Return Haiku

life continuing

a ghostly reappearance

hesitant farewell

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The Room in the Attic - BFF 238

This is a fictional story I wrote.  I hope you enjoy it.

       We loved the quaint house.  That is exactly why we bought it.  It was a fixer upper to be sure, but that is why the price was so right.  We had never owned our own house before and looked forward to painting it, decorating it, and loving it for a lifetime.  It would be home, plain and simple.  The painting and decorating may have to wait, but we had plenty of time.  The down payment and getting the utilities started up took all the extra ready cash we had on hand.  Life would continue to be paycheck to paycheck, but on the upside this place would be ours.  It had a beautiful yard and plenty of room.  While it was out of town, it was still close enough to shopping and everything we would ever need.  It was perfect!

          Up to the room in the attic went the boxes of Christmas decorations, baby clothes I couldn’t part with, odds, ends, and the kid’s old toys.  Sunlight danced on the wooden attic floor from the two large front windows.  I had never lived in a house that had a walk in attic before or a basement.  Having an upstairs and a downstairs was a real novelty and the kids were ecstatic to be able to race up and down the stairs.  It sounded like a thundering herd.  On the upside, maybe I would be able to burn more pounds running up and down staircases myself.  It was an older house, but it had charm.

          About two weeks after moving in it began.  I had tucked both kids into their beds, let the dogs out for their last pee of the night, checked on my children’s sleeping forms once again, and returned to my own room.  I had just settled into bed and opened my book when I heard it.  A definite banging and footsteps were coming from the floor above.  What the hell?  I heard screams from the neighboring rooms and a thundering of feet as my kids ran into my room and jumped in bed with me.  The dogs were barking and growling.  And then Bang! Bang! I heard the distinctive sounds of footsteps walking across the floor above again.  The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

         “Mommy, something is up there!”  my daughter said terrified.
         “I don’t know what it could be! No one is here but us!” I confirmed certain it was only the wind.  The footsteps sounded again.  This was our house and I was determined to investigate.  Grabbing my cell phone, I climbed out of bed and headed for the stairs with both kids and the dogs close on my heels.  I flipped on the light switch, and climbed each stair with terror gripping my heart.  We reached the door leading into the attic room, when we saw the door knob beginning to turn.  Screaming, we turned tail and raced down two flights of stairs to the main floor and out the front door as if the hounds of hell were after us.  The cold night air assaulted me as I burst out into the yard.  I dialed 911 and announced to the operator.  “Someone has broken into my house!!  Hurry!! Come quick!!  Help us!”  The dogs continued to bark.  I called the dogs to me and they raced hell bent for election out of the house, barking all the way.  They stood guard at my feet, barking and growling at the house and what or who was within.  I hurriedly hooked them up to the leads outside as they continued to bark in agitation.

            What seemed like minutes passed and a patrol car pulled into the driveway with lights flashing.  I explained to the officers what had happened, and thankfully waited in their warm squad car as they entered the house with guns drawn searching for the culprit.  After 10 minutes of a thorough search of the premises the officers emerged to inform me that there was nothing in the house.  I felt like an a$$, I admit it, but we knew what we had heard.  We went back to bed without any further incident that night.

             The next night, the footsteps and banging returned.  This time I awoke to find a glowing presence standing over me.  Fear caught my breath as I stared up at it.  I blinked and whatever it was vanished.  I turned on the light to find myself completely alone except for the growling dogs around me on my bed.  There was no more disturbance for the rest of the night and I finally drifted back to sleep holding the dogs close for protection.  

      The ghostly encounters continued.   We never figured out what the ghost wanted.  I decided after a while to do a little research on the former owners of the house and discovered that the man who lived there before had died there in his sleep.  Bill had been old and alone.  Supposedly his wife had died years before, and his children had moved cross country.  Maybe he didn’t want to leave his home.  Maybe he liked us.  He didn’t seem scary anymore, only sad.  After a while, we grew used to Bill’s ramblings.  Occasionally we would still hear the bangs and footsteps and I would yell out into the dark “Go to sleep Bill!  It‘s late!” and the commotion would cease.

        Years have passed, my husband and I are old and the kids have grown and moved on with their own lives and families.  The footsteps and bangs have become only a vivid distant memory.  I imagine Bill is finally happy we are here taking care of his old home.  So happy in fact, that he could finally return to his loving wife’s side and rest in peace knowing his home was in good hands.

The Visit of the Shadows

The BlogFest 2012 host for today is Leigh of Views of an Optimist.  I chose to write a fictional tale for this prompt.  I hope you enjoy it.

   Annie snuggled into her bed happily and held her favorite stuffed bunny close for comfort and she focused on the pictures from the book her mother was reading.   “Just one more story, please?” she begged.
   “It is long past your bedtime.  It is time to sleep.” her mother said as she bent to kiss her cheek.  “Nightie night and don’t let the bed bugs bite!!  Sweet dreams!”  She slowly made her way to the door and quietly turned out the light.

