No one else sees them, the Others. No one sees their haunting forms drift down the hall, those as silent and lithe as the wind itself. But I can.

A gift. A blessing. A curse. Call it what you will. A sympathetic spell that blossomed into atrocity. They hover around us, all of us, those who have passed, reminiscing a life once had. They cast not a shadow on the brightest day, a ripple in the bluest pool, a voice upon the blowing wind. But they try, they dream of being one of us, one whose mortal body hasn’t yet braced the kiss of death. They surround you and me, apparitions of those who once were, without truly being. Perhaps you deny this, sweeping the possibility from your thoughts like a pencil shaving from your work. But I embrace it, and learn the secrets of the past from them.

They were not always there, not to me. True, I once knew nothing of them, of the Others, those that walk our halls between two worlds. But tragedy came, close of kin, sister of mine, sunk below the surface of our pool. She was raised from the bottom, but not before sinking to her grave. I missed her; I pined for her, for a chance to speak with her but once more. Through my aching wishes the celestials took pity on my torn soul, they gave me sight, the sight to see the Others.

And then she was there, not a curly lock out of place, with her bright smile and sparkling eyes. She stood, her polka-dot swimsuit on, as if she were to go swimming again, as if the summer day hadn’t been darkened, chilled, cursed by her fate. But was she truly there? The light passed through her, leaving her little more than a smoky mirage. How I had missed her, and she was here, with me, now, little more than a ghost. I had my little sister.

But she was not the only one, no, not at all. The Others soon came, walking the school hallways, the busy streets, the grassy fields. All smoky mirages as was my pig-tailed little sister. But everyone else stares around them, passed them, through them, seeing nothing but what they wish to see. They, the Others, scared me; I was alone to face them, none of you believed my words. But that was before I understood them, before I understood their presence not as a curse, but as opportunity, as blessed. Still none listened to my pleading words. Well I tell you now, I tell you they are here, with us. Will you listen now?

They cannot harm us; their forms are tangible no longer. But most do not wish us harm; they come to live the lives they live no more. I tell you now because you deserve to know, to know that they are here, around us, with us. Do you believe? Will you ever trust what I tell you now? I doubt it; you cannot see them, hear them, sense them. But if you do, you’ll know you are not alone. But perhaps none of you do, perhaps it is truly me who is alone. The only one who knows of the Others.