Footsteps In The Attic. Part 2

 It was Saturday morning and I was determined to put my spectral angst aside. The air was crisp with the promise of autumn, it was my first day wearing a sweatshirt. Summer was ending, and all was right with the world as far as I was concerned. 

I didn’t have work, and that meant I did have 48 hours to devote to kitchen recon. Being the daughter of a successful architect, I knew a thing or two about old home design. 

I picked paints that would look authentic in a Victorian home. I settled on a color I fondly called ‘daiquiri ice’ after the Baskin-Robbins ice cream. It was pretty much a pale sea-foam green. The rest of the kitchen would be a classic, timeless white. I grabbed brushes, paint, tape and tarp at my local hardware store. 

I wanted the kitchen to have a more open, shabby chic look so I decided to remove all the cabinet doors and fill them with wicker baskets, glass containers, and a deep green antique dish set I found at the local thrift store. 

I was fully aware all this effort was ridiculous for a rental property. But, I was determined to feel ‘at home’ after Andrew.  I told myself I could afford it… which was part truth part youthful exuberance. Although I was young, I had made a name for myself as a personal trainer. I had a fully booked schedule, a six month waiting list. I’d worked relentlessly hard to earn my reputation as well as my salary.  I remember my job was always a source of ire for Andrew. He expected me to quit as it was ‘unfeasible’ for a housewife to maintain a career and raise children.  

In a beautiful twist of fate, at the time of the split, my gym’s corporate office asked if I was willing to transfer to the location in the next town over as they were understaffed.  Since I had wondered how and when my ‘shunning’ would extend to the hallowed grounds of my current place of work… I was keen to make the switch. An added bonus was Andrew would no longer know where I worked. My loyal clients followed me. And the rest of my books filled up quickly. 

So here I was. New town. New job location. New house. Fresh start. 

By the time my errands were finished, my Camaro was fully loaded with every home decor and renovation item I could think of. I was ready to tackle the kitchen. I had a remaining 3 weeks on my other rental, giving me two weekends to finish my project before my move date. Plus, my other house had a fully fenced yard which I wanted Balou to enjoy instead of paint fumes. 

As I stood on a ladder to apply painters tape, I heard a knock at the back door. 

There was something peculiar about this home’s layout. Functionally, the front door was entirely for show, solicitors, and the mail person. In the back of the house, the kitchen also had a door as well as an even larger patio than the front. There was also a ‘hidden driveway’ which could be accessed by the street behind the house. This would prove to be invaluable, which I will touch upon later. 

I opened the door to see a man who was probably in his late 40’s but looked to be in his mid 70’s. He wore tight jeans, work boots, and a matching fleece lined jacket. He had deep set smoker’s lines and steely blue eyes surrounded by bloodshot whites.

He didn’t say anything. He looked me up and down in a way that made me want to shower with a Brillo pad. Finally he muttered…

‘I’m Guy. Ian’s brother’, he grinned sending chills right down my spine. ‘I need to take some measurements of the house’

His words were bland but I knew how to detect underlying menace now. I had learned the ways of the world. Before Guy could set his dirty boots on my freshly cleaned floor, I cooly stepped outside, closing the door behind me. 

‘Ian didn’t notify me you were coming over’, I said flatly. 

Guy, in no mood to be slowed down, pushed past me to open the door. 

‘I’ll be in and out’, he said dismissively.

‘You won’t be until I talk to Ian’, I said pulling out my pink razor cellphone. 

I hated that pink phone. My dad had waited eagerly in line to gift it to me on its release day. He wanted it to be a surprise, but I knew the man’s affinity for new technology. I debated on calling him to say I wanted a discreet phone, but I wasn’t one to ruin a surprise. I remember very well when he called me with hurried excitement concerning my new phone. ‘And it’s pink’, he added… beaming with pride. It was such an amazing gesture, who was I to wreck it? And for this very reason, I always had pink phones dating back to my clunky Nokia. 

I never had the heart to tell my father anyone who got an eyeshot of me with this thing would label me as a Paris Hilton wannabe with daddy’s credit card and a bad attitude. As Guy looked at the phone and I could see he came to that very conclusion about my character. Ugh.  He had his hand on the doorknob. Determined not to be undermined, I called Ian and turned my back to him. I could feel his bloodshot blues zeroing in on my ass. Lovely. 

As I heard the doorknob twist I said, ‘You’ll see in my rental agreement I have a dog. A big one. He’s in there, and yes….’ I looked over my shoulder, ‘He bites’. 

Guy stepped away from the door as I got ahold of Ian. I had watched enough episodes of forensic files to know, women who live alone should never let strange men into their home. No matter how convincing the cover story.

