You can talk to ghosts, but you’ve never liked using your power much. That is, until you realized ghosts have problems too, and they’re willing to pay, in their own way, for solutions to those problems. You launch a new business venture.
I was one of those kids, brought up at that dreadful time right after the counterculture of the 90s hit full peak, into the Technologic Revolution's bosom, the madness of the Social era, and the prevalent belief that the arrow of progress moved only forward. None of us ever quite fit in the culture of finding your own path, pull up by the bootstraps bullshit and the mental health paradigm shift was still a ways from happening, and thus we grew up surrounded by messages of positivity and hope for the present, while our lives, emotions and mental states fell apart. We held each other together, through tough times, and helped anchor each to their reality, away from their psychoses, as life relentlessly tried to bat us down. I wasn’t ever anything other than barely not fully poor. Nevertheless, academic curiosity and the need to understand drove me through anthropology in community college (well past the supposed dreaded age of 21). I was supposed to stay, but the more I learned, the more despondent I became about society’s complete lack of understanding of its own past, and its refusal to admit silly myths like money being the engine of society or the necessity of the work economy to be false. At this point I was well into what most people would describe as the ‘weird spectrum’, and a lot of those in trouble here attract each other, mental health issues and their particular quirks be damned. So, perhaps I was uniquely susceptible to believing the voices I heard in my head ever since I reached adulthood were just parts of my imagination. I had always been a bit on the creative side and, having read on the subject, I was aware that sometimes these could take your own knowledge and perspective, and present convincing argument and dialogue at you. They’d invent fantastic personalities, sometimes very modern, sometimes ancient, and argue, but it was all in my mind, I thought. I took my medication dilligently, sometimes I talked back to these voices, but mostly, I just held them to be yet another not quite working element of my life experience, to be firmly kept at arm’s length This particular day, though, I had been struggling with the limitations of my physical body, AGAIN. Sitting down in my computer chair, finally given a moment’s respite, I sighed. “I wish this fucking body would just be able to be what I need it to be, to work properly. For fuck’s sake.” Still cradling my stomach carefully, I was only mildly surprised when a voice coming from my bed concurred. “I can quite understand the feeling, yes. Sometimes, I wish my body could do the same and help itself out to do what I need of it. Life’s not so kind though.” Now, in my defense, I had spent the last hour between my bed and the shitter, flushing down the contents of my extremely malfunctioning stomach, so give me some leeway, but I wasn’t in the mood for random voices. Preparing to snap back at it, I was stopped dead in my tracks as it continued. “Hounded all the way, country to country, city to city, with my family, sometimes they treat me as a girl, and sometimes as a boy, depending on what it says on the passport, whatever we need to escape, but it never quite fits. It’d be exasperating... if I had the time to think about it. Instead I had to run, and run. Can’t fix what’s outside, and won’t give up on what’s inside” At this point, I was quite about done with this voice, but the sadness in its voice deterred me. I felt a bit annoyed that my mind was attempting to torment me in some weird way, attempting to find a parallel with a much more dramatic situation, but something in my natural empathic response held my biting retort back. Instead, I offered commiseration. “Yeah, well, I suppose that’s true on all times of life. Tough luck, buddy, we never seem to quite be given the time and space to fit in with our bloody hands trying to stop the gears grinding and trampling from above.” They seemed to embrace the sentiment, a small cheeky tone as they replied. “Too true, too true. Too busy trying to murder us to listen, for being different, for being visible, for not... refusing to be us.” The voice could not be more than 15/16, having just fully broken through the voice cracks of puberty, but far from maturity. They, whoever they were, seemed just as traumatized by life as I was, possibly even worse. The subtext of their experiences was... a bit too obvious for my knowlede of history My sense of kinship reached out to them. “Power and control, buddy, power and control. Whatever they can’t order around to do what they want, they’ll look to chain down whatever way they can.” An audible snort could be heard. “Isn’t that the truth... I’ve come here several times now, you know. I like listening to you rant from the windowsill... You’re a brash one, but a nice person. Despite all your issues, you understand. Sometimes, one will never fit in.” I nodded to myself. This voice was... alright, as voices went, cool. “I figured... that maybe, you could help me. I... have long since made peace with the way it all ended, but my family... Well, I can’t really use a computer like this, not that I’d even know how to use one... but I’d like to know if my little sister made it out. I remember, the ocean... the endless waves made