SHE stood at the centre of the four-way street corner, a woman—fair and petite with dark-brown shoulder-length hair—and looked around.
It was 9:30 in the night, not too late, but the streets were dimly lit and silent.
She was rather surprised that the streets were empty at that hour. She had lived there since she was a little girl when there was music, loud voices from the intoxicated men in the rum shops, boys riding their bicycles through the streets and neighbours sitting on the culvert, laughing and guffawing.
“Where did it all go?” she wondered. “What happened to this once vibrant place?”
The dynamism of society and culture, it seemed, had changed.
“We had such great fun here, growing up from children to young adults,” she mused.
She had left through marriage but came often to visit, for it was where her heart was, and in her heart, no place was better than home. But as the years went by, many people passed away, including some of her girlhood friends whose funerals she attended, paying tribute to their lives.

There was a kind of emptiness as Maria stood there, the shadows getting deeper, and she wondered, “Are there still many souls here, earthbound?”
She took a deep breath and shook her head, chiding herself, “What am I thinking?”
She walked to her home, just a few steps away, and that night, she fell into sleep’s warm embrace. But on the streets, as the night grew older, shadows emerged—some who had entered the afterlife but were still earthbound.

It was what she had wondered about, but as she slept, she didn’t know how close she was to the answer. She had a vivid imagination and had written several stories on departed souls and reincarnation, but her mind was curious to know more about the afterworld.
Her childhood friend, who had died four months ago and whose soul was still earthbound, knew of her curious mind. They had had many conversations over the years on the topic, and she stood there, a shadow in the dark, looking at the house where her friend slept. She felt pained that she had left the earthly life unexpectedly, missing her for all the intriguing stories, the laughter, and bits and pieces of gossip.

Morning dawned quiet and beautiful, and Maria awoke with a spirited feeling that it would be a good day. It was indeed a good day—for the cleanliness of the house was refreshing, the small repair works to be done were completed, and the day continued with tidying of the yard and picking of water coconuts.

Early in the evening, with the streetlight casting a glow on the street corner, Maria stood with a few neighbours from the back street, casually chatting. Then, as was expected, mention was made of her friend, who had died some months ago. Her memory was still fresh in the minds of those close to her, and Maria expressed, “It’s all about fate, who writes the script of our lives.”
That night, she sat up late writing in her journal, and as she wrote something more on the memory of her friend, she couldn’t write ‘The End’. The pen hovered over the page and she wondered, “Isn’t it the end, or is there more?”

Maria returned to her home in the city the next day, and, one month later, she visited her birth home again. Another childhood friend from New York was also visiting, and she met with him and his family two houses away for a little get-together. She was always happy visiting with old friends, many of whom had migrated, reminiscing on the fun times of growing up.
It was close to midnight when she took her leave to walk home alone, which was just a short distance away.
“I hope no ghosts follow me home,” she joked.
“There are no ghosts,” her friend assured her with a little laugh.
She left for that short walk home and walked into something that would leave an indelible mark on her mind—something she had been curious about—that appeared as real as ever. The earthbound souls emerged from the shadows, not getting close to her but walking on the streets. She took a deep breath as a strong shiver passed through her body, her heart beating rapidly, and her feet felt laden.
Every sound of the night seemed to stop as the souls, shrouded in shadows, walked the streets—stopping always in front of the houses that had been their homes.

“Why are you still here?” she asked in her mind.
“Because our families have not yet let us go…”
“I died before my time…”
The answers transcended into her mind and she heard it all, knowing who they all were from the houses in front of which the shadows stood. She looked a little longer at the shadow in front of her friend’s house and grief filled her heart.
“You’re still here,” she said in her mind.
“Yes, I need my story to end.”

A car’s headlights coming from the main road broke that strange occurrence, bringing energy back to Maria, and she hurriedly walked home.
For the remaining hours of the night, she did not sleep—scared now that she had stepped a little into the afterlife, where she should not have gone.
“I hope that does not happen again.”
In her journal, she finished the story of her friend’s life and wrote, “The End”, to free her soul.