The Ghost in the Door

 

We moved here in 2001 shortly after Ralph's mom passed away. It was very much her house. This had been her home for decades and she loved the place.

From the first day I was uncomfortable.

Unsettled.

Restless.

I laid it to not having a "place" in the new-to-us house.

Being a creature of habit and territorial, I needed a spot to park my carcass and feel safe. I had no such location.

It was more than that though. For some reason I felt uncomfortable around the pocket doors leading from the front hall into the fancy parlor...think gilt-framed ceiling-high mirror and all that. Along with that feeling there was the way the doors closed if I left them open or opened if I left them shut. That'll rattle your cage, I can tell you.

Those doors are HUGE...and heavy. I am not a wimp and I had to throw my weight into moving them, but they moved themselves pretty regularly during our first weeks here. It was easy to lay that to vibration from trains across the river or large boats on same. You can feel the ground shaking from those things sometimes, especially the big boats.

However, after I found my place...south east corner of the regular living room, in Peg's ancient recliner, and started putting the house in some kind of order, the funny business with the doors stopped. 

I didn't think much of it after that, just joked that whomever it was had accepted me and realized that I meant well to the house and its occupants spectral and otherwise.

However, although she never mentioned it, Becky never stopped feeling the creepy sensation in the front hall. When she finally said something, after all these years, I knew just what she was talking about.

The ghost in the door.

As I put the disaster area...don't ask, you truly don't want to know...that was in that parlor with the fancy mirror straight, she noticed that she was no longer uncomfortable going through that room. (Because the front hall is in fact as big as a room and two stories high.)

Cool! Mr. Mrs. or Ms. Spook was pleased again with its haunting place.

Then last night the boss and I ventured down to the river to look for Common Nighthawks (no joy there, alas).

As soon as we were out the door my little dog, Mack, commenced to howl.

And howl.

And howl.

And then whine and howl some more.

Biskies did not help. Stern words ditto.

He didn't quit until we came home.

I think he just needed to visit the outdoor facilities after consuming his kibble and water.

Becky, however, is positive that the ghost is pissed annoyed about something. I don't know, but I spent some time today on the restoring order project in the front room. Nothing like a little propitiation if you know what I mean.