Ghost Land
written by: Michelle Balogh
Being alive is strange because, in general, we are obsessed with dying and the afterlife. Truthfully, it was never something that worried me. Death was always something that happened to other people.
So, imagine my shock when, after the horrific car crash, I didn’t wake up in the car or a hospital, hooked up to machines and monitors. No, I woke up in a forest, in the middle of nowhere, gazing up at the canopy of leaves.
My hair was full of pine needles and dirt, my feet were bare and cold, and I was wearing a long white nightgown. I had been wearing jeans, a shirt, and sneakers for the drive, and I didn’t even own a nightgown. Where had it come from?
I took stock of my body, touching my hands to my head, my face. I was uninjured; there were no cuts or bruises, and there was no blood. It was like the accident had never happened. I was whole and complete, not a scratch on me.
Strangest of all, there was no way out of this forest. Believe me, I checked. I could walk and run for miles without tiring. Endless steps led me nowhere. The forest held no path, no end, no way out. There seemed to be no night, no day. The sky was always a cloudy grey color, as if it were overcast, and there was no sun.
I came upon a lake once, but it was also endless. There seemed to be nothing beyond the horizon, but if only I could swim to the other side, surely I could escape?
It wasn’t until I dove down into it that I realized I was dead.
As if propelled by a time machine or a magic portal, I wasn’t in the lake, but rather in my house. Or, what used to be my house. Now, it seems, it is just their house, and I am only their memory.
Stepping out of the bathtub where the lake deposited me, I find the house is quiet. It’s nighttime, and my husband and children must be sleeping upstairs, unaware that I am here, that I still exist in whatever form I have become. Am I a ghost? A spirit?
I wander through the kitchen, leaving a trail of forest debris behind me. There’s a note on the fridge, a grocery list in my husband’s capitalized and neat handwriting: eggs, milk, lunch meat, apples. Food shopping had always been my job, and I wonder how long I’ve been gone from them.
My feet carry me up the stairs to my son, JJ’s, bedroom. The door is open, and his bed is empty. There are clothes and toys all over the floor, the bed covered with stuffed animals and rumpled sheets, but no Joseph Jr. Across the hall from his room is Grace’s. The door is open a crack, and I gently push it so I can look inside.
Joseph Jr is in Grace’s bed, with his back to Grace’s belly, and she’s hugging him. They’re surrounded by stuffed animals, and as I step farther into the room, I see they’re holding hands, tiny fingers interlocked. When I last saw them, he was three and she was nine. They look a little older now, but not by much, maybe a year or so.
My throat tightens as I think about what I’ve missed of their childhood, and I will myself not to cry. I don’t want to wake them and scare them, so I kiss their foreheads lightly before leaving the room and closing the door.
At the end of the hall is the room Joseph and I shared. I hesitate outside the door to collect myself. I miss him so much, and this will be the first time seeing Joseph since the crash.
I step inside our room to find Joseph lying on our bed, on top of the covers, wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. His breathing is steady, so I know he’s asleep. I slowly creep over and climb onto the bed, trying not to disturb him.
He smells as if he had showered before bed, slightly soapy with a hint of spice and juniper. I lower myself onto the bed, pressing myself into his back, and breathe him in as deeply as I can. Will I come back? Or will this be the only time I can visit my husband and children? Will I be stuck in this in-between forever? Do I need to atone for something I’ve done in my life?
I put my arm around my husband gently, doing my best not to wake him. My hand wanders over his shoulder, to his back, and I can feel his muscles under the soft, thin tee shirt, as well as something I have never felt before: his ribs.
Tears slowly stream out of my eyes, running sideways over the bridge of my nose and down my temple since I’m lying on my side. My husband has lost so much weight; he’s nearly skin and bones. The muscles comfort me; he must be taking care of himself the best he can, but the stress of loss has obviously taken a physical toll on him. I slide my hand gently back up to his shoulder and then over to his chest, holding him loosely.
Can he feel me? Does he know I’m here?
We lay together for a while, I might have even dozed off myself, I can’t be sure. He stirs, not quite waking up, but possibly noticing a presence on the bed with him. Hope grows in my chest with the possibility that maybe we can talk to each other again. We had never talked about ghosts or spirits, but he was very pragmatic, and I couldn’t imagine he would believe in things like that. Then again, I didn’t think I believed in all that either, and yet here I am, a ghost… or something like a ghost.
Joseph shifts back towards me, leaning into me, and he reaches up. His fingers touch mine, and I swallow thickly.
“Angeline?” he whispers, his voice hoarse from sleep.
I’m crying again, and I open my mouth to respond, but I’m not quick enough. In a flash, I’m back on the shore of the lake, alone in the forest.
I scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My face is dry, the tears are gone, as if they never happened at all.
On all fours, I scramble to the lake, the nightdress tearing under my knees. My hands grasp for the lake; I’m eager to get back to my life, to my family, to the world I knew. But now, instead of water, the lake is a solid surface, reflecting my face back at me.
Again, I scream noiselessly, frustrated and anxious. My fist pounds the surface of the lake, desperate to break through, but it’s no use.
Will my family find the puddles of brackish water and the trail of dirt on the kitchen floor, wondering how it got there? Will they know it was me and that I still exist? Can I ever go back, or am I stuck here, in this ghost land, alone, forever?
- Ghost Land - November 22, 2025
