Best Canadian Stories 2020

Your Random Spirit Guide Eden Robinson

My Haisla and Heiltsuk ancestors would never come to you in a dream. They have super stressful afterlives watching over their great-grandchildren as they make unfortunate dating choices at the All-Native Basketball Tournament or decide to put their lustrous, black hair in un-Indian man buns.

If you want to talk to my ancestors, you need to burn their favourite food and drink. Put it on plates and in cups; real ones, not disposable. Don’t throw it in the fire. Say their names as you place the dishes and drinks near the flames. Otherwise other ghosts will try to steal their food.

They’re not going to emerge from the clouds like angels or the Lion King. They’ll be a flicker in the corner of your eye. Your keys showing up on the coffee table when you’re sure you left them on the kitchen counter. A song that repeats endlessly in your mind, usually their favourite, a song with sentimental meaning. They’re not going to whisper their stories in your ear as you sit at your laptop, no matter how much you feed them. A ghost doesn’t have that kind of energy. Our worlds are separate and difficult to transcend.

Or you might be listening to a liar. Human ghosts aren’t the sole inhabitants of the other world. The thing that’s whispering to you can say it’s my ancestor, but I doubt it and so should you. Know the names. Trust, but verify.