IT was night, not quite dark, for the moon was partially hidden in the clouds, its soft, golden light flirting with the land and the quiet river.
The small village was sleeping and from the shelter of the forested area, a lone figure stepped out and stood silently watching. A young Caucasian woman with long reddish hair, pieces of her clothes torn and injury marks on her body.

A stranger in the dead of the night.
Who was she, what was she doing there alone and what happened to her?

The confused look in her eyes told a story of someone lost who was looking for someone to help her.
“If only someone could talk to me,” she cried silently.
But no one could see her nor hear her, not until yesterday.

She had been sitting on the stump of a fallen tree in the jungle, lost in her distressing thoughts when she saw a small party of hunters coming her way. She stood up, her hopes rising and she greeted them pleasantly but the men passed her as though she wasn’t there.

“Why can’t they see me?” she cried.
She watched them go, her hopes drifting away like dry leaves down a running stream, then one of them, not native, tall and tan-skinned turned and looked back at her. She inhaled sharply,
“Is it me or something else he’s looking at?”

She couldn’t be sure but it was something to go on and she had followed the party, keeping in the shadows until they reached the village.
It was a neat, little community with not many huts, created it seemed from a detailed plan, possibly as a small resort. She had waited until all was quiet then she made her way to what seemed like a guest house where he was sleeping.

She entered through doors she didn’t have to open and stood at the foot of his bed, looking at him, his one arm across his bare chest, his brown hair tussled in sleep. From his features, she could see he was not pure native but a mix of perhaps Spanish or Portuguese. She looked at him for a long moment then she touched him gingerly, but he did not stir. She pulled his hair but it was like clutching thin air.

“What do I do now?” she asked herself helplessly.
He was in deep sleep, unaware of her presence, and on a sudden urge, she bent down and whispered in his ear. He stirred, opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. When he saw her, he did not seem afraid, but wary, not sure why she was there.

“You are seeing me, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “Only I’m not sure how or why.”

“Oh, this is such a relief!” she sighed, sitting on one of the tibisire chairs in the room.
“Why are you here?” he asked, still wary of her presence, the stranger she was.

“I don’t know what happened to me and why no one can see me or hear me.”
He looked at her for a long moment, noting the condition she was in, then said slowly, “You seem to have been in some kind of accident and died…but your soul is lost.”
“No, no I’m not dead, I’m here somewhere dying,” she cried deeply distressed.

“Okay, okay,” he said calmly, not wanting to upset her.
“Can you remember who you are?”
“No, she shook her head.”
“Where you were going?”

She closed her eyes for a while, then she jumped up as something flashed in her memory,
“The planes, the screams…the crash…”
Her voice trailed off and her spiritual form started to fade.

“No, no!” he said hurriedly, “Don’t go, I will help you—”
But she was gone and he was left standing puzzled.

He laid awake wondering about this young woman whose ghost only he could see, who would not believe she was dead and who looked so distressed and confused.
His eyes closed in sleep and after what seemed like a long time, a whisper once more awoke him.

She was standing by his bedside, looking even more distressed.
He sat up immediately, “Where did you go?”

She shook her head and sat down in the chair, her head buried in her hands for a long while. He said nothing, just waiting patiently until she had composed herself.
Finally, she said, “I know where I am…where my body is and I don’t have much time.”
“I don’t understand,” he said.

She sighed deeply, still not fully composed, “I must’ve fallen out when the plane crashed and my body washed downstream and it’s now stuck near the bank in some bushes.”
“How do you know that –- no-no, wait,” he stopped her before she could answer, somehow understanding her strange dilemma.

“You were talking to me, then suddenly you disappeared, that’s because you regained consciousness. Now you’re here again because you’re unconscious again.”
She nodded, relieved that he understood, but still looked deeply distressed,
“I don’t think I’ll make it.”

He felt sudden compassion for her and stretched out his hand for hers, a confident look on his face, “Don’t say that, I will find a way to you and find a way to get you out.”
She took hold of his hand and this time felt his touch, not thin air.

For him the journey through the jungle was treacherous but his amazing strength and knowledge helped him make good time through the dangerous and forbidding areas.
On the afternoon of the next day, as he sat down to rest, the hours drawing close to twilight, he looked at her closely, a young woman with so much to live for, her dreams hanging on a thread as her life teetered on a threshold.

Through the journey, she spoke of her life, her work, her ambition as an environmentalist, and that it was work that brought her to the rainforests of South America when the plane crashed almost three days ago.

He felt sadness in his heart for her, knowing her body was lying somewhere and he may find it too late. As the thought crossed his mind, her form started to fade, and the pleading look in her eyes before she disappeared made him forget the rest his body so needed.

He chopped his way through thick, stubborn shrubs and emerged onto the scene of the horrific plane crash. The mangled craft lay on the jungle floor with no other survivors. He looked around in desperation but she was nowhere. Following the sound of the rushing stream she had spoken about, he found her body, half-submerged in the water.

He lifted her out gently and placed her on some fallen leaves. She was breathing slowly with barely a pulse, there wasn’t much time.
He looked around, knowing that walking back through the jungle with her would be too difficult and too much time would be lost. The only way was the stream.
Working deftly, he built a raft and placed her in, skillfully navigating downstream, praying to reach a camp.

Prayers do bring miracles, he believed that when he reached a camp.
There was no doctor but her injuries were treated and an emergency call sent out on the radio. He was exhausted but stayed up all night, watching her, talking to her, making sure she was warm and alive until the aeroplane arrived.

He watched as it left, deeply satisfied that he was able to save her life. How he could have seen her and spoken to her in her ghostly form was still a mystery to him, but hadn’t it been for that special gift, she would have died.
Two months later, as he entered his house on his little resort. He saw her inside waiting for him.
It was a surprise visit.

He smiled, happy to see her, but gave her a little pinch.
“Ouch! What’s that for?” she asked a bit surprised.
“Just making sure you’re not a ghost,”

She laughed a little and said to him, “I am returning back home to the UK in a couple of days, but I can’t leave without seeing you and thanking you for saving my life.”
He smiled warmly, “I can’t explain in words how I feel about that but it’s something I’ll remember forever.”
She smiled, tears in her eyes, “So would I.”