me nauseous beyond the end, and then a great big boom, and it was... we must have been attacked, but, she was in her cot at the time... maybe, she made it out.” A part of me experienced some nostalgic sadness. Like many other voices, it’d reveal itself to be just that. A shame, after all, if I asked it for a name, surely it would end up giving me something unusable. “Well, if I can help you, I’ll need a name.” Preparing myself for disappointment, I waited. The voice came closer, surprisingly. “Sylvia Rosenplatz... well, her last passport said Sílvia Pereira, if that helps, sister to... Matthias. Ugh. Please call me Matte. Daughter of David and Aurora.” I was quite shocked. That was detail, some amount of it. Well... time to break that illusion. “Alright then, Matte. Let’s see what we can do.” Humoring my own voices, and figuring that I wasn’t so far gone that my brain would alter the google searches to indulge itself, I searched. The first few results came empty, but then... ‘Sylvia Rosenplatz, age 84, a survivor of the refugee trips, writer and historian, sister to Matthias Rosenplatz, daughter of David and Aurora Rosenplatz, all deceased at sea during the sinking of the SS Avoceta.’ Old newspaper. Proper old, fourties. Record preserved for posterity from that sinking. The names reappeared referenced there, in this blog that remembered survivors of the atrocities. As soon as the pictures of her during her early thirties and fourties appeared, the voice reacted. “Oh, it’s her, it is her! Looks just like Mother did. Oh wow. Thank you. Wow. What a relief. It’s good to know... she made it to old age. She survived all of it. That’s... good.” My brain was still percolating the waves of shock bouncing back and forth inside it. There was no way to be 100% sure, but... this was far above and beyond any sort of historical trivia and information about an obscure family I could have ever been personally expected to know... and yet there it was, and correct... accurate to the names and expected story. In the back of my mind, Matte was still talking. “Well, that’s... I’m happy. I don’t think I’m so... ready to move on. This era still holds so much to learn and understand, but... I think I can at least... leave for a while, move on through my path a bit more. Anything I can do for ya while I’m gone?” My brain was still on autopilot, engaged in semi-snark mode as I processed what just had happened, and so it gave the default answer I’d ask of any friend. “Well, given that I don’t think you can much fix what’s wrong with this shitcan of a body and how it keeps breaking down in uncurable ways... perhaps, lend a hand to my best friend? She’s been struggling with her own... issues, and can’t seem to regain the motivation or interest for things, and it’s severely hampering her wellbeing to not have an outlet. Just... ease stuff for her a bit, and give her something to enjoy, alright?” The voice drifted to the open window, a more content cheerier tone. “Yes! I can do that.” It seemed to have its attention still at me. “You know, you’re a kind soul... I know your body doesn’t make it easy, but... you really should go easy on yourself. There’s always something else, and you’ve got a gift... don’t give up. I’ll be here, rooting for you from the side.” I mumbled an appreciative noise as the voice dissolved into the evening air. What a weird experience I just had. Surely though... surely it was a coincidence. Still, I went to sleep quite troubled that night. For the days after, I threw myself at the videogame I was trying out viciously. I figured that it had to have been a coincidence, and it was best not to make much of it. Nevertheless, next weekend, when my friend messaged me, I promptly went to read, and was surprised. ‘i’m so hyped! dude, I found this really cool new series, and at first I was really still struggling, under the weather, and not really coping with stuff, but then I got into it, and daaaaamn. the characters, and all the stories, the worldbuilding and the little details, i fell down the rabbit hole completely for the last two days, and it’s been so nice. i’ve gotten my writing mood back, and my head’s been so quiet, it sounds like a temple. it’s so nice to feel like this again!” I was so elated to hear this, and told her how happy I was for her, and I was about to continue asking about it, when it dawned on me. Two days ago? Wait. Waitwait. . I figured I’d tell her. My friend was always the one into the paranormal, seeking out the haunted houses, searching for those weird energy spots, and the interesting tales. If nothing, she’d get a kick out of it. “So, this is funny, but... let me tell you about this thing that happened...” She seemed legitimately flabbergasted at first, but then she excitedly replied asking me all about it, as I relayed my little exchange with Matte. Her reply was direct: 'lol. i guess not all those voices in your head are voices after all. funny. told you, you have the gift, you can reach them too.' I tried not to snark, didn't want to rain on her parade, after all, but I did express some dubiousness. 'try listening a little more, and talking a little less. me thinks you might have found a calling.'
I put this out of my mind for the next few days. My stomach eventually wrestled itself into some sort of peace, but not a permanent one, and I settled into trying to find some tranquility through another videogame, when the very next Monday, I was rudely interrupted out of my shower.
