"No. No. No! I opened those damn curtains!" Emma yelled, opening the closed curtains once again, allowing the street lanterns to shine their light in the living room. She knew she'd opened them because she liked to be welcomed by the rays of sunshine in the morning and thus barely ever closed the curtains. "I'm going mad," she whispered to herself, "going full on mad." She kicked the coffee table, and of course, the only thing breakable on the coffee table fell off the edge and shattered into many, many pieces. Too many for a frustrated person to clean it up. Emma sighed and decided to just go to bed and clean it up in the morning.
But kind of as expected, when she woke up in the morning, pouring herself some coffee, and then remembering the shattered mug, it was already gone. She put down her mug and stared at the spot where the shattered mug had laid yesterday; a faint coffee stain in the carpet to prove it had actually been there. Emma sighed and shook her head. It's been like this for a while, but it was becoming too much.
"Hey ghost!" She yelled, "You must be very kind to clean up my mess, but honestly it's messing a bit with my head, so you can stop it, thank you." But really what did she know, how do you address ghosts and should she say Mr. Ghost? But what if it was a female ghost?
She took the newspaper from the table - hey at least the ghost in her house was nice enough to bring in the newspaper - and started skimming through the pages, landing on the ads page. There in a small corner. Killian Jones, spiritual medium.Questions and house visits. And his number. It was quite strange that she would stumble across the ad now and honestly she was quite sceptic about the whole ghost thing, but perhaps giving it a try wouldn't hurt. She took the phone - of what she was absolutely certain she placed elsewhere - and dialled the number.
"Killian Jones," a deep, warm male voice answered on the other side.
"Hello, my name is Emma -"
"Sorry love," he interrupted, "there is noise on the line, I can't quite hear you."
"Is this better?" Emma asked, moving towards the window.
"Much," Killian answered, she could hear him smile, "I didn't catch your name."
"Emma, I have a problem with a ghost, I believe."
"What are the indications?"
"Most recent example is last night, I always leave the curtains open, and this ghost closes them."
"Are you sure you aren't just absently?"
"I am growing a little mad," Emma admitted, twirling the phone line around her fingers, "But it is happening quite often, so I make absolutely sure I keep them open. But last night also, I... bumped -" she chose the word carefully, making sure the man across the line wouldn't think she was a complete lunatic. "- against the coffee table and dropped the mug, when I woke up the shards were gone."
"A coffee mug, you say?"
"Yes," Emma answered slowly.
"Interesting..."
"Why?" Emma laughed, "Is a coffee mug an absolute indication of a ghost?" Laughter on the other side.
"No," Killian snickered. "Would you like me to come take a look at your house?"
"Yes, perhaps just to ease my mind a little," as Emma spelled out her address it remained silent for a moment. "Mr. Jones, are you still there?"
"I am. You know what, I have a spot in the afternoon, is that all right for you?
"Yes, absolutely," Emma chirped, glad this would get solved quickly.
"All right, I'm gonna do some research on your apartment and your town first, and I'll be over in a few hours."
"Thank you," Emma said and hung up. The next few hours were strange, as if her ghost was starting to become restless. Perhaps the ghost knew she called someone to get rid of it. She walked around a little - often feeling warm, and then very cold again - before deciding to sit down, trying to keep herself calm. Her phone rang, but before she could reach it, the ringing stopped already. No called ID. Emma shrugged, person would have to call back.
An hour after that, someone knocked on her door. Nervously she brushed off invisible dust off her dress and opened the door. A man stood in the hallway, turned out, Killian was a typical tall, dark and handsome. Gorgeous eyes, really. Very blue. He was smiling widely, but his blue eyes looked straight past her, somewhere next to her.
"Do you see the ghost?" Emma whispered a bit scared that there really was a ghost, yet relieved she wasn't really becoming mental. Killian nodded slowly. "Oh thank god, I'm not going mad." He smiled a little and stepped inside as she invited him in.
