By Kayla Keppler ‘26
The humble, oat-colored cottage house sitting atop a small slope covered in crocodile
green, untrimmed grass, never seemed so empty. The neighboring barn with a sturdy straw roof, which was built only about 100 yards away from the house, held all of the unused tools, just taking up space. The peeled, faded, berry wood on the barn stood cheerless, but nevertheless, stood tall as it held its ground over the crops. Big, bright Rouge d’Etampes pumpkins, bearing a vivid, red rind, held up by the shamrock vines, were scattered across the spacious farmlands in a clumped design. With all of the recent rainfall, the pumpkins did not need any human tending to them, carelessly watering their roots at a slow rate, mumbling about the quantity in which he’d need to hydrate.
With the cumulonimbus clouds sweeping over the sky, as it does every so often, the pale little figure wandered through the yard, blending in perfectly with the colorless hue of everything else around him. The salty breeze blew at the leaves of the autumn trees, coming in harsh from the nearby ocean. Peeking out from behind a tractor, the ghost, with large eyes as hollow and dark as the depths of the Mariana Trench, stared in silence at the group of black crows, greedily gobbling up the meat of one of the pumpkins. Their beaks stabbed into the scarlet flesh, tearing pieces from the inside.
With an emotionless look, the ghost turned away, his loneliness getting the better of him. But, he was determined to continue his mission to look for his wife; she was the only one who kept him company during his years spent on Earth. Oh, how he longed to see Tenshi in ghost form, imagining her to be just as beautiful as she was just one month ago before she left her mortal body. Her soft, ivory, wrinkly skin aged beautifully with time. Her baby blue eyes shined like aquamarine gemstones.
However, now, when Yami brought up his remembrance of Tenshi, the first thing he could picture was a blurred face, sleeping to her demise on the red sheets of her resting place. He could only remember her cries in pain, slowly shifting to the calming sound of soft waves rushing up against the sand as she took her last breath. And he joined her only two weeks later, in death. Yami now haunts their house, anxiously awaiting his ghost wife’s return to him.
The days slowly passed. Yami crept through every crevice and corner of his old home, hoping to catch a glimpse of his sweet Tenshi. The ghost took a few seconds to admire her prized jewelry and her collection of ceramic figures; he swept his fluid ghost hands over each individual trinket. He often pondered how things took a turn for the worse, and how he was left alone in this cruel, immortal world, without his darling Tenshi.
The abandoned ghost, forced to be left in solitude until the finding of his beloved wife, took a stroll on the nearby beaches. Tenshi loved the beaches. She would take walks with Yami almost every day when they were younger.
As Yami cruised along the sand, he couldn’t stop picturing Tenshi next to him. But she did not appear.
But then, at the sound of thunder, forewarning a heavy rainstorm, Yami spotted a gleaming silver dagger, sticking out of the sand, sharp-side up. Yami gazed upon the lonesome knife, his translucent arms flinching; the red, rusted tip of the dagger rested smugly, glaring up at Yami’s eyes, which lacked the presence of a lively soul. He cocked his head to his right, examining the curious crimson stain on the blade.
Upon seeing the dagger, the ghost nonchalantly traveled back to his home, a reminder seeping back into his mind. And through the front door, he moved down the hallways filled with memories that seemed so distant. He paused when he noticed the large portrait in the family living room hung on the wall above the couch. The large photograph displayed Yami, Tenshi, their brown poodle, Keiko, and their only daughter, Namida, who was probably still living in the United States as a doctor.
Turning the other way, Yami continued, turning at the end of the hallway to the entrance of the basement. He floated through the closed, old wooden door, levitating down the cracked steps. The dim, yellow glow from four small candles illuminated the cement room. Yami reached the floor, tilting his head down at the appearance of Tenshi’s picture, which was made the centerpiece of the room. Her smiling face in the photo was surrounded by dead rose wreaths. A wide freezer was located at the back wall of the basement, the melting candles surrounding it in a perfect pattern.
Yami inched closer to the freezer, placing a crystalline hand on the lid. This is where he carried his treasured Tenshi and laid her down to preserve her body. He remembered her still eyes, her mouth hanging open, and her ripped-open chest, as he stabbed her over and over again…
Yami froze.
At last, he understood. His dear Tenshi, whom he refused to share with anyone else, was an angel and had gone to Heaven.