”Dad, I’m gonna be a ghost.”
Miri has always been fascinated by the supernatural. It’s been one of those ever-present interests that’ve persisted over the years; sometimes to a troublesome level. But this? This was different.
She’d sat me down at the kitchen table and told me this like it was some sort of revelation. This was her telling me something serious and fundamental about herself. This was a change, a shift. Something important that she wanted to involve me in.
And I had no idea what she meant.
”I’m stating my intention,” she said. ”That’s the first step.”
”Honey, what are you talking about? What steps, what are you-”
”I’m not here to argue, dad. I’m just telling you what’s gonna happen.”
”I’m just trying to understand what you’re saying. You’re scaring me, Miri.”
”I am taking active steps to ensure my place in the afterlife. It is no different than when mom took me to church. I’m following my beliefs. I’m gonna be a ghost, a spirit, and the first step is to state my intention.”
”I don’t know what to say,” I sighed. ”I just want you to be happy. Please, I’m trying to understand.”
”You don’t need to do anything. This isn’t about you.”
”I know, honey, I-”
”I’ve said what I need to say, dad. I just need your support.”
So here’s a little history lesson about Miri, or Miriam. She turned 19 last September and has been saving up to study at WVU next year. I’m helping her to the best of my ability, and she has the inheritance from her mom to go through, but it’s still a bit of a struggle to make ends meet.
Ever since she was a kid, Miri has been a bit of an oddball. Her mom had some personal problems and left us at an early age, only to pass shortly afterwards. There was an element of substance abuse, but Miri was never around for that. I’ve had full custody of her all her life. That Miri even remembered her mom taking her to church was an honest surprise.
I don’t have a lot of fond memories of Miri’s mother. The good times we had is so far in the rear-view mirror that I can barely see them. And when I do, they look pretty bleak.
Miri’s interest in the supernatural blossomed somewhere around her 6th birthday. When other girls wanted to be Disney princesses, Miri wanted to be a ghost. And not just the kind where you wear a white sheet with some holes for eyes, but pretty advanced stuff. Pale white foundation with dark eyes. She even asked me to get her those all-covering sclera contact lenses, but I put my foot down. She was still too young, in my opinion. Even so, I probably bought her half a dozen Victorian-looking dresses so she could turn herself into a ghost for Halloween. It was her thing; everything was ghost this and ghost that.
I just figured she’d grow out of it. That she would be done with it and move on to something new. But that didn’t really happen, it just matured, in a way. Little cartoon ghosts turned into spooky goosebumps-type stories. Then TV shows and scary movies. Then “reality shows” with ghost hunters. Then horror movies and listening to mediums online. And as she reached her teenage years, her interest reached a whole new level. A step away from the fun and quirky, to the dark and practical.
And now that she is an adult (albeit young adult), she came to me with this absurd statement.
That she, my Miri, was going to become a ghost.
I subtly talked to some of her friends and checked her social media. It’s hard keeping track of all the ways kids can express themselves nowadays. And yes, Miri is a grown woman; she can do what she wants. I’ve raised her right. But this just sounded… wrong.
Still, I didn’t find any evidence of any kind of abuse, or harm. Miri still posts wholesome memes about her favorite salty licorice candy, or sharing upbeat inspirational tik-tok videos. She’s not that different from other girls her age, in many ways. She’s a young adult with ambition and drive; so this conversation came out of nowhere.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept walking up to her door to hear if she was sleeping. It was hard to tell, and I didn’t want to bother her. She deserved her privacy.
Instead, I ended up pulling an all-nighter. I was on my tablet for hours, looking for signs of whatever she talked about. Actual, practical steps towards becoming a ghost. Something about stating your intention.
My eyes had started to roll back into my skull when I finally found a whiff of relevant content. A series of video lectures from someone who called themselves a paranormal researcher. I looked them up; they’re just some loon from some middle-of-nowhere town in Minnesota. Not exactly a leading expert in “post-natural super-mortem experience research”, in my opinion. How is that even a field of study? Doesn’t even make for a good acronym.
But this video series was about the practical steps to becoming a ghost, or vengeful spirit. It all sounded very official. They even had charts. And I figured this was where Miri had been inspired.
First step? To state your intention. Verbalizing it, and “putting it out there”. They called it a path from “realization to actualization”.
I figured that, hey, at least it was just the first step. And she’d come to me about it, so at least she trusted me enough to share this experience with me; whatever that entails.