"There is indeed a ghost in your house," Killian said, "but I'm afraid she doesn't know she's dead... She is talking to me like you're the ghost, and not her."
"Oh," Emma muttered, somewhat uncomfortable by the idea the ghost thinks Emma is the ghost. "That's unfortunate. Is it often that ghosts don't know they are dead?"
"I would love to tell you more about ghosts, but perhaps - to not unsettle her - would you mind not asking too many questions, and if you do, keep them a bit vague? Because your ghost is asking questions as well and this way I might answer them both at the time," Killian smiled at her and then looking around the room. Emma had absolutely no idea of how to handle ghosts, but Killian Jones apparently did.
"Yes of course," she smiled. "So would you like some coffee while you talk?"
"That would be lovely."
"Okay, just one more question," she asked while walking into her kitchen, "Is this a nice ghost?"
"From my experience when a ghost learns he or she is dead, they tend to get a little upset and sometimes even violent, but so far she's very kind. She's even offering me coffee as well."
"How does that work?" Emma frowned, her hands halfway to the coffee machine, hesitating. "Whose coffee will you drink? Mine or hers? Do I pretend to make coffee or?" Killian smirked.
"Do what you regularly do." Emma nodded and poured him a cup of coffee, placing it on the counter.
"You know," Killian started, sitting down in the couch, the cup in his hand. "I thought this case was quite interesting, because a few hours before you called, I received another call from this house, concerning ghosts. It was a different voice, but you both mentioned somewhat the same things, just from another perspective. I'd never had that before, which is why I asked to come by sooner than I usually do. I often wait a few days, because people tend to call back and say it was just their piping or so," Killian laughed, Emma smiled in return. It must be hard for him, not many people believe in ghosts, or want to believe in them. But from what she just heard, they weren't that bad. And her ghost was simply confused.
Emma made way to sit down in the single seat, but Killian held up is hand, "would you mind…" He gestured to the other couch.
"Oh is this where –" Emma whispered with a conspiring tone as if the ghost could suddenly hear her, he briefly nodded and Emma sat down in the other couch.
"So," Killian started again, "You mentioned a coffee mug, would you mind showing me where it fell?"
"Right next to the coffee table," Emma replied, staring at the single seat, perhaps a bit scared that she might suddenly see the ghost. Or that it would realise it's a ghost and try to kill both of them. Killian waited a moment before looking and nodding as he inspected the coffee stain.
"What other things has your ghost done?" Emma started naming all sorts of things, like moving stuff, turning the heat off, and opening the curtains. Sometimes, Killian would hide a small smile, and Emma realised that (should her ghost really have no clue she was a ghost, and thought Emma was the ghost) the ghost was actually saying opposite things. Because for her ghost, Emma was the one turning on the heat and opening the curtains.
"How long have you lived here?" Killian asked upon a silence – he'd taken a notebook and wrote down things she (and her ghost) said. She felt like she was at a shrink. Or maybe she and her ghost needed relationship therapy.
"Since I moved out from my parents' house."
"And when did you first notice something was up?"
"I don't remember," Emma frowned, "Although, I must admit, I wasn't very neat, so I didn't really pay attention to where I left my stuff. But you know, the curtains started making it obvious, because I never to rarely close them," Killian nodded and wrote down a few things. She wondered if he wrote down both the things she said and the things her ghost said. But she didn't want to seem nosy by looking over his shoulder or anything.
"I would very much love to talk with your ghost alone for a moment if that would be possible. A moment when you are not home."
"Oh yes, of course. I am home often though," Emma sighed, a social life wasn't exactly put away for her. She liked being on her own. Just her. And her ghost.
"You could maybe go shopping for a day or so?" Killian suggested.
Emma snorted, "I don't like shopping all that much, but sure."
Killian took an agenda from his bag, "How about a week from now? In the afternoon?"
