It was opening day for the movie, A Quiet Place: Day One, and I was thrilled. I simply adore this particular franchise, and though my reason for loving the first two installments were for the use of American Sign Language and the amazing Emily Blunt, I was still excited for what this prequel would hold.
The movie theater we were going to was inside a nearby mall. It had a particular theater outfitted with the fancy recliners that make movie-going EXTRA enjoyable…or so I thought.
My husband, Wes, and I both went to the restrooms pre-movie with an agreement to find each other at our seats. I made my way into the theater just after he’d gotten himself seated and the look on his face when I sat down next to him was utter confusion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“The seat keeps moving by itself…”
I looked at the luxury leather recliner unsure of what we meant and then I felt it. This wouldn’t be an ordinary moving-going experience.
I watched as his chair slowly started to recline itself with his hands off the buttons to control it. His eyes grew large as he stared into mine. The lights began to dim. It was almost showtime. Maybe it would be fine…
I turned to look at him and the chair again as it slowly started to return to its upright state. Wes got up and quickly moved to an empty seat to the right of me as the movie began.
If you aren’t familiar with the A Quiet Place franchise. The title tells you the gist of what you need to know… it’s a movie with a lot of silence. If you’re also unfamiliar with the recliners in newer movie theaters or ones that have been more recently upgraded, they are not silent.
The hush that fell over the theater was absolutely perfect and necessary for this type of movie—until the recliner to my left began to move on its own once again.
A stranger sitting on the other side of the self-reclining chair looked over at me, whispering, “Are you controlling the chair?”
I laughed and shook my head, “No, that’s why my husband moved seats a moment ago.”
His eyebrows shot up and he turned to his friend, still whispering, “We got a ghost over here. Guess he wants to watch the movie.”
I giggled to myself because there sure was a ghost and it was a he. Sitting next to me in the moving chair was a young man, 20s at most, but likely closer to 18. He looked mischievous, only solidifying my suspicions when he began to chat with me.
“I was hoping you’d come back here...”
And he was right, this was a movie theater I had been to multiple times before with Wes.
“…I know you can see and hear me,” he continued.
He proceeded to share with me that he had passed in this mall, and of course, as any death witch would, I asked why he lingered. What kept him hanging around instead of moving on to the next sphere of his existence post-material realm?
I pressed him on whether he had loved ones he needed closure with, someone he wanted to share a message with, or something else still tying him to this location.
With young deaths, it’s inevitable for there to be confusion and fear surrounding the event itself especially if it is sudden and unexpected, such as a freak accident, overdose, attack, etc.
The young man wouldn’t share how things occurred, but rather how much “easier” and “more fun” his life was now that he was dead. As most empathic individuals always do, I knew he was lying. Though there were hints of truth to his statements and a great deal of burden had been alleviated from trying to survive in the physical realm, his life was not easier and it certainly wasn’t more fun.
I have no doubt he got his fair share of chuckles in from startling other mall-goers or movie-watchers with his shenanigans, no one could see him. No one could hear him. And it was incredibly lonely.
Believe it or not, though, the loneliness he thought he felt in the waking world was only that much more intensified in the isolated in-between of lurking in a realm that was no longer meant for him.
“You have to move forward and leave this place, you know…”
“I don’t want to.”
“I understand. It can be scary to step into the unknown. It’s necessary, though.”
His tone changed with me, he spoke more harshly, and the movement of the chair became more dramatic.
The stranger on the other side of the chair looked over at me with an expression of sheer terror. I laughed as quietly as I could manage to hopefully put his mind at ease before returning to my stern tone with the stubborn teenage ghost.
“Staying isn’t an option. You’ve stayed for a bit already, have no messages, nothing you want closure… it’s time to move on then.”
He refused. Angry and frustrated, he sat slumped in the chair, arms crossed, exactly how you’d imagine a pouting teen that just got grounded. The chair began to move more quickly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Disturbing all of the other movie-goers with a mini ghost tantrum.
I slowly raised my hands, palms facing one another, and allowed my energy to intensify in the window in between. I gently pushed the energy toward the young man creating a box-like barrier that encased him in the chair where he sat.
“When you’re ready to cross over, you can simply go. Otherwise, you’ll be confined here until the time comes.”
The motion of the chair reclining and returning to an upright position ceased. The movie theater was at peace once again, and we finished out the remainder of the film.
As the credits began, Wes and I got up from our seats, and I briefly looked back at the energetic barrier I created, which now sat empty. The young man had crossed over, and we headed out.
Outside the theater, my husband began asking me what my thoughts were on the chair. Before I could respond he said, “There was most certainly a dead person sitting where I was sitting which is why I moved chairs. Definitely male. I assume up to no good. And we need to be sure this one doesn’t follow us home.”
I laughed because my husband’s confirmations that what I’ve seen and heard was very much real always mean the world to me. I shared the whole exchange of events and how this young man had made his way onto the next stage of his journey, thankfully, and that was all of that.