Nicandro, Graeme, i see what isn't there
Graeme Nicandro
 Posted: Jan 19 2012, 6:00 AM



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Who are you?
    he stares at a corner for a long minute, not doing a thing just looking at a corner. Finally he sighs and leans back in his chair, his eyes still not leaving the spotI don't think they want to know that Graeme looks tired but alert, seeming to listen to something or someone no one else can hear I'm not your damnmessenger boy but there is no real strength in the words, even the swear sounds tired and pointless. The only thing that seems alert is the young mans eyes which are dark and stare in the corner as if trying to make out something that clearly isn't there. You done? Good. I'll tell her but... Finally his eyes rest on the interviewer, the first time since they met but he doesn't speak. he just watches you but it is clear he is listening to something else. After some frantic nodding the words tumble from his dry and cracked lips. he wants me to tell you that your keys are buried under the house.he looks down at his hands, which are dry and peeling, shaking even though he has them clasping eachother between his knees. He suddenly hunches as if someone had hit him across the back and nodded The dog. Your dog thought the leather was some kind of chew toy. You son didn't steal them. he rose his eyebrow and his glance went back to the corner for a moment before his focus is on the interviewer again I don't he shivers again and slowly he nods. And the um... next time your going to... you know screw around, close the blinds. Your dead uncle isn't the only one who likes to watch.

    There is a long pause, the man obviously not caring if you believe him or not but the voice from the corner has stopped its nagging. The interviewer has to repeat the question and Graeme pulls out a cigarette case from the frayed pockets of his jeans. He lights one before he even considers answering the questions you have for him. He draws in deeply, only expelling the toxic smoke down between his knees when the need for breath becomes to strong for him to resist

    My name is Graeme Nicando and before you even start on the smoking, I really don't give a damn. I am slowly committing suicide if it is all the same to you. If you had to deal with the stuff I have to deal with... a small smile is on his lips as he draws back on the cancer stick again well maybe your just strong then me. I am what people call a medium, a channel for the dead. Ghosts seem drawn to me and part of me is drawn to them. It really is the definition of a love hate relationship. They all have their stories to tell and some of them are ready to move on. And then you get guys like this one... Graeme used his cigarette to point into the corner like you Uncle William who just sticks around because they like it here on earth. if I was you then I would get a house cleansing. I wasn't joking before. He is attached to you, for some reason. he likes you, and I think it is obvious that the like isn't a natural one
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What do you want?
    Like I said me and the spirit world are connected so I kind of want to be a part of it at all times. I have tried to kill myself... five times in my life but hey whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger right. there is a dark chuckle as he breathes out smoke carelessly. I never really had friends, or lovers. My family was quick to get rid of me as soon as it was nice enough to do so. I am still not sure how that happened... he looks at the corner with a pained look in his eyes but quickly looks away, putting his hand up to silence the apparent spirit in the room but the ghost goes on for several seconds apparently family was a big part of your life. But the details your Uncle is giving up I don't think I want to be part of that family either.
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Why are you here?
    I have always seen spirits. My earliest memory is playing with another little boy who apparently wasn't there. I found out later that he was my older brother who died when he was three from whopping cough. I knew he wasn't a real person, not like my parents. Spirits don't look solid. None of the movies make it look right but you know, movies never get anything right. he closed his eyes slowly and squeezed them tight, hunched over and letting the cigarette burn down on its own. Graeme started to rock a little back and forth in his seat but it seemed he even forgot where he was as Uncle William went on whispering details into his ear, touching him with hands that barely looked human but none the less felt real for Graeme. Finally it stopped and Graeme slowly uncurled himself and went on as if nothing had happened I didn't have a name for it until I was ten but by then I was already the weird kid who talked to himself to much.

    when I was little I never saw anything wrong with chatting to myself. I was an only child for most of my life, so I was left to my own devices a lot. I think my parents waited so long to have more kids because they were scared they would get another kid like me. Lucky for them my sister is completely normal... no you can't meet my sister. it was obvious by the dip in his voice that the last bit was for Uncle William, Graeme pausing to finish his smoke. He put it out under his shoe, not seeming to care about the carpet as he did. When I went to school I realised it was different and weird. But the spirits wouldn't go away, and if I didn't answer them they just got louder. most of my teachers thought there was something wrong with me. autism, ADD, ADHD. You name it and I am sure someone tried to stick that label on me. Graeme gets up and puts his stomped out cigarette in the bin close by and quickly comes back to his seat I told them I was just talking to this man, that lady, the girl in the strange hat. Finally they got me with schizophrenia.

    My parents kept me at home until I was thirteen. And then they put me in a crazy house because why put up with a boy who does nothing but shout at invisible people when you had a perfectly same two year old to keep you happy. You know that really was the worst time of my life. it was to quiet. Enough people die in a mental institution's and this one was no different but most of them moved on quickly. No one liked it there. it was painful for me to stay there. The drugs they gave me did nothing. Well that was a lie. They did something but not what they were meant to do. There was nothing wrong with me, nothing that doctors could fix anyway. I found myself wandering through the corridors looking for spirits. It was to quiet and I ached for them. The only thing I can compare it to was like a drug withdrawal. Part of me needs them like they need me. I had a couple of kicks in my days there, a few spirits who I caught unguarded on their way to the other side. But they never stayed long.

    When I was eighteen they said I was cured. My parents didn't want me. I went back to the old house but they were gone. A spirit who resided there, Mildred, told me they left four years ago and she didn't know where they went. They had washed their hands clean of me and I had nothing to my name. I didn't even have any identification cards. I did what anyone else in my position would do. I went to the local graveyard and lived among the lost. I stole what little food I could manage to survive and did nothing more beyond that for a good solid year. But it became clear that I could just stay there. Graeme pauses his story to light another cigarette, not apologizing for the smoke he added to the small room The spirits wanted me too of course. A real medium is so rare, I was a bit like a toy for them. But a rambling homeless man who spoke to nothing was getting to much interest by the people and I had to move on before I got locked up again. I walked. I just started in a direction and kept on doing, sleeping when I got tired and begging for what I couldn't steal.

    And that is how I ended up here in Seattle.
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Where are you going?
    My random wanderings brought me here and who knows how long I will make myself stay. If all the spirits are as fun as your Uncle I think I might move on quickly
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 Posted: Jan 19 2012, 3:28 PM

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