PUSHING DAISIES: CHAPTER THREE
The next night Thursday returned to the cemetery, equipped with white candles, and a stick of Palo Alto. In spiritual and metaphysical practices, the colour of a candle used to communicate with spirits could vary depending on different traditions and personal preferences. Thursday preferred to use white candles for its purity and protection to create a safe and clear space. He preferred using Palo Alto to clear negative energy rather than using Sage.
The events of the previous night weighed heavily on his mind. He could not shake the feeling that helping Margaret’s ghost find peace was something he needed to do even though he promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t get personally attached or vice-versa with the spirits he encountered. He was hoping he and Fallon would be helping Margaret together, but the sudden deluge of rain had stopped him from asking her for her phone number and he did not know if he would ever see her again.
As he approached Margaret’s grave, Thursday steeled himself for another chilling encounter. He looked over at the grave where he had met Fallon last night and the daisies glowed white in the moonlight. Was she real? Did he really meet a girl named Fallon last night? Why were the daisies’ petals open?
He knew he should not be doing this alone, but he felt compelled to help Margaret, and he was not entirely sure why. All he could think about all day long was either Margaret or Fallon.
“Margaret,” Thursday called out softly. “I’m here to help you.” At first there was only silence, and then he felt that same prickle on his neck he felt last night as the air grew cold around him. His breath formed a white plume in front of his face.
Margaret’s ghostly figure appeared before him, but her face was no longer twisted in anger. Now it was full of sorrow.
Thursday fumbled for his spirit box, a device that rapidly scanned radio frequencies, creating white noise. This noise gave spirits the energy to form words by randomly scanning through FM and AM frequencies. He stretched his arm with the device resting on his palm out to her as if he was some kind of reporter and he was interviewing her.
“You’ve come back,” she said in a whispered voice.
“I want to help you find peace,” Thursday replied.
Margaret’s ghost floated closer to him. “I cannot leave this place. Not after what I did.”
He could hear her voice clearly over the white noise the spirit box was creating.
Thursday slowly reached out his other hand. When his fingertips brushed her insubstantial sleeve, a jolt went through him. Visions suddenly flooded his mind - flashes of Margaret’s life and how it ended. He saw her as a young woman in love, then angry, holding a bloodied knife. He saw her filled with remorse and condemned by the village.
As the visions faded, Margaret gazed at Thursday with desperation. “Now you know my sin. I am damned.”
Thursday felt dizzy and moved his feet to steady himself. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he said. “Let me help you make amends.” He knew from experience that he was making promises he should not be making but he felt obliged to help her. Maybe it was because he had met Fallon last night after his encounter with Margaret, and she had told him that Margaret had been angry for a long time. To be honest, he did not really know why he was here, or why he was helping Margaret. He just felt like he had to.
Margaret studied him for a moment, then she nodded in agreement.
Thursday began the ritual to exorcise Margaret’s lingering spirit. As he worked, Fallon’s words echoed in his mind. That he was drawn to darkness and restless for a purpose. Maybe she had been right. Maybe this was his purpose. Even though he had a bad experience when he had started on this journey and he was inexperienced then, maybe this was the reason. Maybe if he helped dead people who were stuck in this realm whether by their own choice or not, maybe then he could learn the answers to the questions he had. The questions of what happened after we died. Where did we go? He did not want to believe even for a second that we were just gone. Forever gone.
As Thursday performed the ritual, Margaret’s spirit lingered nearby, watching him sombrely. When he finished speaking the incantations, she drifted closer. “Thank you for trying to help me,” she said. Her voice echoing from the spirit box sounded wispy and melancholy. “But I cannot rest until I atone for what I did.”
“What happened, Margaret? Why did you do it?” he gently prodded.
Margaret’s hollow eyes filled with sorrow. “I loved him so much. Thomas was handsome and charming when we first met. I thought he was the one, that we would be together forever.” Her ghostly form flickered as if struggling to maintain her composure. “But after we married, he changed. Thomas became cruel and controlling. He wanted me to cut ties with my family and friends. When I refused, he grew angry.”
Thursday had to strain to hear her voice above the white noise emitted from the spirit box when her voice dropped to a pained whisper.
“He began hitting me, sometimes locking me in the cellar for days with no food or water. I lived in constant fear.”
Thursday listened gravely, pursing his lips together to help him push down the feelings of sadness that filled him.
“One night, after a particularly brutal beating, something in me snapped. As Thomas slept, I crept up and...” Her ghostly shoulders shook with silent sobs. “I murdered my husband in a moment of blind rage and fear. I have regretted it bitterly ever since. There were other ways to deal with someone like him. I should have reported him, had him thrown in jail. It shouldn’t have been like this. He ruined me. Tainted my soul.” Margaret was starting to get angry. The wind whipped hard in the trees around them, as if she was conjuring up a tornado of hurt feelings and emotions.
His jacket thrashed in the wild wind and his copper-brown hair lifted straight up into the air. Thursday said loudly to be heard over the racket the wind was making, “It does not have to define you.” He knew Margaret had to find her own way to acceptance before she could be free. He considered how he could help guide Margaret’s tortured soul to finding peace. “I know you are deeply remorseful over what happened,” Thursday said. “The man you loved betrayed and hurt you. You reacted, but you are not evil, Margaret.”
Margaret trembled, as if aching to believe his words could be true.
“You must find a way to forgive yourself,” Thursday urged gently. “What’s done is done. Now you have a choice - remain shackled by regret or move toward the light.”
Margaret closed her eyes. “I want to be free of this darkness. But how?”
“You could start by forgiving Thomas,” Thursday suggested. “Not for him, but for your own soul’s peace. Release the burden of anger you carry toward the man who wronged you.”
Margaret was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked at Thursday, her eyes welling with tears. “You’re right. I... do forgive him.” As she spoke the words, Margaret’s spirit began glowing brighter. The chains of regret and hatred that had bound her to this place were dissolving. She raised her eyes to the heavens with an expression of relief.
“Go in peace,” Thursday told her. “There is only light ahead.”
With a grateful smile, Margaret’s ghost slowly faded away until only swirling mist remained.
Thursday knew her tortured soul was finally free. Though the darkness in her life had been profound, she had found the strength to let it go.
Suddenly, a dark cloud flew at Thursday. At first, he only saw it from his peripheral but soon it enveloped him.
A deep, menacing, guttural growl released from the spirit box, “I have not forgiven her. You had no right!”
The dark cloud knocked Thursday to the ground so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs. Deep down he knew this was going to happen… Again. This was what he got for meddling in the unfinished business of ghosts. Would he never learn from his past mistakes?