"Sure," Emma replied, "So do I just leave the key under the doormat, or?"
"Yes, leaving the key under the doormat would be a good idea. After I've spoken with your ghost I will contact you again for a new appointment, perhaps somewhere I can speak with you alone?"
"Yes," Emma agreed, "always speaking vaguely, with a ghost who doesn't know she's a ghost, very strange."
Killian snorted and gave her a 'you tell me' kind of look, betraying he wasn't used to this either. "You don't mind if I don't shake your hand right, wouldn't want to freak the other one out."
Emma opened the door, seeing Killian, she could have hit herself in the head. "Was that today I am so sorry, I can't believe I forgot, it's barely been a week. With this whole ghost thing I tend to be so forgetful."
"That's all right," Killian answered, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He looked around pensively. "You know, I don't see her nor feel her presence..."
"I must admit it has been very calm today," Emma frowned. "Actually, she has been very calm since you were here."
"Ah well, now that I am here I might as well talk to you."
"May I ask you something?" Killian nodded. "I am curious, what does this ghost look like?"
He seemed to think about it for a moment. "She's beautiful," he then concluded.
"I was more wondering, does she look human or is she all bloodied and ghostlike?"
"There is definitely no blood," Killian laughed. "Sometimes she moves a bit strangely, but I think because she is so confident she's still alive, she's looks more human than ghostlike."
"How is it, that she doesn't know she's a ghost?" Emma frowned and poured herself a glass of coke. "Do you want one?"
"No thank you," Killian smiled, sitting down in the couch, his bag next to him, "I don't know why she's unaware she's a ghost, my best guess is that she died suddenly, like a crash or perhaps a murder."
"Please don't tell me she killed herself here? That would definitely be the cause of many nightmares," Emma sighed and sat down in the couch across him, pulling her legs onto the couch as well, her glass in her hand.
"No," Killian shook his head, studying her movements for a small moment - perhaps he thought it was inappropriate for her to sit like this, but honestly she felt much more comfortable knowing the ghost wasn't around. "I do vast research, there is nothing on the apartment. The research is kind of why I wanted to talk to her. You know, finding out her name so the research is a bit easier. No name is hard to go on, and you can't really find a person or a dead girl for that matter just by looks."
Emma snorted, "Yes that seems hard, but don't you have her name? She must have introduced herself on the phone when she called you?"
"Probably, although, I do remember the line was pretty bad that day," he pursed his lips.
"Yes, lots of noise and cracking," Emma recalled.
"Come to think of it, I don't think I ever caught your full name."
"Swan," Emma smiled.
"That's an interesting name, I've never met someone with that last name."
"Me neither, well except my own family. But here's to being the odd one," she shrugged.
"Or unique. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions to find out if this ghost is in any way related to you, if the ghost is attached to you, or the apartment, perhaps an object?"
"Sure, and are you certain you don't want anything to drink?"
"No thank you," Killian answered, taking his notebook from his bag and started writing, "so your name, Emma Swan..." He stated as he wrote it down. He hesitated and then, maybe a bit flirty: "In what year were you born?"
"Is that just a fancy way of asking how old I am?" He smiled guilty. "I'm 27. But, and excuse my forwardness, I don't think I could live with someone who can see ghosts." Killian nodded and he didn't seem offended, for that she was grateful.
"Honestly, that's why most of my dates ended up in nothing. Either they don't believe me, or they're scared to death of ghosts."
"That's a funny way of putting it," she laughed, tracing her finger along the top of her glass.
"In my profession, it would be a grave mistake to not use puns."
Emma grinned and raised her eyebrows, "And do they usually work?"
"I have one that gets mixed reviews: what is a ghost's favourite fruit?"
Emma closed her eyes briefly (as a way of readying herself for the most ridiculous answer) and then looked at him with a smug smirk, "I don't know, what is?"
