A ghost

The blue sky is wide open above me, a soft Tunisian summer sky, alive with thousands of birds. They move together in one perfect shape after another, flowing like they share the same mind. I always wonder why they fly like that, what tells them to turn, who leads them, and how far they can go before the world ends. I follow them with my eyes until I stare directly at the sun. Like always, half a second is enough to blind everything. My sight goes white then burns dark, and strange shapes drift across the sky, moving and falling like shadows with wings. I blink hard and rub my eyes with the back of my hand.

The house is silent. Too silent. Home is just me, my turtle dragging his shell somewhere behind the jasmine tree, the bees that live in its branches, the flies buzzing like they pay rent, and the soft summer wind that brushes the leaves and makes the whole place breathe. The center of the house stands open to the sky, the rooms circling it like a ring, the white walls warm under the sun.

The silence breaks when a sound rolls out from my dark bedroom. A small car, my tiny red toy with plastic wheels, comes speeding across the tiles as if it has somewhere important to go. It passes the open door, lifts the hanging curtain, and rolls straight to my leg. Tap. It hits. Rolls back. Comes again. And again. And again. I giggle because it feels like it is talking to me, insisting on being noticed. Then something clicks in my head. The car has no batteries. No remote. Nothing. So what is moving it?

I stand slowly and push the curtain aside with my fingertips. Inside, the room is dark even though the sun is bright outside. Drops of water fall from the ceiling onto my bed, making dark circles on the sheets. My brother’s bed next to mine looks untouched, perfectly made, as if no body ever slept there. My toy box is flipped over, all the toys scattered like someone shook the room. I kneel and start putting everything back, one by one, their plastic arms and legs clicking against each other. Then I see it. A white ball. Perfectly round. I have never seen it before. It has red writing on it in a language I do not know. I turn it in my hands and whisper, “Where did you come from?” Maybe Papa brought it from the cafe. Maybe Mama found it somewhere and forgot to tell me. I bounce it on the floor. It jumps back perfectly. I throw it harder. It gains speed and flies out of the room into the center of the house.

I run after it but the moment my foot touches the bright tiles outside the door, the whole world shifts. Day becomes night in one blink. Not slowly. Not like sunset. Like a switch. The sky is black. The moon is full. All the lights are gone. The ball is still bouncing, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Something cold moves up my arms, like the night touching my skin. I stand frozen, confused, looking up at the stars that should not be there a second ago. The roaches sing. The air feels heavier. I walk to the ball and place my hand on it, but it keeps moving, fighting my grip, bouncing against my palm like it wants to escape me. I hold harder but it slips, pushes me back, and shoots upward again. It bounces so high it reaches the second floor, right in front of my parents’ door.

I run up the stairs, my feet loud on the old steps. I find the ball bouncing, slow and steady, waiting for me. I throw myself at it, but it jumps higher, makes me miss, and I fall on the floor. It drops behind my head and bounces again as if laughing. I smirk and shake my head. Something moves inside my parents’ room. Something soft, like fabric brushing the floor. My heartbeat drops inside my stomach. I open the door, and the ball rolls inside, bouncing twice before it suddenly stops and settles under the bed.

I step in carefully. The whole room is clean and still, like a picture that no one is allowed to touch. The bed is made. The carpets are straight. Everything smells fresh, a mix of perfume, soap, and the faint sweetness of the house. I kneel and reach under the bed to grab the ball. My fingers brush it, and I pull it out. As I slide my body out from under the bed, I see him.

A tall old man stands at the far end of the room. He wears all white. White clothes. White hair. White beard reaching almost to his chest. His cheeks are red and warm, and his smile is soft like he has known me forever. He stands still, hands crossed in front of him, watching me play with the ball. My whole body freezes. My heart beats so fast it loses its rhythm. My eyes widen so much they hurt. Cold sweat runs down my neck but freezes halfway. The world becomes small, only me and him in a room that does not feel like my parents’ room anymore.

He moves slowly toward me, one careful step at a time. He bends on one knee and a half, reaching my height. He places his hand gently on my shoulder and helps me stand. His touch is warm. Real. He brushes the dust off my shirt. His smile never leaves his face, but something behind it feels ancient, older than the house, older than the jasmine tree, older than all of us.

“Hi Sami,” he says quietly, like he does not want to scare me more. “Do not worry, my little son. I know you do not know me, and I know how strange it is for me to appear like this. But I wanted to speak with you today.”

My throat closes. I cannot blink. I cannot breathe.

