“Anne! Anne! There are two ghosts in the bedding section!”

“Sherri, what are you talking about?” she clicked a button on the keyboard and the security camera image switched from an overhead view of the bank of cashiers to a view above the kitchen gadget wall, to the bathroom section, and then to the bedding section. “Look, there’s no one there.”

“Look!”

“Holy shit…” Anne said as one of the packages of sheets came off of the shelf by itself.

..

“Tim, Jesus, will you just pick a damn sheet already?!”

“Lawrence, I understand you might just grab the first sheet you find. Heck, you probably just get lightly stained sheets from Goodwill, I don’t know. But I’m particular,” Tim said taking a package off the shelf and running his hand over it. “Take this: Wamsutta Dream Zone 725-Thread-Count PimaCott in white,” he ran his hand over the smooth fabric. “You’d probably think there’s nothing wrong with this, right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Can we go?”

“Oh, Lawrence,” Tim shook his head sadly. “It’s late October. Think, dear Lawrence, do you really want to be caught out in the chill of Autumn in pure cotton?”

“Sure?”

Tim sighed. “It’s freezing. You’ll catch your death haunting with this sheet!”

“I’m already dead, what does it matter?!” Lawrence said exasperated. He took a white sheet off another shelf at random. “Just take this sheet and let’s go!”

“An eggshell satin? Good lord, Lawrence, where are we haunting, a brothel?”

“You’re getting on my last nerve, Tim…”

“Now here we go, Pure Beech Jersey Knit Modal… or… this lovely Belle Epoque La Rochelle flannel. Mmm,” he said holding the flannel sheet up to his face. “This. Yes, this.”

“Excellent, let’s go.”

“Wait, do you think it will pill? I don’t want to be that ghost with a pilling sheet. Can you imagine?!”

“I’m imagining whether I can kill you if you’re already dead.”

“Ah, Soft Tees Jersey Knit. This. Yes, this.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Now… traditional white or, oh, or silver!”

“This is bullshit!” Lawrence exploded.

“Lawrence, I think you mean this is boo-sheet!”

When I saw him the first time I didn’t think much of it.

I was six hours into a cashier shift at the big box home store, and the store’s link to the credit card processor had dropped for an hour and our sales flyer expired that day. Lots of frustrated customers, never enough cashiers. I was just finishing up with a man who had purchased 35 different loose nuts and bolts. I looked over to see who was at the customer service desk when I spotted him leaving Terri’s register. Bald with remnants of dark hair around the edge, on the heavier side, Hawaiian shirt – from the back he was the spitting image of my dad. But my dad had died seven ago, so I knew it wasn’t him.

Until he turned around.

Just for a brief moment he turned to get his bag off the counter, and I saw his face. It was my dad. It didn’t look like him, that was my dad!

“Is this still on sale?” the next customer pointed to the DeWalt drill/driver combo.

“What?” I said turning my attention from my dad for a moment.

“It’s on the flyer. That goes through today, right?”

“Yes, yeah,” I stammered and looked back towards my dad, but he was gone.

..

“I’m telling you, Alec, it was him!” I said before taking a drink from the bottle in the paper bag.

“Your dad? Who died like five years ago?” Alec said drinking from his own bag. We had walked to the liquor store across the street after work and procured our post-workday beverages which we were now enjoying sitting on the tailgate of his Ram truck.

“It was seven years ago,” I corrected. “But it was him!”

“It was a long day, and your mind was playing tricks on you,” he said lighting up a cigarette. He held the box up offering me one, but I declined.

“Dude, I’m telling you!” I said drinking again.

“Whoa, check this out!” Alec said, pointing to a classic car that had come into the parking lot and was rolling slowly past the now-closed store. “What’s that? ’65 Galaxie 500?”

“Holy shit, no, that’s a ’63 Falcon Futura! Just like my dad had when I was little.”

“Seriously? Listen to that!” Even across the parking lot we could hear the loping idle of a big V8.

“That’s like his, too – he swapped the straight 6 for a 302.”

“Wouldn’t that be funny if that was the guy you saw earlier?” Alec laughed.

“Right? I don’t remember who bought my dad’s car, but I remember it was someone way out of state – they picked it up on a trailer.”

We watched as the driver realized the store was closed and continued through the parking lot. As the car drew even with us the driver looked towards us. I locked eyes with him. It was my dad!

“Holy shit, Alec, that’s him! That’s my dad!”