"Booberries," he answered dryly. Emma snickered, it wasn't so much the joke, it was more his tone. The tone of someone absolutely done with his own jokes.
"And its favourite pie, booberry pie?" She suggested. Killian snorted and shook his head.
"Okay, in all seriousness now. These are just some standard questions to help me figure out with what kind of ghost we're dealing with. Do you have any relatives that died?"
"No."
"Purchased any antique objects lately?"
"No."
"Performed a séance?"
"No," Emma replied once more, this time with a little scoff. Who in their right mind would summon a damn ghost?
"Had a near-death experience?"
"No, or I don't think so? Do you know it when it happens?"
"You often wake up in a hospital," Killian answered, trying to keep his face emotionless, but it was obvious he found the question amusing.
"I haven't been to a hospital," Emma shrugged.
"So, no car crashes either?"
"No. Although my car has been acting up lately, so I just walk everywhere. The thing scares me."
"May I see it?"
"It's in the garage downstairs. But, I'm gonna be honest, I don't remember where I left the key. Or maybe the ghost moved it. Is it okay if I look for it and show you next time?"
They continued to talk until dark about ghostly things mainly; how he found out he had the gift and if he always considered a gift etc. Somewhere around five he received a text - someone with a ghost who wouldn't stop screaming at night. In that way, Emma was glad her ghost at least was silent. They said their goodbyes and she was left alone in her apartment.
The following days were strange, her ghost hadn't moved any stuff or closed the curtains since Killian had been in her apartment. One day she even shattered a mug on purpose to see if the ghosts was still there, but in the morning, the shards were still shattered across the living room. A sense of loneliness took her by surprise.
She'd grown so used to the ghost being around that she nearly missed it. (Or maybe she missed that she couldn't blame the ghost anymore when she forgot where she placed something.)
About three or four days after his last visit Emma received a phone call.
"Hey Emma," Killian greeted her on the phone, she would recognise his voice everywhere. It's warmth and kindness was amazingly comforting.
"Hi, did I forget another appointment?" She joked.
"No but I wanted to know if you had something to do right now, because I was at the local cemetery and I found your ghost's grave."
"Eh, creepy?" She hesitated.
"I also wanted to ask you a few more questions without the ghost around," he whispered, "So if possible, would you mind coming up here?"
"Okay," Emma shrugged, "Oh but I still didn't find the key for my garage door, so I will have to walk."
"I have time," Killian was smiling, "See you later."
She arrived at the cemetery, seeing Killian in the far back, waving at her once. She suddenly realised that he was indeed rather far away, and that's where the older graves were. How old was this ghost?
"Hey," she said as she was in hearing distance.
"Hey," he replied, gesturing for her to stop behind the stone. It was old and gray, a bit sad really. "Listen, Emma, I didn't really need to ask you something, but I did find the grave I wanted to show you." Emma nodded with a smile, "I'm sorry, I really didn't know any other way to tell you."
"What are you talking about? Is it a relative of mine?" He nodded at the headstone, for her to see it. Emma slowly walked towards him.
"No," she muttered, almost instantaneously tearing up. "NO!" She yelled, falling on her knees right before the headstone, shaking her head furiously. Through her tear-filled eyes she tried to look at the headstone once more, but even through the blurriness, she could easily read it. Emma Swan. She nearly choked while gasping for breath. It felt like a being hit in the chest with a hammer, the difficulty to breathe, the chest ache of the realisation. No matter how hard she screamed, her voice slowly becoming hoarse, it didn't seem to go away.
The screaming and crying slowly became soft sobs, her hands foul with dirt from tearing out the grass, and eventually just hitting the sand - she could see exactly where she had repeatedly pulled out grass, and hit the ground; like she could feel it all the way down there, in her coffin. But honestly all she felt now was emptiness.
"Emma?" Killian slowly broke through her bubble, she must have sat there screaming at her own headstone for what felt like hours, yet he was still here. She looked up.