 

        That is the moment Annie dreaded most.  That is when the shadows came.  Even though her nightlight left a festive glow, its light didn’t shine near bright enough to scare the shadows away.  She gripped her blanket up around her nose and screwed her eyes up as tightly as possible.  She didn’t dare peek, or she knew they would be there.  She couldn’t help herself.  She always peeked anyways.  A beam of moonlight shone into her room. Outside the window the breeze rustled the branches of the ole cherry tree.  She knew it was only the cherry tree.  She wasn’t a baby after all, but when the lights went out and the moon shone just so and the shadows came, she was terrified.

      One night she had fallen off to sleep only to be awakened by a sound.  Her eyes flew open in the darkness struggling to adjust and search for the source.  It was then she saw it.  At the end of her bed a shadowy presence stood watching her.  She held her breath.  Before her eyes a woman materialized and smiled.  She sat on the end of the bed watching her.  Annie was too afraid to move.   While the shadow seemed friendly, it still scared her.  The woman smiled and told her not to be afraid.  Easy for her to say!! She was petrified and she had to pee.  One false move by the shadow person and she was going to pee the bed and then she would be in trouble.  The shadow lady seemed to sense her discomfort, because as quickly as she had appeared she vanished.

     Annie scrambled from her bed and made a beeline for the light switch.  The light illuminated the room revealing she was quite alone.  Annie’s breathing slowed and she quietly went to the bathroom and returned to her room.  Sure the shadow would come again once the light was off; she switched the light and raced for her bed making a flying leap under the protection of her covers.  The moonbeams danced across the floor and the shadows kept time on the wall.

       Several days later Annie’s mother was looking at photo albums when Annie saw a picture of the shadow lady in the book.  “Mommy, that lady was in my room last night!!”  Startled her mother looked at her.
        “Annie, that is impossible!! This lady couldn’t have possibly been in your room. Were you having a dream?”
          “No, she was there.  She is the shadow lady!!  She comes every night as soon as you turn out the light.  She dances with the shadows on the wall.”
         Her mother seemed shaken.  “Annie, this lady is your Grandma.  She died many years ago before you were born!”

     The startling bit of information that the shadow was her Grandma’s ghost took everything scary out of the shadows that invaded Annie’s room after lights out.  She had always wanted a Grandma.  If only she hadn’t died!!  Annie only wanted to be like the other kids who shared happy stories about their cherished Grandmas.

     That night another story was told, another kiss on the cheek, and more wishes about not letting bed bugs bite.  Annie couldn’t wait for the lights to go out.  She no longer hid under the blankets with fear.  She waited in anticipation eager to welcome her grandma properly.  Unfortunately the shadow lady didn’t return.  Although Annie never saw her again, she felt her presence and no longer was afraid of the shadows.  Instead of fearing them, she chose to embrace them.

Retrospect

    Have you ever realized that it is usually in retrospect that something that sounds like a grand plan at the time is actually fraught with stupidity?  There are some things in my past that are just too damn depressing to keep writing about.  Personally I really would rather not go there.  I would rather write about some of my past exploits and adventures that at the time I should have never undertaken, but didn’t realize until after the fact that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea.

       For example, there is that whacked over idea that once my parents died there place was at the cemetery even though between you, me, and the bed post I KNOW only their remains are there.  Their souls took off to heaven or wherever they go when they drew the last breath.  Technically I can’t follow them to heaven for a visit, so I do the next best thing and march my happy butt out to the cemetery.   My folks loved the twinkle of Christmas lights.  They both used to deck the halls to the hilt so when my mom died it seem appropriate to take a Christmas tree to the cemetery and light it up with Christmas tree lights on Christmas Eve night.  My dad attached huge batteries and had it down to a science so that Mom’s little tree would remain lit most of the night despite the cold which can be a real battery sucker.  After she died, my family would visit the cemetery, light her lights, then head to my Dad’s house for a huge Christmas feast followed by the opening of mountains of presents.  On the way home after the festivities, my husband and I would stop by the cemetery to retrieve the tree.

         After my Dad joined my mom at the cemetery, my husband and I were determined to carry on the tradition.  The only problem was that we were no longer out and about on Christmas Eve.  We would bundle up and take the tree out to the grave site about 5 PM and then go home.  The year my Dad died, I waited till almost bed time Christmas Eve night and decided I would go pick the tree up.  My daughter decided to go with me, and my husband elected to stay home.  To me, up until that point, going to the cemetery was the same as going to my folk’s house to see them.  Maybe a little colder and a little darker, but you get the idea.  It was no big deal.  I pulled into the pitch dark cemetery and drove back to where my parents graves were, parked, and my daughter and I got out and leisurely strolled out to their tombstone in the moonlight as if we didn’t have a care in the world.

  

       I stopped before their stone and with tears in my eyes I wished them both a Merry Christmas again.  As I picked up the tree, I distinctly heard voices say Merry Christmas.  I glanced at my daughter, and she glanced at me.  “Did you hear that?” I asked nervously.  
         Her eyes were as big as saucers as she answered “Yes”.  There was no one else around.  “Mommy?” she said obviously terrified.