“Bullshit!” he said dropping his cigarette and craning his head to get a look at the driver who was now past us and didn’t pause before accelerating hard onto the street.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“You’re sure?”

“I’d wager my left nut on it. I swear that was him!”

Alec looked at me hard, took a long drink and then said, “Jimmy, that’s creepy as hell.”

..

“I believe you, Honey,” Charlotte said dipping a tortilla chip into salsa before popping it into her mouth.

“Twice. I saw him twice!” I said as I loading my last tortilla with steak fajita and vegetables. “I mean, his ghost. Right? Not him, right?”

“Well, yeah,” she said finishing her enchilada. She paused, started to say something then didn’t.

“What?”

“No, it’s not appropriate.”

“It’s okay. What?”

“Just, I mean… you saw his body after he died right?”

I thought of walking into the hospital room and seeing his lifeless body that June day. Seven years had robbed my memory of none of the details – the waning sunlight through the window, how quiet the room was without any of the equipment on. He looked like he was sleeping. I touched his hand. It was cold…

“Yeah, I said. After he died, yeah. I saw him,” I set my fajita-laden tortilla back on the plate.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine,” I assured. I smiled weakly. “Seven years and sometimes it feels like yesterday, you know?”

“I do.”

I sighed and looked at my watch. “What time are we meeting your mom?”

“Seven thirty.”

“I’ll get the check,” I said and caught the eye of our server. “Could I get the check?”

“Oh,” she said, “It’s taken care of.”

“What?” I asked dumbfounded.

“This gentleman at the bar paid your bill already,” she turned to try to pick him out at the bar. “He said he knew you and to tell you he’d see you soon… He had a message for you. Oh, there he is going out the door now.”

I craned my neck to see the back of my dad’s head. He turned for just a second as the door closed occluding my view. I jumped out of my seat and ran for the door. It wasn’t more than a few seconds since the door closed but when I blew through it into the cool fall evening no one was in the parking lot. I looked up and down to see if someone had just gotten into a car, but no one stirred. I went back inside and went to the bar. “Excuse me,” I said to the bartender. “Guy who just left here. Yay tall, bald, beard, moustache…”

“Yeah, I remember him. Nice guy,” he said.

“What did he order?”

He pointed to the glass with half melted ice still on the bar. “Seven and seven, double limes.”

“Double limes?”

“That’s exactly what he said, ‘Seven and seven, double limes.’”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, steadying myself on the bar.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah… yeah…”

“Jimmy,” Charlotte came up to me, “Are you okay?”

“Double fucking limes…”

“What?” she asked.

“That was him.”

..

The next day I finished my Contemporary Western American Lit class and was coming out of the Bahn building when I saw him across the quad. He turned towards me for a second – just long enough for me to see his face – before walking into the Fine Arts building.

“No,” I said, slipping my free arm through the strap of my backpack, “You’re not disappearing again!” I started sprinting across the quad, dodging students, detouring around a clique onto the grass and then I rushed through the still-closing door. The corridor was empty. I could see the hallway bent around a corner, so I ran to the bend and saw… no one again. But the door to the third classroom down closed with a thud in the quiet building. I sprinted for the door, threw it open and stepped into a dark, quiet classroom.

“Hello?” I said aloud. No response. I let the door close behind me, extinguishing the light from the hallway, leaving only the fading Autumn evening light as the only illumination in the room. “Anyone in here?” I let my eyes adjust to the light and looked around the relatively small seminar room. There was no where someone could hide.

Just when I thought I was truly going crazy, a voice spoke behind me: “Jimmy.”

I whirled at the sound and came face to face with my dad. “Dad!” I said.

“Jimmy, I’m here to tell you something.”

“What dad? What?”

“Jimmy, that goatee looks ridiculous on you.”

And he was gone.

I wanted to take us from the sadness last night to an exotic locale. I got a little caught up in reading about the world’s largest cemetery in Najaf, Iraq. I’m actually still reading about it because its recent history (it’s been an active cemetery for more than 1600 years) is fascinating. But enough of that, let’s focus in on one of the newest gravediggers working…

Talib stared across the sand dotted in regular intervals with squat marble memorials. He wiped his brow and drank deeply from the warm water bottle as his gaze kept traveling to the Old Cemetery whose closly-packed memorials of varying heights stretched out to the shimmering horizon. 