"Oh, there you are. Y'er the fella that helped that young kid. Matthias, no, sorry, Matte... Terrible story, that was. He'd been around asking for a while, so good on ya for giving him a hand. Now, I can't touch this fancy newfangled tech, and most young'ns run for the hills when I talk to them, maybe you'll be different. Name's Samuel Adams, Lieutenant serving... well formerly serving at USS Lansdale. No need to give me your name, kid. Figured you could help me with figuring out what happened to my crewmates. In return... well, kid, I'll be honest, I grew up in an age where this whole gender and sexuality rigmarole is a bit beyond me, but I can recognize a piece-of-shit father when I see one. Maybe I'll give yours a right kick in the balls before I travel to the Halls above."
I confess, up until then I had my doubts about the whole ordeal. But, a commissioned officer on a Navy Ship is NOT something my mind could produce out of thin air, and while I liked history and facts, this was absolutely not in there. I nodded with some degree of vengeance. "Why not. USS Lansdale, right?" It took me a full afternoon's work, but I did mostly reconstruct the careers of those serving in that ship, with helpful tips about servicemen from my... jovial, straightforward companion. "We sure stuck it to those Jap... never mind." My expression told him enough, I assumed. "Well, you know, war times ain't easy, kid. Still, can't deny your point, part of me is happy to see that in the end we won out, and part of me is sad at what my country's become." "Makes two of us. I have friends over there." "No doubt, no doubt. Well, my word's to keep. I'll shake up your old man's dreams, see if he gets the fear o'God in him. Would do him some good. Maybe see if I can help some, back home. You're alright, kid. I know... it really isn't much of a 'job' per se, but there's a lot of souls lost. Graveyard nearby, and all. Maybe you should consider it, embrace the mess. Thanks for your service. Be seeing ya, hopefully in a long while."
This didn't sit right with me. The analytical part of me that searched for an innate order to the universe... the empathic part of me that wanted to fix all the lives gone wrong, however, was adamantly yapping away on how, yes, this is all you ever wanted from life, dumbass, and why noy take it. The parting shots of this particular violent debacle played around in my mind for a week and a half. Up until I met my friend from Ancient Rome.
He spent a few days introducing himself. I've never studied Latin in any of its varieties, and while I could scratch a lot on the basis of root words and commonalities. Paullus Demius Marcenius was his name. I won't bother you with my absolute horrid attempts at Latin, and our back and forth. He had been buried in a Roman graveyard not far from where I lived, and had been there so long he'd forgotten even why he still lingered here, but his wish was to once again lay eyes on the hills upon which he was born. A painful cross-referencing of maps and a week later, I managed to arrive at a small field overlooking a pair of mounds, dotted with houses. Surprisingly, it didn't look that much different than what it did during Paullus's time. His departing blessing was different, though. Rain, right in the middle of June, breaking a wave of heat that had threatened to render me completely useless for the next month.
From then on, the requests multiplied. Given how some of them referenced this particular episode, I suspect ole Paul might have gone above and beyond as a reward for my frankly exhausting week trying to understand him. Regardless, I soon found myself taking case after case. Relaying this to my buddy, she acerbically commented 'too bad you can't make a services corporation in the otherworld. you'd make a small fortune. thanks for the free meal ticket at that nice restaurant tho. i was needing that.'
Intending to make a light joke at her comment's expense, I set on the wall of my room and outside my window, two little wooden plaques I had made. They contained the inscription: "Beyond, Bath and Bed. Because sometimes, the Universe gets it wrong too, and you need a hand to move forward." Little did I know how much that little joke would come back to haunt me. Beyond, Bath and Bed is now 26 people spread across 19 countries, and growing, serving more and more 'customers' through the medium of... well, natural mediums.
They pay in small favors, kindnesses, sometimes thumbing the odds in our favour in certain aspects, payment freely given after we sort whatever ails them. We pay no taxes and no salaries, as a volunteer corporation, but... your honor, you must realize I absolutely did not intend to infringe any copyright, nor trample on anyone's good name!
"I understand, my friend. I merely ask you to find a way to sign that document. After all, I intend to save you some hassle in the Place Above. Just in case someone does decide to sue you for that little clever in-joke you thought of. Don't worry, I won't forget to help the little ones at the service center you asked for." The serious, professional voice of Judge Arthur Hammers made sure to drive home the point that this was the best negotiation I'd get to solve this 'issue' I didn't know I'd have.
Argh! I just... why do humans have to make such a MESS of everything!!! (A.N. As per usual, prompt posts are done without much editing, so apologies for the lack of polish, but with some minor research. I also lost a bit of it to the Beta editor not allowing me long replies for some reason. Ugh. Hope y’all have fun)