          I freaked out, and by the look of my daughter she was on the train to freak town right along with me. A chill ran up my spine.  Holding the tree in one hand, I grabbed her hand with the other and raced hell bent for election through the snow and obstacle course of tombstones to the car.   As we ran we heard other voices whispering “Merry Christmas!”  I can honestly say that the experience scared the living be Je$us out me.  I almost $hit myself.  We got in the car, locked the doors, and sped out of the cemetery as if the hounds of hell were licking at our tires.

         In retrospect, I realized the tree could stay where it was till morning.  For every Christmas since, the tree has remained at the cemetery until Christmas day and when the roads were especially bad and the snow deep, it remained till after New Years.    In retrospect, you locate a few brains, gain a smidgeon of common sense that you previously didn’t possess, and learn not to provoke the bloody ghost of Christmas past until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

G is for Ghostly Encounter

       Although I have never been visited by the bloody ghost of Christmas past, I have had ghostly encounters with my mother since her death and have lived to tell the tale.      Before my mom died, she would often say she intended to come back and haunt me.   She joked about how fun it would be.   We would share a good giggle and go on as people often do. Unfortunately, one day the unthinkable happened and she did die.   Shortly after the funeral, life proceeded and my Dad returned to his job as an over the road trucker and for the first time in my life, I was left utterly alone.  When he left, he turned the lights off in their bedroom and closed the door.  It had also been my mother’s room so I avoided the memories found within like the plague.  She died in the living room, but still that was her room!

      One morning I awoke and smelled the familiar scent of cigarette smoke.  Weird, considering I don’t smoke and I was the only one in the house.  I remember thinking that I was losing my mind.   Since I had to pee, I rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom determined to investigate the cause of the smoke smell after I had relieved myself.  When I reached the hallway, I stopped dead in my tracks.  Not only was the door to my parent’s room standing wide open, the light was on, and the bucket my mother had often used to vomit in during her illness was in the center of the hallway.  A chill raced down my spine as I stared in astonishment at the eerie sight.

       How could this be?? A shiver raced down my spine and my stomach clenched.  I held my breath.  It was impossible, but somehow the light had been turned on.  Somehow, the bucket had found its way to the middle of the hallway.  The familiar fragrance of cigarette smoke lingered as it often had so many mornings in the past as my mom enjoyed her first cigarette of the day.  I nervously laughed, and said to my mother’s spirit “Holy $hit mom, you scared the living be Je$u$ out of me!!!!”  I am sure she was somewhere watching and laughing her a$$ off at me.

     Since then, I have occasionally woken to find her watching over me.   As soon as I acknowledge her presence she flees.  Those visits have dwindled over the years.  There have been times when I have been deathly ill or in extreme pain when I have woken out of a sound sleep to discover her watching over me.  Her presence has always been comforting.  Those appearances I always chalked up to the fact that I probably imagined them in my feverous state.    Still the physical proof of the puke pail in the hallway, the bedroom light being on, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke are a little hard to claim to an over active imagination or bad pizza.   I was fully awake and the only one in the house.  After all the ghostly encounters, I do believe in spooks until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.

Spooky- BFF 137

       Even though I lived in the next town, when my Dad had a stroke…it was me that found him. It seemed like I always got stuck with the horse $hit things like finding my mother dead, and my Dad after he had his stroke.  He told me after that he was happy I did find him.   It was me that stopped by the house everyday and took in the mail, laying it carefully on the desk in his bedroom.  It was me that saw to his wishes and needs before he died.  Even shortly after he died, I still stopped in to bring in the mail and check on the house.

      One day I stopped in to bring in the mail much like I had on all the previous days.  However, this time turned out particularly spooky and I will never forget it.  While I was in the house my daughter was outside with my husband playing on the swing set my Dad had bought her for her frequent visits.  I still couldn’t believe my Dad was really gone.  The house was silent when I let myself in.  I made a beeline for his bedroom where I noticed the temperature seemed to drop to almost chilly.  Just like always, I flipped on the light switch and approached his desk.  That is when I saw it.  Chills ran up and down my spine as I was drawn to a small oval pin decorated with a picture I had seen before of two children walking on a bridge being watched by an angel. Where had it come from??  I felt uneasy as I picked it up and examined it.  I had never seen it before in my life and couldn’t imagine where it had come from.  My skin dotted with goose bumps as I hurriedly turned out the lights and rushed out of the house.

        I came upon a surreal image of my daughter swinging with my husband watching.  The sun had started to go down and dusk had fallen.  I looked over towards the east side of the house  and my breath caught.  There in the shadows were the ghosts of my parents!  “I must be seeing things!! How can this be??”  As I started forward, they turned, smiled,  and then walked away disappearing as I watched.  I strained my eyes.  I looked down at the angel pin in my hand and looked back to where their ghosts had once been and wondered if I was loosing my mind.  I wondered at the time if in my grief if I was only seeing them again because I wanted to so badly.  The only problem was that their images were so real.  Not only that, here was this angel pin that I had never seen before laying precisely in a place I couldn’t have missed it.  Instead of being frightened, I was intrigued.




          Several times since I have seen one or both of my parents in the shadows and in the mist watching over me.  On several occasions I have felt their presence.  I want to believe it is them and not my wishful thinking imagination.  It was just plain spooky!  Until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.