Hearing His Voice

• Lauren Jensen, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2022

The sun shone through the gaps in the curtains as night faded into day. I looked over at the calendar, and with a jolt, realised it was January 17.
My son’s birthday.
The unprecedented shock of sadness hit me like a brick wall, and I almost choked. I had blocked out all reminders of that day - the fateful day when my son and husband were killed in that car crash.
My husband had died upon impact, but my son had been dragged from the wreckage and to the hospital. He had spent weeks on life support before I was forced to make the heartbreaking decision to turn it off.
After that, I had just blocked everything out, hoping that if I ignored it, it would go away. The sadness, the regret, the pain.
Breaking off the train of thought, I glanced over to the digital alarm clock on the bedside table, my vision blurry with tears. The face read 06:47.
I pushed myself into a sitting position, trying to stop the choking sobs erupting from my mouth.

“Don’t cry.”

I froze, immediately recognising my son’s voice. How could I hear it, though? He was dead.

“I may be dead, but I’m still here in spirit.” His voice broke off into a quiet chuckle. “I’m glad you remembered my birthday.”

Terror continued to pulse through my body. Reaching over to the bedside table, I grabbed the bottle of antidepressant tablets. To my dismay, there were only six left; I upended the bottle into my mouth and gulped down each tablet, careful not to choke, not concerned about the possible overdose.

“I’m real. Not a figment of your imagination. You’re not hallucinating.”

I sprung out of the bed, throwing on some shoes and a jacket, grabbing my handbag, and ran through the house to the garage. I dug through my handbag to find the car keys, and jammed them into the ignition once I had opened the car door.

“You can’t outrun me.”

Maybe, if I went to his grave, I would stop hearing his voice. Opening the garage door with the remote, I kicked the car into gear, driving out onto the driveway. I pulled onto the road, disregarding speed limits because I just had to get rid of the voice.

“What if going to the grave doesn’t help? After all, I’m a free, wandering spirit.”

I tried to ignore him. I jerked the steering wheel sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision, and continued to speed along the road.

“You know, I probably would have lived if you’d kept me on life support for a little longer.”

“No!” I screeched, covering my eyes with my hands. “No, you wouldn’t have!”

He giggled maliciously. “You’re wrong.”

Icy hands touched my shoulder. I flinched, my hands moving away from my eyes. When I looked behind me, there was nothing there.

“Keep your eyes on the road… or don’t.”

I looked back in time to see the massive gumtree dead ahead of me and-