The second step was called “anchoring”. Imprinting an item, piece of clothing or symbol to your identity. Something simple to focus on at the last moment of life, which can become an anchor to your “super-mortem experience”. The video reviewed ways of anchoring, and things that make appropriate anchors. This was where the idea of “haunted” things come from; the anchor.
The third and final step was by far the most disturbing.
Emotional devastation.
By combining an anchor with the intent to pass into a super-mortem being, at the time of massive trauma, you could solidify a super-mortem connection.
“The greater the scale and depth of the trauma, the more potent the reaction.”
They spoke about it so casually, like it was a high school science experiment. But what they were actually suggesting was nothing short of personal calamity. Murder, death, and tragedy.
Was this really what Miri was aiming for?
The next day, when she was at work, I decided to go through her things. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I was only doing it to see if there was any more information about these “steps”, and her ambition to follow them. What would it mean, to Miri, to experience emotional devastation? Was she planning something? What would that even look like?
Thankfully, I didn’t find anything overtly dangerous. No weapons. No goodbye notes. Nothing out of the ordinary; thank God.
But there was the second step; an anchor. She had an obvious anchor; her silver cross. It was a necklace she’d worn since she was a kid; a memento from her mom. It was an obvious choice. She rarely, if ever, took it off.
This put me in a dark place. If she was already at step two, she could be on her way to step three at any moment.
Maybe even right then and there.
Look, I was in a bad mental space, and this whole situation wasn’t making things better. Miri is her own person, and I support her to the core of my being, but I’m also a father. And that part of me doesn’t go away.
So I got in my car and I went to see her at work. I was exhausted, panicking, and confused. Didn’t even notice that I parked in the handicapped space; I just stormed in. She was just working her shift, didn’t seem to have a worry in the world. Needless to say, we didn’t have a very constructive conversation. She said some pretty harsh things, and not all of it was untrue. I didn’t stay long.
Miri and I had trouble talking after that. I tried to bring it up during dinner, but she just locked herself in her room with a take-away salad from work. I tried messaging her, but she left me on read. I stood outside her room and asked her to talk to me.
Nothing.
I crashed hard that night. I was exhausted, physically and mentally. Miri still wasn’t talking to me, and I had to recover from my all-nighter. I went to bed early, hoping it would all feel better in the morning.
I wish that was all there was to it. A couple of bad days. But no, there was more.
I woke up in the middle of the night. A single sliver of light peeked in through the bedroom door, poking me in the eye. I turned to face the door, only to see Miri standing in the doorway.
She just stood there, still in her work clothes. One hand on the doorknob, one hand holding something.
Miri wasn’t looking at me. She had this odd blank stare, like she was looking straight through me. Her mouth hung open, slack jawed. She was panting, as if she’d been running.
I looked at her. She looked back. There was this primal part of me that didn’t recognize her. Something telling me that this wasn’t Miri; this was something else.
Something dark.
After a while, she just up and left; closing the door behind her. I didn’t even notice I’d been holding my breath until the door clicked. It felt like I’d stared down a lion. I hurried up to the bedroom door and reached for the handle.
But I stopped myself. I’d never locked that door. Miri didn’t lock hers, and I didn’t lock mine. It was a social contract; a show of trust.
But it brought an important question to mind. How far was I willing to trust my daughter?
I tried talking to her the next day, but I only had a few minutes before she went to work. I had work too, so I couldn’t do much to keep her in the conversation. She just acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. There was no step three. There was no big plan. She hadn’t been at my door last night. No, no, no. If anything, I was the one being strange.
That’s how it sounded, at least.
I had trouble staying focused at work. We’d been having some staffing issues, and some of us had to pick up the slack. Micah and his twin boys had been sick after their latest camping trip. Meanwhile, I could barely remember the last time Miri and I spent some quality time together. Between work and her diverging interests, there was little for us to talk about.
And now, there was even less.
The following night, I considered locking my door. I had trouble sleeping. There was that gnawing thought in the back of my mind that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t wake up. If Miri was serious about this thing, she might do something stupid. I didn’t like to think about it, but… it was possible. Killing your dad might be one of the most emotionally devastating things one could do. If she really believed in these steps, this “study”, then there was no telling what she might do.
But somewhere around midnight, I drifted off to sleep.
And just like the previous night, it didn’t last very long.
I woke up by that stray light hitting my eyes again. I peeked out from the covers, only to see Miri’s silhouette against the hallway light.
This time, she was holding a knife.
“Miri?” I yawned. “Miri, what are you-“
“Shut up,” she growled.
“Honey, I’m just-“
“Shut. The fuck. Up.”
She’d never spoken to me like that.