“Talib!” his father snapped, “Break time is over! We have five more graves to dig today.” He picked up the small stubby-handle shovel used to cut the bottom and tossed it to Talib. “Down you go,” he gestured to the hole in the desert just four feet deep. “Let’s get moving!”

“Ibrahim, why are so short with Talib. He hasn’t been working with us but a week!” intervened my uncle Fadhil. 

“And how else is he supposed to learn discipline, Fadhil? Hmm? There are thousands of boys his age in Najef who would happily join us!”

Fadhill laughed. “Idle threats, Fadhil.” He turned to me, “Pay him no mind, Talib. Our father brought the lash to Fadhil when we first started digging with him in Wadi Al-Salam. I think he’s passing on that tradition with a little too much vigor!”

“You mock, Ibrahim, but he needs to respect this profession. Don’t forget what happened to Samer.”

Fadhil flinched at the name. He took a moment to recover himself before responding, “You always bring up Samer as a warning, but never in remembrance.”

“Samer?” Talib asked. “Uncle Samer? He died during the fighting, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Fadhil said with a heavy sigh. “The Americans were fighting Moqtada al-Sadr and his militia. The Old Cemetery saw some of the heaviest fighting. Al-Sadr claimed to be defending the Shrine of Imam Ali,” he shook his head, “They just wanted to fight. We stayed out. All of the gravediggers did. Except your uncle. A family offered him a week’s pay. We told him it wasn’t worth it. He… wouldn’t listen.”

“And what happened, Fadhil? Tell him what happened?” 

“During the funeral an American helicopter mistook the gathering for Al-Sadr’s people. They opened fire.”

“This, Talib!” his father said picking up his own shovel, “This is why we learn the importance of working hard – not taking higher pay that will get you killed.” He moved towards Talib and held out his hand, “Now, get down in there.”

Talib took his father’s hand and steadied himself as he leapt into the shallow grave and started digging the hard, packed earth.

“You’re one to talk about not taking higher pay!” Now it was Fadhill’s turn to go on the offensive. “We should be in the Old Cemetery still where we’ve worked for generations. Instead, we’re out here in New Wadi Al-Salam.” Fadhill started shoveling out the sand Talib cut. 

“Why aren’t we in the Old Cemetery, father?” Talib asked as he dug. 

“Less talking, more digging! Five more graves today, Talib!” Ibrahim said as he cleared the top of the grave to keep the loose dirt from caving in.

“New Wadi Al-Salam is for victims of the coronavirus,” Fadhill explained. “No one wants their loved ones buried in the Old Cemetery next to a coronavirus victim, so the government started this,” he gestured to the regularly spaced memorials. “None of the other gravediggers wanted to work here,” he said, “So your father made a deal.”

“That’s funny, Fadhill, I see you spending your money, not complaining about it.” 

Fadhill laughed. “Talib, I hope Allah spared you your father’s disposition.” 

“Five more graves!” Ibrahim snapped.

When the shadow cast by the setting sun darkened the bottom of the last grave, the cool shade made Talib shiver in his sweat-soaked dishdasha.

“It is time to go,” Ibrahim said to his brother. 

“We still have to finish this grave,” he responded. 

Ibrahim offered him a hand to help him up the stubby ladder out of the grave, “Talib can finish.”

“Brother, do you think that’s a good idea?” 

“He will be fine. Won’t you, boy?”

Talib knew his father was punishing him for his Uncle’s ribbing earlier. He also knew better than to contradict him now. “Yes, father, it’s fine.” 

“It will be dark soon. Let’s help Talib finish and we can get out of here before… before it gets dark.” 

“Dark?” Talib said, the chill he felt now seemed deeper than his clammy clothes.

“Then he has incentive to finish faster, don’t you, Talib?”

He swallowed his fear and said, “Yes, father.” 

“Finish it properly, Talib. Do not disrespect our proud legacy.” Then to Fadhill, “Let’s go.” Ibrahim started walking towards town. “Fadhill, are you coming?”

Fadhill gave Talib a final look. “Finish quickly, Talib. Get out before dark.” Then he hurried to catch up with his brother.

Without his father and uncle, the last foot of the grave took seemingly forever. He’d turned on the battery-powered lantern and cursed a minor cave-in. By the time he finished and measured to make sure the grave was the proper depth, the sun had long since set and the glow of his lantern spilling out of the open grave was the only light in the new sprawling cemetery. 

