed with his phone, forgetting for a moment it didn’t work. “Give me your phone.”

Michaels retrieved a cell from his belt and put it on the table next to him. Logan immediately noticed it was the exact same phone he had.

“It won’t do you any good,” Michaels explained. “And you won’t be able to touch it.”

“Stop it! This isn’t funny anymore!” Logan shouted.

“Tragic deaths are never humorous,” Michaels replied sympathetically.

“I’m not dead! Stop saying that!” Logan reached for the phone, but shockingly his hand passed through it and the table. “What the hell?” He repeated the action with the same result.

“The dead can not consciously touch what exists in the living, with few exceptions,” Michaels explained. “Your ethereal form isn’t anchored corporally to this world anymore.”

Logan stared at his hand in disbelief.

“You were able to touch certain things before because you had interacted with them as they were a part of both your conscious and subconscious minds. It’s a poltergeist trait.”

“I was able to use the elevator.”

“Yes, that’s because you remember how to operate it, so your ethereal energy subconsciously projected your actions.”

Logan tried to touch the chair he had launched across the room moments earlier, he felt faint and he wanted to sit down, but his hand passed through it. “But I had just. . .”

“Now that your consciousness is adjusting to its new truth, certain realities are becoming absolute.”

Logan, wide-eyed, said, “It’s not true! What happened?”

“From what I heard, you killed yourself.”

Anxiety and fear flushed Logan’s face. “No. . .I would never. . .I’m not capable. . .things weren’t that bad. . .” He then looked at Michaels sternly. “Wait a minute, if I’m dead. . .how come you me, huh? People can’t see ghosts!”

“I had a small brain tumor removed a couple of years ago that left me sensitive to certain paranormal energies. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“How long?” Logan finally asked.

“Three weeks ago. That’s how long the investigation took.”

“But I just came to work tonight after two days off. I took the bus here like I always do. I remember that clearly!”

“It’s called loop memory. Time is irrelevant to a trapped spirit, especially after an unaccepted death.”

“I saw no evidence of suicide in the storage rooms when I checked them. No one’s used them in months.”

“You saw what you wanted to see. To you, the event hasn’t occurred. In your case, you re-act events up to a certain point and then loop back. Your mind is unable to accept it, haunting this building, repeating the same events over and over.”

Logan blinked twice. “How did I kill myself?” he stuttered fretfully.

“With a pen to your heart,” Michaels said with regret. “The police matched it to the ink in your notebook. They also found your journals saying how unhappy you were.”

“I know I have problems like the next guy, but it hardly justifies killing myself?”

“Who are you trying to convince, me or you?”

Logan slumped his shoulders, his eyes saddened with grief. “I can’t believe it.”

“Depression can be overwhelming if left untreated, even in short term.”

Logan sighed deeply. “How do you know so much about spirits?”

“Paranormal research is a hobby of mine,” Michaels said, pulling out a book on the subject from a backpack. He then shivered.

“Are you alright?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, it’s just getting cold in here.”

“It’s characteristic of heightened paranormal activity, isn’t it?” Logan said sadly.

“Yes,” Michaels said impressed. “It’s said a sudden temperature drop in an otherwise warm room indicates paranormal activity. Not always, however. Only when in the presence of an unhappy spirit. But once the spirit acknowledges its own death, it can then pass on.”

Michaels smiled at Logan, pushing the book away. He then leaned back in his chair with his fingers cusped together in front. “Let’s talk. I may not be a psychiatrist, but sometimes all a person needs is someone who will listen.”

At that moment, an overwhelming wave of relief enveloped Logan, as he exchanged a smile with Michaels.

He nodded.

They talked all night.