Her hands were trembling. Knees bent, like she was ready to pounce. I found myself looking for something to shield myself with, but there was nothing. Maybe I could push her down with a pillow, or wrap her in a bedsheet.
She took a step forward, but stopped herself. I reacted instinctively and shot out of bed; pressing myself against the wall.
Miri just smiled. Her breathing was forced and rattled.
“Just… just shut the fuck up. Let me do this,” she continued. “I want to do this.”
“Honey, you have to talk to me.”
For a moment, she looked up at me.
“You’re right,” she said. “Not tonight.”
And then she left.
I followed her into the hallway, calling for her to stop this. That we should talk about this. That she was sick, and that I wanted to help her. I just let every word I could find fall out of my mouth like a verbal waterfall, stumbling over my own thoughts along the way. In response, she plunged the kitchen knife straight into the wall; inadvertently cutting the cable to one of the hallway lights.
I just stopped and watched her go back into her bedroom.
Then, she locked her door.
I sat with my phone for hours, contemplating what to do. Who to call, and what to say. I wanted Miri to get help, not jail time. I didn’t know what to do. I looked at all kinds of sites relating to mental breakdowns and illness, but I couldn’t find anything in particular. I kept coming back to this one thought; how far would I go to protect my daughter?
I decided I’d do what little I could. I would call for help in the morning. Until then, I was watching her myself. I dragged a chair through the hallway, past the knife in the wall, and sat down next to her locked door. I’d listen, and I’d make sure she was okay. Then tomorrow, she could get help.
I must’ve fallen asleep in that chair. I woke up to the sound of a startled shriek, as Miri got out of the room in the morning. She wasn’t prepared to see me there. I could see she was confused, and a bit hurt. This was the Miri I knew and loved; I recognized her.
“I can’t deal with this, dad,” she sighed. “Not like this.”
“We need to talk about last night.”
“I’m not doing this.”
She picked up her bag and headed for the front door. I followed her.
“Miri, you’re not walking out that door. We’re dealing with this.”
“Aren’t you late for work?”
“Miri, for God’s sake!”
I slammed my hand on the kitchen table, rattling an empty dinner plate from last night. Miri just looked at me and shook her head.
“I’m staying with a friend tonight,” she said. “Sort yourself out.”
“Miri!”
She was out the door, but I followed her down the driveway. She got in her car, locked the door, and ignored me. I pounded on the window, called out to her, and pleaded. She just backed out and left me there. I didn’t even have my shoes on.
I took a sick day, trying to find someone to call for help. Trying to make sense of the symptoms, but I was hitting dead ends at every turn. Some sites called her schizophrenic, others said it could be lead poisoning. One site just kept recommending “overexposure therapy”, whatever that is.
I spent all day on the phone, but no one could tell me anything. They asked me to book a time for consultation, and to take her in for examination. But as soon as I explained that she was legally an adult, the conversation stopped. It seemed that my options were to either call the police, or get her to come voluntarily.
Neither was a feasible option. I couldn’t lose her.
I tried calling Miri all day, but there was no response. She’d either blocked me or turned off her phone. She wasn’t online on her socials, and she wasn’t checking her e-mail. I considered going to her job to talk to her directly, but I’d already tried that once. Going back there might get me barred forever.
I tried to convince myself it was something temporary, or a misunderstanding. I really tried. But the mental image of her standing there with a shaking knife in her hand had been burned into my mind.
“The greater the scale and depth of the trauma, the more potent the reaction.”
I watched the video, over and over. Step three. Step three. Step three.
I fell asleep looking at my tablet that night.
And for the final time, it didn’t last long.
I woke up again, but not to a strand of light touching my eyes. I woke up to the sound of thumping feet sprinting down the hall; heading straight for my bedroom.
I wasn’t prepared in the slightest. I thought Miri was staying with her friend. Instead, she burst through the door, knife in hand. She didn’t even stop to breathe; she came straight at me.
I rolled out of bed and tossed my covers at her. She just laughed. And not her signature Miri-laugh, but something… off. A cackling, hysterical laughter. It pulled at a cold nerve along my spine as my pulse raced.
She was going to kill me.
Step three.
As she untangled herself, I hurried into the hallway. I could hear Miri panting behind me, trying to catch up. She was so excited. Manic joy.
I threw myself into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and turning the lock. I could hear her rush past the door, not even stopping to check. She had a plan.
I didn’t skip a beat; I scrambled for something to defend myself with. Not to hurt her, but maybe hold her down or keep her off. Tie her down, or wrap her in a towel; anything!
