Letter From The Other Side; from Cynthia

Old Ticker.

Old Ticker was known by everyone in the town. He helped out with cutting fire wood for elderly people, did the odd gardening jobs and when the small funeral parlour was for some reason experiencing a bit of a gridlock of deceased persons in their refrigerated premises, he would help out with the grave digging.

            Out of respect for the bereaved relatives and friends who may have needed to pass the cemetery during the days before the funeral while they made their way to the shopping centre or pub, he usually went along to the gravesite during the evenings and by the glow of his old fashioned Hurricane lamp he would dig the grave. His only company would be the possums scampering around in the trees and birds settling down for the night.

            He was a tall sinewy man. His face was long and thin and despite a life of outdoor work he never lost his pallor. His long arms hung loosely by his side most of the time except for when he felt the urge to know the time. Needing to know the time was a compulsive thing with Ticker. For the best part of his life a watch had encircled his bony left wrist. It had been a special birthday gift when he was young and except for when he indulged in the occasional bath, he had worn it ever since and boasted that a daily wind was the only attention he had ever needed to give it in all his years of ownership and it still kept perfect time.

            Most people supposed it was because of this watch and the pride he felt in its beautiful case and fine gold band he had formed the habit of going about telling everyone the time and displaying his new gift and this had been the beginning of his obsession.

            When he became a part-time grave digger his mind would have dwelt on the passing of time and the shortness of life and this must have been the final catalyst to confirm an ingrained fetish and concern about life’s brief span.

            Whatever it was, the habit stayed with him and all conversations began with ‘Hello Cynthia how are you at 11.02 a.m. on this day Monday the 6th of February 2012?’ or ‘I spoke to Teddy at 7.55 p.m. last week Tuesday the of 15th January.’ You get my drift. He not only told everyone the time, he remembered when and where he contacted all of us. Although this was a little disconcerting when someone first met him, we all became used to it and were barely aware of the sprinkling of time and dates which were included in all discussion. No matter what the subject, somehow time was always included in it .

            If he had ever been called as a witness at a trial he would have been invaluable.

            One evening, you will have to ask Ticker which one because I forget those sort of details; an ashen faced young couple visiting an aunt who lived in the town rushed into the pub. They were breathless and the young woman was shaking so violently someone thinking she was about to faint pushed a chair under her sagging knees as her body began to sink rapidly toward the floor.

            People hurried to help and the usual questions were buzzing about. ‘Are you all right?’ Of course they plainly weren’t. ‘Will we call the doctor or ambulance?’ ‘Would you like a drink?’

That was the first question which received an affirmative reply and a beer and brandy soda were produced.

After a few gulps the young man staring wildly at the inquisitive faces about him announced. ‘We’ve seen a ghost….I never thought I would say that because I don’t believe in them, or didn’t…. but now I do.’

The look on his face defied anyone to disagree.

We don’t get much crime in this place and we didn’t think they looked as if they had been taking any drugs or been drinking before they had come into the pub.

‘You’d better tell us about it.’ drawled a fellow who was already so far gone he would probably see a ghost or two before his night was over as well. We all settled back to listen.

‘We were walking on the bike track beside the river,’ the young man began, ‘and because Ellie was a bit upset we were running late and her aunt, her mum’s sister, would be angry with us for being later home than we said we would be, we decided to walk up along the path that passes the cemetery. It was getting dark and colder too and the wind was whistling around the old graves. As we passed buy the cemetery, Ellie mentioned her grandfather was buried there.’ As the lad spoke Ellie’s head was nodding in agreement and she kept biting her lower lip reliving the scene in her mind once more. ‘I asked her’ he continued, ‘when that was and she said she didn’t know. Well.’ and here his hand began shaking violently again…. ‘Ellie asked me the time, and from the cemetery there came this croaking sort of voice. I looked across the grass and a tall thin ghost surrounded by a weird sort of glow rose from out of a grave and said.’ Here he stood demonstrating the ghost’s actions and held his shaking hand up above his head. ‘He was buried at 2.05.p.m. on the 14 January 1973. And it’s now 10.37 p.m. on the 12^th of May 2012 and time you took the little lady home young man, her mother will be worried.’

“Ellie screamed and we ran. We’ve never run so fast in all our lives! I’ll never forget those dates and words in all my life.” He concluded as he slumped back onto his stool.

The reaction he received obviously wasn’t the one of shock he had expected. Instead he was dismayed to see and hear most of the pub patrons either choking on their drinks or roaring with laughter.

The following day Ticker walked the streets stopping to speak with everyone he knew and asking them why, when he had been digging a grave the previous evening 10.07 p.m. for old Mrs Miller who had died at 9.22 a.m. last Wednesday 6^th of May 2012, a young couple after speaking to him ran screaming from the park.

Nobody could bring themselves to tell Ticker why.

It’s now 3.22 p.m. on the 8^th of April 2013 and I’ll say

Cheers for now,

Cynthia.