He set the lantern above the lip of the grave and carefully climbed up the worn wooden ladder. He remembered his father lecturing him about how his father’s-father’s-father had built the ladder and we had to honor their work. He sighed as he lay on his stomach and pulled the ladder up out of the grave and piled the shovels on top before tying them to the ladder making an easier-to-carry bundle. As he stood and looked around, he admired the silver light the gibbous crescent moon shining on the white marble memorials all around him. His lantern seemed almost garish next to that lunar reflection, so he turned it off stowed it in a baggy pocket. He hefted the ladder and shovels and started down the row between graves when he noticed a light along the rows to his right. 

The light came from a grave they had dug earlier that week. He had seen the Iman performing rights. Because of the coronavirus families aren’t allowed at the burials which made the Iman standing alone over the coffin that much more unusual. When he finished Fadhill and his father had gone to fill it in. But now a glow seemed to be bobbing around the memorial. Thinking it might be another gravedigger like himself, Talib walked towards the light. Talib’s foot kicked a rock that clattered off a memorial and then he saw It.

The head popped up above the memorial at the sound. The gray hairless head looked too distorted to be human. Its terrible eyes looked around seeking the sound of the disturbance. Glowing white pupil-less sockets stared around as black ichor dripped from its gaping jaws. Long, while fingers gripped the edge of the marble memorial as it straightened up for a better look and stretched its long bony body. Its eyes locked on Talib and the flabby jaws closed in a hungry grin. The creature and Talib stood frozen for a moment before one word echoed inside Talib’s head: “Run!”

He dropped the ladder, turned and started sprinting towards the Old Cemetery. He could hear the creature bound over the memorial and rush towards him panting heavily. He ran as fast as he could before casting a look over his shoulder to see where the beast was. 

That’s when he stepped into one of the open graves.

As he fell into the darkness he instinctively rolled and managed to not only not break anything, but to come to his feet in a crouch. He was about to try to scramble up the side of the grave when a cold hand covered his face. Panic and terror coursed through his body and a scream started up his throat. “Shut up,” a voice in the darkness whispered fiercely. Another hand grabbed him and pulled him back towards the wall of the grave that he had fallen from. “Don’t speak a word,” the voice said calmly and quietly.” Talib didn’t feel the hands anymore, but saw above the rim of the grave the glowing aura of the creature gallop past. The voice next to him in the darkness let out a sigh. 

“Who are you?” Talib whispered. 

“Sami,” the voice whispered back. “Who are you?”

“Talib. What are you doing here?”

“I’m dead. What are you doing here?”

Talib staggered to the far side of the grave. “You’re… you’re… dead?” 

“Clearly you’re not dead,” Sami said. 

“Are you a ghost?”

“A brain and a beating heart,” Sami said. “You’re clearly using your mortality to fine effect!”

“You’re a smart-ass ghost.” 

“Hey,” he said defensively, “No one asked you to step in my grave and attract that… thing.”

“What is that thing?” 

“It’s a ghul.”

“A ghul? That’s a jinn, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sort of. Twisted… wrong… but, yes, a jinn.”

“What’s it doing here?”

Talib realized his eyes were adjusting to the darkness because he could make out Sami staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “What do you think it’s doing?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Feeding! It prefers fresh dead – there’s still traces of living energy there. And you? You’re a feast.”

Talib swallowed hard. “I have to get out of here.”

“We have to get out of here,” Sami corrected.

“You’re a ghost!” 

Sami crossed to him and wrapped his knuckles on Talib’s head, the knuckles going right through Talib, tingling fiercely. “Ghost to Talib! Pay attention! I just got through telling you it feeds on traces of living energy. I’m guessing you’re new here, but see if you can figure this out: which do you think would be tastier to a being that enjoys energy: a week-old corpse or an earthbound spirit that wanders the cemetery?”

“Oh,” Talib said. 

“Yeah. I’m one rung down the ghul food chain from your beating heart. That’s why we’re both getting out of here.”

“Do you have a plan?” 

“Run. Really fast. If something gets in our way, we turn.”

“Great plan.” 

“Thanks. Got it from a bootleg VHS when I was alive. Wait here…” Sami leapt with gravity-defying lift that brought him onto the lip of the grave. Talib could see him craning his neck. Then he was back in the grave next to Talib. “Okay, it’s three rows down. Looks like it found one of today’s burials. That’ll keep it occupied for a moment. Let’s go!” He bounded up again.

Talib ran and leapt for the edge of the grave, clawed with his feet and managed to pull his body up and out onto the sand.