But I didn’t get to think for long before I heard a thump at the bathroom window. I barely had the time to turn my head before she threw herself at it; breaking the glass with reckless abandon, throwing shards all over the floor and falling haphazardly into the empty bathtub.
I backed away, feeling a piece of glass digging into my big toe. Miri struggled to get up.
She was still laughing.
I backed out into the hallway, hearing the crunching noise of crackling glass as Miri got out of the bathtub. I shut the door and held it back, trying to give myself some time to talk to her.
She threw herself at the door, slamming her head into it over and over.
“Miri!” I called out. “M-Miri, what the hell are you doing?!”
Her laugh grew from maniacal to this deeply unsettling heaving. I could hear the thumping of her head reaching higher and higher. Seconds later, she was just making this awful droning noise, exhaling loudly against the door. The thumping stopped.
“I’m calling the police, Miri. We need to deal with-“
The door was torn right off its’ hinges, as Miri ripped it out of the frame. She looked about three feet taller, and her one arm had taken on a strange shape; like it had an extra joint.
And her face.
That wasn’t her face anymore.
I stumbled backwards. I felt a part of me grow cold as I realized I had a knife lodged deep into my left shoulder. Miri’s long arm had shot out like a scorpion stinger. It was such a shock that my legs just gave out. My body wasn’t responding anymore. My heart’d had enough.
I sank to the floor as she loomed over me.
This wasn’t my Miri. This was something else, and it was doing something to her just as much as it was to me. I was panicking, not knowing how to save either of us. That dark, sinking feeling where you realize just how fast you’re running out of options.
“I’m a be a ghost, daddy,” the thing grinned. “I’m a be a ghost.”
My mind took me down an unsuspecting road. Akin to your life flashing before your eyes, a realization dawned on me.
There’d been someone else in my life that’d followed the three steps to become a spirit; maybe inadvertently.
Miri’s mother had said one last thing to me the day she lost custody. She had leaned forward, spat on my shoes, and growled;
“I’ll haunt your fucking nightmares.”
She’d said so many horrible things to me over the years, I hadn’t really thought about it. It was just one more thing in a long list of abusive language. But in the context of those steps? It could be considered an intention.
And anchor? Well, the silver cross. It’d meant a lot to her, just as it did to Miri.
And emotional devastation, well… pretty much everything about that woman was a tragedy. From the way she lived, to the way she died.
It was a long shot, but it might be her. And looking at the face of Miri’s twisted image, I could recognize the malice. And as it pulled the knife from my shoulder to end me, I did what little I could.
I tore the little silver cross from her neck, put it in my mouth, and bit down; breaking it into two distinct pieces.
With a desperate shriek, she sunk the knife into me again. I recognized her anger from that day at the courthouse. This was the same woman who’d had Miri taken from her, all those years ago.
And with every beat of my heart, the world grew darker, as I bled out on the floor.
But unconsciousness is just like blinking. One moment you’re there, one moment you’re somewhere else. And I went from feeling bad to downright miserable.
I was in a hospital, recovering from three stab wounds. Bandages on my shoulder, hand, and the side of my stomach. There was this parade of people asking to talk to me; a nurse, a doctor, and then a couple of police officers. I insisted that I had to see Miri, and that I wasn’t pressing charges. It was hard to explain how this could all be a misunderstanding, and that I desperately wanted to see my girl again.
They agreed to let me see her.
Miri was wheeled in. Her feet were bandaged from severe glass cuts, so she had to use a wheelchair. There was an awkward silence as they allowed us to speak in private.
When we were finally alone, she held my hand tight. I sighed with relief.
“Why would you want this?” I asked. “Why would you want to be a… a spirit?”
“It’s… dad, I’m sorry. I…”
She took a deep breath and wiped a tear from her eye.
“I just wanted to be like mom.”
Turns out, Miri had been getting visits from her mom for years. A whisper in the night, telling Miri to join her. Little hints and nudges. No wonder Miri had such an obsession with ghosts; she was experiencing one almost daily. She was wearing its’ anchor around her neck.
With that gone, Miri had a clear image of what’d happened. The nightly visits, the obsession. It was like a fog had cleared from her mind.
Such a relief.
Now, Miri still has an interest in the supernatural to this day. That, if anything, will never change. But now she can explore that interest on her own terms, without any outside influence. And if she still wants to be a ghost, well… that’s her choice. But I don’t think a girl like Miri can go through with step three. She really is a sweetheart. I don’t want anyone to think otherwise.
She’s still going to WVU, and when all is said and done, I think we can get past this.
But I wonder.
Why does she still lock her door at night?