Jessie sat in the middle of the bed. A warm cup of her favorite peppermint tea warming her hands. Her eyes were closed. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window illuminating the left side of the room with soft comfort. The blank space beneath the bed glowed slightly.
Three meditative breathes later and the voice was there.
“Good morning. Why are you here?”
“Can you not be released?”
“Are you evil?”
A vision of space, vast, empty, yet alive with the many molecules, atoms, and particles that make up everything in existence floated through Jessie’s mind. She felt overwhelmed. Three more meditative breathes, a sip of the tea from the mug, and a refocusing mantra.
“So, you’re just…”
“I AM. Existing. Bound.”
“Are there others like you?”
“Singular. Many. Bound.”
A sense of sadness became evident to Jessie. She watched the emotion, sipped her tea.
“You can’t leave here, that’s why you need a guardian.”
“Care. Help. I AM”
“Will you kill me?”
Silence. She wondered if it puzzled over the idea of death. If it had any concept in its existence that equaled that state of non-existence. As the minutes stretched on she thought to end the meditation, then the space behind her eyes filled with bright light.
“Care. Help. Exist.”
An image of her aunt Sylvia appeared in the light. Followed soon after by her voice. “We exist but not in this form. Energy goes on forever. Flesh does not. There is no good, or evil, there just is. And that which exists must gather energy to continue to exist as it is. When there is no energy to sustain that form, it returns to its original state.” Sylvia faded with the light.
The sadness again. This time so big it made Jessie cry.
Later that afternoon, she sat in the library combing through city records. The town was settled in the late 1500s. The house she lived in, as close as she could find was built on the remnants of a property deeded to Samuel Crosgrove. His family lived and farmed there for three generations. His great grand daughter was accused of being a witch and was hung in the town square. She was twelve. The family moved away after that and the property was taken over by the church. In an effort to rid the town of evil, all the buildings on the property were burned, the ground blessed, and a church built. The cemetery came soon after. There was little information after that until in the late 20’s when the church burned to the ground for no explicable reason. No one was hurt; it was two in the morning or so when someone noticed the flames. By then, the building couldn’t be saved. Shortly after that, the congregation sold the land to a developer who built a small section of homes for the few veterans around town who’d found it difficult after WWI to get settled.
There wasn’t any more information about the property. But in other news, that enclave of homes seemed to experience a string of bad luck. Husbands, wives went missing. Children ran away from home, a lot. Dogs and cats both seemed to run away as well, ending up on other people’s porches, or in their backyards refusing to return to their rightful homes. People moved away, properties went unsold and were eventually abandoned. They fell into disrepair and were eventually knocked down to prevent squatters.
All except the house that Jessie now lived in. For whatever reason, that house had remained occupied. Usually by a single individual who took on hermit status as far as the townsfolk were concerned.