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.

The Ghosts

 

Of tender house plants haunt the yard.

Mack barks frantically at the last of the Norfolk Island pines, shrouded in rose-studded white sheets and a length of gauzy red fabric. It's kinda tall and scary.

We brought the other big one in last night.

The little yellow cherry tomato huddles under a thin blue blanket, still making sugar bombs of cozy gold that never, ever, make it into the house before they are eaten.

Brrr.....

Ghosts of Ian sent us strangely brilliant, odd white clouds the other day. I couldn't stop looking up, except when accompanying rain showers were shivering down.

The ghost of summer past left behind its shawl of rich and satisfying purple asters and brilliant goldenrod for our enjoyment...if only it wasn't a reminder of what's to come...

And the ghost of my dad visited me the other night in a haunting dreamscape made of what their house is really like and of cold, lonely farm houses we lived in over the years before they bought it.

He was wearing a blue plaid summer shirt he liked that I wear now because I like it too and it reminds me of him. He warned me that we weren't charging enough for the Collier's Weeklies they left behind and started to help me price some other things around the house.

Then the boys came and he vanished and they thought I was a little crazy.

Until we went upstairs and found a piece of ghostly furniture, surrounded by piles of sawdust and wood curls where he had been working a favorite craft again. The haunting scent of pinewood filled the air.