“Having spent the greater part of my adult life in the pursuit of things paranormal, with a focus especially on proving the existence of ghosts, I have learned that not only are there occasions in which the soul survives the body, but that certain conditions must be met in order for this method of continuation to be induced.
“There exists a connection between the existence and activity of spirits and the places where forms of energy are produced or gathered. Understand that a house is most often the location of a haunting, where there are electrical outlets, pipes directing the flows of water, gas lines supplying the fuel to fire ovens, even people living, hearts beating, neurons firing, all of this as opposed to a haunted pond, or haunted field where only wind directs the subtle ripple of water or the momentary bending of branches.
“Places such as ponds and fields may influence the fears within men, harnessing moods based on the images they present, They may seem haunted. For example, in the winter beneath a clouded moon, a leafless tree may conjure thoughts of great claws tearing through the ground. Under the same conditions, a pond may seem a reflective portal to some opposing dimension to those prone to thoughts so fantastic. However, rarely are there actual spirits inhabiting these places, as there is not enough energy for such ethereal beings to draw their existence from. Where as ghost ships may sail the ocean, because the seas roll with force, and are in a constant movement, and such movements are ever producing limitless amounts of energy, a pond merely sits, water in a hole. While the many minerals of a rocky desert may hold elements radiating energies unseen, a field is dirt and plant together, yet alone.
“And that is why I have traveled so far to find this particular pond at the end of this particular field. There are no spirits here, nor can there ever be spirits here, as this frog-less pond is often still as glass, and this field, brown with tall reeds, that though occasionally sway in the breeze, do not toil with the ferocity of the ocean’s currents. No, to die in this place is to have existence ended. No mysterious light sources at the end of strange tunnels, no visitations from departed family members urging onward. Nothing. Peace, in dreamless forever sleep. Now do you understand why I have brought you here?”
By a pond at the end of a field, James Lansing looked quizzically at his friend Professor Neil Kentworth, baffled by the speech he had just heard.
“Neil, I am afraid that I could not understand anything you have just told me.”
Kentworth sighed.
“It is really very simple James. Ghosts do exist, or should I say can exist if the conditions are right for them to latch waves formed from living brain activity onto death carrying waves of energy currents that surround certain places, most places I should add. But here, ghosts cannot exist, nor be formed and so to die in this place, is to simply exist no longer, no consciousness to wander eternity, no chains of regret to weigh down Jacob Marley, it is the true end you see. Death here means death, and not the beginning of an after life.”
“Dearest Neil, I fear for you, perhaps you have been working too hard, or maybe there is some other thing affecting you. I still do not grasp the purpose of taking me here. Why would you show me such a place and tell me these strange things? What has happened to you my friend, to cause such madness?”
Turning his back, Kentworth replied, “Natalie.”
“Natalie? What has she to do with this?”
“We are in love James. It is a horrible and yet most wonderful thing, to discover that my friend’s wife shared the secret interest I had felt since the day she was introduced to me, so many years ago. Thoughts that were only innocent imaginings suddenly became the most potent and compelling force, the weight of years urging cursed lovers in the only direction available to such poisonous serpents, doomed to crawl on their bellies. A wretched path that leads to this place James. Can you not see now?”
Angered, Lansing raised a fist.
“Enough Neil! I have had quite enough of this. What you have done is unforgivable as it is insane. You have somehow infected the mind of my beloved wife with your lusting betrayal, you speak of ghosts and of energies and of unique placings like a madman with a brain fever! Then, you lure me here to this pond at the end of a field, in the middle of nowhere and for what reason? To confess your treachery?”
Neil Kentworth interrupted his former friend’s rant by shooting him. A single bullet from a small revolver produced a neat hole in James Lansing’s forehead.
“I thought you would understand James. I needed to kill you here, by this pond, in this field, so your spirit could not survive, to plague the nightmares of Natalie and I as we begin a new life together.”
Kentworth rolled the body into the pond, its surface rippled for a moment, but soon resumed its glassy aspect.
_____________
©2010 Edward Vitolo
Edward Vitolo is an aspiring author from New York City. His story Violetlander will be featured in the July 2010 edition of Bards and Sages.
Tags: Edward Vitolo
January 22nd, 2010 at 11:17 am
Now that’s what I call really getting rid of somebody! Interesting take, Edward. Made for an unexpected story.