“Come on, air breather, let’s move while we still can,” Sami coaxed. 

Talib was on his feet following him as he ran in a crouch from memorial to memorial. They hurried from row to row moving quickly towards the low fence delineating the Old Cemetery from the New. Talib looked back and saw that not only had the ghul started towards them, but he spotted another coming at full run from much further down the New Cemetery. From the direction and speed the ghul was traveling, Talib knew it had them in its sight. 

“Sami, we’ve got company,” he said. 

“Crap,” Sami said, seeing the first ghul.

“And him,” Talib pointed at the new ghul making up the distance quickly. 

“Wow. Run! Run! Run!” 

And they did. Abandoning all pretense of stealth, human and ghost sprinted side by side towards the low fence. As his lungs burned from exertion, Talib heard an unearthly scream emit from one of the ghuls. His exhaustion vanished and he sped up. 

Sami dove over the low fence first. Talib wasn’t far behind, but caught his foot on the three-foot-high wall and tumbled into a sprawl. 

“We made it!” Sami panted.

Talib lay where he fell and panted, “Are we… are we safe?”

The ghuls reached the low wall and screeched at it, but didn’t move past. 

“For a moment,” Sami said getting to his feet. 

“How long?” Talib joined him as he stared at the ghuls pacing up and down the wall. 

“Until they figure out the wall is broken over there,” Sami pointed to the section of crumpled stone a hundred meters away. 

As if reading their mind, both ghuls glowing white eyes snapped to the broken stone. They shambled for the gap. 

“Oh crap,” Sami said, “Come on!” He started running. 

Talib followed. Unlike the open, widely spaced memorials in the New Cemetery, the old cemetery had memorials of varying heights and sizes packed tightly together resembling a metropolis of stone in miniature. They ran past squat square memorials and broad domed mausoleums and turquoise minarets and they now could hear the ghuls inhuman howls as they loped after them. 

Talib could see where Sami was leading him. “It’s too far!” he panted. “We’ll never make it.” 

“We have to make it!” Sami yelled, slowing a little so Talib could keep pace. “Come on, Talib! Keep running! You don’t want to get devoured!”

The thought of the jaws of the ghuls closing on his flesh spurred him on, but he could feel his body tiring. They’d run so far already. Talib looked ahead and saw the lit gold cupolas of the Shrine of Imam Ali in the distance. The distance… so far. He had to keep running. He had to ignore the pain in his side and his burning lungs. 

One of the ghuls let out another soul chilling cry. 

The shrine loomed ahead when Talib caught his foot on the edge of a short memorial and fell hard, knocking the wind out of him. Sami was at his side immediately, “Come on Talib!”

“I… I…” Talib wheezed trying to suck in a breath. “Can’t… can’t breathe” 

“You won’t ever breathe again if you don’t get up!” 

Talib looked up and saw the ghuls almost on top of them. At their rate of speed he knew they couldn’t escape. “Get out… of… here…” Talib gasped at Sami.

“No,” Sami said, kneeling next to Talib. “We’re in this together.” 

Talib didn’t have time to acknowledge the gesture as the ghuls bore down. He tucked his head and closed his eyes and prepared for the agony.

Nothing happened. 

He looked up and saw the ghuls stopped feet away as if blocked by an invisible barrier. They were too surprised themselves to even howl.

“What?” Talib started, then looked at Sami who was grinning broadly. 

He looked over his shoulder, “We’re close enough!”

“To the shrine?”

“To the shrine! They can’t get any closer than that! We made it, Talib! We made it!” 

Talib felt relief rush through his body. “Thank you, Sami!”

“Northwest corner, row 725, fifth grave in,” Sami said.

“What’s that?” 

“My grave. You can put a blessing there for me.”

“Every day,” Talib smiled.

“Get home, Talib!” 

“Thanks again!” Talib hurried towards the shrine and past it into the city of Najef. He finally stumbled home around midnight. Despite the late hour, his father and Uncle Fadhill were waiting outside for him. 

“You finished?” his father asked.

“Yes father,” Talib said.

“Good. Your dinner is cold.” He stood up and walked inside. Before he closed the door behind him he said “I will see you bright and early.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t just finish, Talib?”

“No, Uncle.”

“Ghul?”

“Two of them.”

Fadhill whistled seriously. “And yet you lived!” He pat Talib on the shoulder, “Welcome to the family business.”