The Seventh Sense

“I smell dead people.” I gasped from the ounce of breath I was able to muster.

I was bent over, the stench that poured into my nostrils nauseated me, so that I was not thinking clearly. The elderly woman beside me, a complete stranger, turned away from me. She had looked friendly, a sympathetic ear who would listen to me. Still, I felt ashamed. I had never told anyone before. Now, I felt people should know and she was there.

“I found out when I was a child,” I continued, not looking up or knowing if she was listening to me. “I awoke one morning too sick to go to school. An aroma had kept me up all night. A smell filled my nostrils and lingered. Even then it made me think of rotting flesh. My mother had kept me home from school with my grandmother who lived with us, while she went to work. I cried horrendously because I didn’t want her to leave me. Somehow I knew.”

The old woman looked sideways at me. I could tell she was beginning to think I was crazy, but she couldn’t go anywhere. She politely pretended to listen. Maybe she was afraid of me. At that point, I didn’t really know or care.

My breathing was labored, and saliva formed in my mouth like I was going to vomit. I forced myself to continue.

“My grandmother was dead a few hours after my mother had left. I found her in her chair with a cup toppled over in her lap. I think it was coffee because there was a big brown stain on her pink duster. The television was tuned to a game show she never liked. The smell was so bad, I waited outside the whole rest of the day until my mother came home.”

“Oh my!” The old woman couldn’t help but respond when she saw the tears forming in my eyes. My tears weren’t from grief. The stench was surrounding me and invading my every pore. I gagged.

“After that I knew. This was my first clue. I smell dead people before they are dead!”

I looked over at the woman. I wanted her to believe me, but her face was pale and she looked around with what seemed to me was panic.

“Ever since then, I have smelled the dead; my classmate before he got hit by a car, an elderly neighbor, the overweight man at work. They were all dead within 24 hours after I picked up their deathly stench. To me, they were already dead. I smelled the rotting flesh as they walked and laughed.

“What could I have done?”

My stomach began to go into spasms and I grabbed the bag tucked in the chair in front of me. I looked down at the floor, rocking myself, feeling dizzy with smells that continued to flood into my nose so thick that I could now even taste the wicked rot.

“This is not a gift!” My voice had risen and I saw the businessman sleeping next to the old woman sputter and open his eyes.

“There is nothing I could have done!” I shrieked out loud, and the cabin became quiet like a morgue.

I felt several jolts and was tossed about in my chair.

“The captain has turned on the ‘Fasten Your Seat Belt’ sign,” the stewardess announced over the loudspeaker.

“We are entering some turbulence . . . please put trays in their upright position . . .” Her voice faded as people screamed.

The smell was all around me.