"I remember," the hoarseness of her voice surprised her a little as she spoke, but she continued anyway, "you said something about not scaring the ghost, because they might get violent. The fuck is this?" She pointed at the headstone, "This isn't scary?"
"I'm sorry," Killian whispered. "You were so convinced you were still alive. Most ghosts I deal with have some notion of being dead - some simply don't care and pretend to be alive, but I didn't know how to deal with you." Emma caught herself as she rocked back and forth, like patients in a mental hospital did, trying to calm herself down. Tears still leaking from her eyes and she couldn't stop it. She looked at the headstone once more.
Emma Swan. October 22, 1913 - July 19, 1940.
"What's today's date?"
"January 26th, 2015," Killian answered. Another grasp at her breath; she'd been dead for almost 75 years and she never realised a thing.
"I don't..." She took a deep breath, it seemed to ease her chest a little. "I don't remember how I died."
"Do you want me to tell you?" Killian offered, taking a file map from his bag, in a messy handwriting it said 'Emma Swan Case'.
"Was it bad?"
"Police report said you died immediately, I believe that's why you don't remember or maybe ever didn't realise you were dead; because of the suddenness of it all," Emma nodded as he spoke, him telling her she was dead still sounded so strange.
"So, how'd it happen?"
"Car crash," he answered, he took her silence as an invitation to continue. "I found this article on the internet."
Emma shrugged in defeat, a runny nose and tears eyes made her sound exhausted, "I don't know what that is."
"It can be compared to a very advanced library," Killian offered, but perhaps something in his voice betrayed that that was not all. Yet she accepted it, she was too tired. He started to read. "July 19th, 1940. A fatal car crash cost the life to a family of four. The son and daughter lost their lives immediately. Mother and father were brought to the hospital, but they died later due to their injuries." Emma felt like screaming again, she didn't know what was worse. Knowing her whole family died, or never once in those 75 years questioning why her parents never called, or why her brother never visited. Another gust of anxiety came over her, once more leaving her almost completely breathless.
"So, did we crash into a wall, or?" Emma tried to keep herself talking before she would go back to the shock and lock everything out.
"No, there was another driver, he hit you off the road. Initial police report says it was a hit and run, but later notes said he later had to turn himself in as he suffered multiple injuries as well and required medical attention. He was drunk at the time of the accident."
"Did he die?" She asked angrily.
"Of old age."
"Son of a bitch!" Emma yelled, smacking her hands once more in the dirt. It was so unfair, why did he get to live a long life?
"His gravestone is a few rows away, you can go kick it if you want," Killian suggested, trying to keep the air light. Emma couldn't help but smile.
Yet, she shook her head. "Now what?"
"We get you to cross over," Killian answered as if it was the most obvious answer. Perhaps it was.
"We?"
"I'm not gonna let you do this alone," he shrugged, placing the map back into his bag.
"Why, you scared I'm gonna stay and become a violent ghost?" Emma smirked.
"Because the process can get quite emotional, but if you don't want me here." Killian started walking towards his car.
"No, wait. Stay," she reached out for him, her fingers around his wrist. He felt warm and strange, as opposed to everything feeling cold all the time. Slowly she realised that the times she felt warm in her apartment, were the times the humans walked through her. And it was sad really. She slowly let go of him.
"So do I go to heaven?"
"Or hell," Killian grinned. She punched his shoulder and he pretended to hurt.
"Very funny," she glared at him.
"Truth is, I don't know, Emma. I'm a bit sceptic about the whole heaven and hell thing."
"Says the man who talks to the dead."
"That doesn't mean I believe in an afterlife," Killian shrugged, "I believe it there is something, but I don't know what."
"How come I can see you, and not the people around me, I mean sometimes I see other people, but why not the people that lived in my house?
"I like to see myself as a bridge between the two worlds, both the living and the dead can see me," he said, "Let's see. Can you see the man by that headstone over there?" He subtly pointed to a man more to the front of the cemetery.