“I do not want you to be scared of me,” he continues. “I have lived here for many years. This is my house as much as it is yours. I had toys too when I was a boy. Just like the ball you are holding. I wanted to give it to you.” He cups my hand slowly, like he is handing something sacred. “And I want you to know that you never need to be afraid. I am here. I will always be with you. I will help you when you need me. But remember… I do not live here alone. So be careful.”

He extends his hand to shake mine. I shake it because I cannot do anything else. Suddenly the world softens. My eyes stop burning. My breath returns. My fear melts down my back like warm water. His smile stays but something deep in me knows he is not a man. Not alive. Not completely gone either. Something that belongs to this house.

I take the ball and step backward. The instant I cross the doorway, the world snaps again. It becomes day. A hard, hot summer day. Birds return to the sky. The wind moves the leaves of the jasmine tree in slow waves. Light fills everything.

I walk down the stairs bouncing the ball. But my legs start shaking with each step. The sound of the bouncing echoes weirdly. I take one more step and my body loses balance. My foot slips. I fall. The stairs hit my back then my side then my shoulder. The world flickers with every impact. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. My limbs float in slow motion. Air leaves my lungs. My brain shakes inside my skull. I fall all the way down, flipping like a rag, until I hit the last step and lie flat on the cold tiles.

I do not move. I wait for the pain. But there is nothing. No scratch. No bruise. I am untouched. My breathing starts shaking. Tears threaten to come out but fear holds them back.

I sit up.

And I see them.

The center of the house is full of bodies. Wrapped in white sheets. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. All of them lying neatly in rows, covering the floor from one wall to the other. They do not move. They do not speak. They are silent like sleep. The jasmine tree watches over them like a guardian.

But I feel no fear. No scream rises. No panic. Something inside me becomes still. Calm. Heavy. Responsible. I step closer and the smell in the air surprises me. Sweet. Soft. Like flowers. Like rain on warm soil. Like jasmine blooming at night. It comes from everywhere, even from the sheets that cover them.

I kneel in front of the first body and I know what I have to do. No one tells me. No voice speaks. I just know.

I open the house door. The outside world glows with late afternoon sun. I return inside and drag the first body toward the door. It is so heavy I can barely move it. I push with my shoulder. I pull with both hands. My fingers burn. Sweat covers my face. Nothing works.

I look up at the sky and whisper, “God, help me.”

And suddenly every covered body rises. They stand slowly, together, moving like one long wave. They do not uncover their faces. They do not speak. They walk toward me and together they lift the heavy body. I walk ahead and they follow like soldiers on a mission. We place the body in the ground. We cover it with soil. We pat the earth gently. Then they return inside and lie back down in perfect rows.

I continue. One by one. Body by body. All afternoon. All evening. The sun sinks lower, painting the world pink and gold. Sweat drips down my spine but it smells like jasmine too. My hands shake from effort but nothing stops me. I bury each body and they help me rise the next one. I become part of them. They become part of me. My fear of them turns into something else. Respect. Duty. A quiet promise.

Only two bodies remain when the sun is almost gone. The sky is purple and blue. I grab one alone this time. No one helps. I drag it out, my small arms burning. I reach the last empty grave. I go down with the body. I lay it gently on its right side, the way Mama tells us people should rest. I recite what little Qur’an I know. My voice shakes. I climb out and cover the grave.

Only one body remains inside the house.

But outside there is no space left. No ground to open. I need another place. I look around and choose a spot in the corner. I dig and dig until the hole is deep. My hands hurt. My nails fill with dirt. The night is falling and the dark rises slowly like water.

When I climb out, the last body is gone.

My heart stops.

The curtain of my room moves.

I freeze.

Maybe it went there.

I step into my room. The ceiling still leaks. Drops fall on my bed, one after another. The body lies on the mattress, perfectly still under the white sheet.

I take one step toward it and the ceiling cracks. A sound like bones breaking fills the air. Water bursts through. The whole ceiling gives in, collapsing onto the bed. Stones. Wood. Dust. Water. Everything falls in one loud crash, smashing the bed completely.

I jump back and stumble out of the room. The air goes black around me. The world behind me disappears into darkness. I turn to run but the floor under my feet vanishes. My body tips forward and I fall into the deep hole I dug earlier. My heart explodes in my chest. My blood goes cold. The fall feels endless. Wind rushes around me. My eyes burn. I scream but the sound doesn’t leave my mouth.

Then a hand grabs my wrist.

Strong. Warm. Familiar.

The old man.

He pulls me up with no effort. His face is calm. His eyes glow like lanterns in the dark. I look at him but the world around him turns to black. My sight drains. My body softens. And before I can speak, everything disappears. I fall into a deep sleep, like sinking into the heart of the house where he still lives.

Where he always lives.

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