Wandering Ghosts

The hot midday sun beat down on Song, his brother Fen, and his grandfather as they walked from their house to the neighborhood park, plastic bags filled with offerings for the park shrine. The park was a short five minute walk, ten with Fen tagging along, from Kong Kong’s house, situated as it was in the middle of the residential district of Petaling Jaya. Facing the park on three sides were single story townhouses with their chain-link fences and similar, barred window architecture in pale, faded paint and red clay tiles. The remaining side of the playground hosted the busy road that led to a local primary school, one that neither Song or Fen attended. After all, they were only visiting their grandfather.

The park was barebones by design, consisting of a single, overgrown grass field with a lonely football goalpost on one end and a small, sand-filled playground on the other. Scattered trees and stone tables dotted the edges of the playground, filled by the residents who hid from the heat while smoking or eating. Paint peeling, the monkey bars and metal slide in the playground received looks of longing by both Fen and Song as they walked by, tiny feet wandering towards edge of the sandy playground. A single glance back by their Kong Kong froze any further movement by the pair. Song breathed out as his Kong Kong turned the thick glassed, wrinkled and white haired face forwards. As the trio walked on, Song peeked at the noticeboard they passed, seeing only faded sheets of papers for various boring handyman services and a single flyer for a missing cat.

It made no sense, not to Song, that they were doing another ceremony. They had just finished one in their house, the scent of burnt joss sticks still clinging to their clothing. As they walked on, a stray breeze blew through the neighborhood, bringing with it the prevalent stink of exhaust fumes and burnt rubber, mixed with the occasional stench of rotting food. It was the day before garbage pickup and food rotted fast in the humid weather of Malaysia. Section 11, Song reminded himself. He was ten now. He was supposed to be big and know such things.

As Song put one foot after the other, kicking at the grass with his cheap, ten Ringgit slippers; Song sighed. And when his Kong Kong did not turn around, he sighed again louder, sweat already staining the back of his yellow cotton t-shirt. He did not understand why they had to get dressed in their new clothing, why his grandfather was wearing that white and grey horizontally striped polo shirt and his black pants. Why they’d gotten into trouble when Fen had stained his shorts at breakfast, and they’d been forced to change before they did the first ceremony. Now, he and Song shorts matched, dirty brown cotton pieces that had been bought at the night market and would last about four months. Just about long enough before they grew again.

“Just wait. We’ll get ice kacang later,” Kong Kong said as they finally reached the shrine. The pronouncement made Song stop sighing, the sugared, shaved ice treat perking him up.

“Yay!” Fen cried.

Song shook his head as Fen proceeded to run around the tree that the shrine had been placed under in happiness, ignoring Kong Kong as he placed the plastic bags aside. While Kong Kong was busy preparing the offering, Song stared at the shrine. It was barely two feet tall, no more than an open wooden box set on its side and painted red with the traditional overhanging roof. The god within had a big, bushy beard, faded red robes and a weapon in his arms. Of course, that did not narrow who it was down for Song, nor did he understand the Chinese words written on the tablet beside the clay god.

As Song tried to place the god, his Kong Kong set out the offerings and Fen stabbed at the ground with a stick. In short order, the small offering of roast pork, fried vegetables, rice and sweets was ready. Song was tasked with Fen, making him stand still long enough to burn a trio of joss sticks and insert them into the shrine itself.
“Remember this. When you’re older, you’ll need to do this yourself,” Kong Kong said sternly to them. At seven, Fen scuffed the ground with his foot, unable to stay still. Song, was much older and wiser at ten and he paid careful attention. “One offering, at the beginning of the month, to appease the ghosts that have left the hells. One more offering, at the end of the month,” Kong Kong gestured down, “for when they go back. For good luck through the year.”

“Yes, Kong Kong,” the pair chorused to their grandfather. Their Kong Kong smiled, satisfied.
Song screwed up his face in thought, and when his grandfather looked at him, he burst out with the question he had meant to ask. “But, why here, too?”
“Because someone should make offerings for the wandering ghosts,” Kong Kong said, and seeing Song’s puzzled look, he added. “For those who have no one else to make offerings for.”
“Oh.”

Seeing that the pair had no further questions, their Kong Kong gestured with one hand. “Go. Play.”
Song’s grandfather turned away, headed to one of the stone benches a distance away where one of his smoking kaki’s sat, waiting for him to join. Song sighed, plopped himself down beside the shrine and under the shade of the tree while Fen sat beside him. He idly swiped at his forehead, removing some sweat while he waited for his treat.

“Stick?” Fen offered, having magically located one as usual.
“No. I don’t want a stick,” Song said. He was not seven. Why would he want to play with a stick? Song suddenly shivered, a slight change in the wind direction kicking around dried leaves beneath the tree. Motion at the edges of his vision made Song turn.

Release Date: September 21, 2022

Pages: 16

Genre:

eBook ISBN: 9781778550720

Language: English

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