"Yes?"
"There's another woman. The man has died and he's comforting his wife as she cries by his headstone."
"So you can see both the dead and the living." Killian nodded. "Wow, it's double as crowded for you, amazing." Emma gave him a sarcastic smile. "Can other ghosts see the living? I mean, those who deliberately haunt people?"
"I think it has to do with knowing they're dead. You know you're dead now, but it was quite a shock. Should you stay a little longer, which I strongly advice against, I suppose in time you could start seeing the living as well."
"Strongly advice against?" Emma raised her eyebrow.
"I can help you cross over, I can't force you," He explained. "If you really want to stay, then you can easily choose to do so."
"I don't want to stay..." Emma whispered.
"Okay," Killian smiled.
She breathed in deeply, breathing in the fresh air, wiping her face clean. "So what happens now? There's a light?"
"Often, yes."
"That's ridiculous." Emma sighed. Killian smiled at her bluntness. But he knew better, the dead often told tales of seeing the light before crossing over. So he liked to believe it was true. But the light was not for everyone.
"It can be different for you, like perhaps your family waiting to welcome you back? Or a bunch of warmth trying to invite you to come closer." Emma quickly looked around her, trying to find her family. She shook her head. "Is there anything you would like to see in your life?"
"Sunset," Emma suddenly exclaimed, tears filling up in her eyes once again - and then a smile. "I'd never seen a sunset on a beach before, because it was too far. So when we got our first car we drove to the nearest beach, but we never made it."
Killian nodded, "It's five thirty now, sun sets in about an hour. Nearest beach is forty-five minutes."
"Really?"
"Yes really," Killian took her hand, not quite caring if the living saw him holding 'nothing', walking towards his car. He opened the passengers door for her.
"Wow, are you certain? I mean... It was a car that killed me..."
Killian snorted, "good thing you can't be killed twice then."
"Oh, you are hilarious," she glared at him and got in the car.
They arrived at a pier a little later than expected, the sun was already hanging low. She quickly ran out of the car - not bothering to close the door. The moment she stepped onto the sand of the beach she felt the warmth on her, as if it came from the sun. For once she wasn't unmoved by the wind, her dress waved softly, her blonde curls blew into her face. She turned around to see Killian stand a about fifteen feet away from her, keeping his distance. Maybe they were humans on the beach, but there weren't any ghosts. Just her. Like the sun was going down into the most beautiful sunset, just for her. (And Killian.)
Emma sat down, burying her hands into the warm sand, never taking her eyes off the scenery, not until it completely disappeared into the sea, and when it did, the warmth was still there. She stared at the horizon for long while before getting up and brushing the sand off her dress.
It was enough, time to go.
"I'm ready," she whispered, Killian nodded and stepped closer, barely a foot away. "Will you tell this lady that I'm sorry I thought she was the ghost?"
"Yeah," Killian laughed, "I will."
"And that I terrorised her without meaning to?"
Again laughter, "yes."
"Oh by the way," Emma said, turning around to face him once more, "I got one for your stupid ghost puns," She leaned closer, her mouth near his ear, "you have a nice boooooo-ty." Emma grinned, almost childlike. It was beautiful.
Killian laughed, placing a strand of hair behind her ear, "And I think you're very boo-tiful." Emma smiled, standing tiptoe to press a soft kiss on his cheek.
"Thank you, Killian Jones," she spoke softly. "Goodbye."
AN: thank you for reading, this could be a oneshot, but I have an idea for another chapter or two - like, did she really cross over, wouldn't it be strange if she suddenly showed up at Killian's place, saying she couldn't cross over?
Or Killian's POV, it might be interesting to see how he saw the whole situation with both Emma and the lady of the house talking to him at once.
But you know, that's up to you, I'm willing to write it, but not if no one wants to read it :')
Reviews, tips and comments are always appreciated, thank you! x