Once I got a hold of a deeply apologetic Ian, he grumbled his brother was meant to give me a curtesy call before arriving, and that they needed measurements for a home appraisal. 

In this moment, I realized Guy was who I would be interfacing with as Ian had limited mobility. I couldn’t fault Ian for this. But I wasn’t too pleased no matter where I went, there was always a creep on my porch. Such is life.

I wondered if Guy was smart enough to put two and two together that I was lying about my dog. It didn’t matter, Balou would be here soon enough. I would also be returning to the hardware store to purchase a chain lock for both the front and back door. 

‘He’s always been a creepy bird’, I heard an elderly voice say over my shoulder. 

It was a much older gentleman wearing a flannel shirt and a baseball cap. He had a big smile and a hunched back. Any girl who’s ever had a kind, strange man rescue her from a creepy, strange man knows what I felt in that moment. Joy and relief. 

‘I’m Ed’, he smiled and reached his hand out. ‘I’m the landlord of the property right next to you.’ 

I reached out my hand and gave Ed a firm shake. 

‘Strong shake’, Ed nodded with approval. 

‘My dad taught me well’, I said in response. 

Which was true, by the way. My father taught me how to shake hands at a young age with the philosophy strength of grip equals strength of character. ‘Never trust a man with a weak grip’ was the motto, and apparently Ed agreed. 

As guy tromped about the house. I showed Ed my plans for the kitchen. Ed brought over his tool box even though I had mine sitting off to the corner… the gesture alone damn near melted my heart. As I resumed my taping Ed gossiped and I listened with genuine curiosity. Ed discussed the history of the town, and how this row of houses where once the finest homes in the whole county. He wasn’t wrong, even in their older state, the street remained impressive. He mentioned my place once being the doc’s house. At this time I assumed he was speaking about Ian’s father, who was very much alive and still practicing. I’d come to discover later this assumption was incorrect. 

Eventually, Ed and Guy departed and I continued on with my project all by my lonesome. My plan was to get the first coat down before John’s classes were over. Just as soon as I closed the can and rinsed my brushes, I heard John’s little green truck pull into the driveway. 

I was excited to show him my progress. The kitchen already looked much brighter and cleaner even with a single coat. Since I would not be utilizing a moving truck for another two weeks, I made do with what could fit into my Camaro. Which was my television, pillows, and blankets. 

John brought over what he thought would be the perfect movie for our first night in the new home. It was the 1980 edition of the horror film, The Changeling.  We ordered pizza and sat in front of the TV in the expansive front room. We probably looked ridiculous.  By the end of the film I was completely creeped out, and quite happy I’d be sleeping at my other house that night. 

The house felt much bigger and strangely quiet.  I knew it was just about time to be going back to my other house. Balou would be missing me, and while Marie was very attentive to his needs, he was ultimately my responsibility to care for. 

Trying to act tough, I nonchalantly picked up the empty pizza box and walked into the kitchen. It was precisely then my facade, jaw, and pepperoni dropped all at once.  

‘Babe… Babe! Get in here!!’, I screamed and shot a finger to the corner of the kitchen, I was nervously dancing like I hadn’t peed in a week. 

John looked just as stunned as I was as shakily pointed to the bifold door… It was… it was wide open. I could swear I saw the lightbulb swinging.

I was trembling, I didn’t want to take my eyes off It. John of course remained stoic. 

‘Did you do that? Please tell me you did that.’

I was still shaking, the pizza box lie in front of me with little scattered bits of crust debris around my feet. John didn’t answer me. He instead slowly made his way to the open door. I cowered into the doorway which connected the kitchen and front room. As John moved closer he took a step into the darkened stairway.

It was then that John started screaming.

I didn’t know whether to run towards him or away. I was frozen just like in my dream.  After what felt like an eternity, my instincts finally kicked in and I ran towards the dreaded doorway.  As I got closer I saw his expression of agony change to that of laughter. This was all a prank. 

‘You asshole!’, I yelled as he only laughed even harder… It was a fully belly kind of laugh, his body shook and his eyes teared up. 

My emotions rapidly shifted at this juncture. First to terror, then to rage, then to laughter. I pulled John out of the stairway. How utterly ridiculous was I being? Did I really think my life was going to became a supernatural ordeal worthy of Roman Polanski or Alfred Hitchcock?  I felt my nerves release as we closed the door behind us.

Unfortunately as this door closed, another would fling wide open. Leaving us with more questions than answers. At the center of the kitchen was a large island, upon it sat John’s empty coke bottle. 

First, the bottle let out a loud ‘POP’ and sizzle, almost like bottle had been freshly opened.  John and I halted our laughter and stared at the bottle… it was at this point the bottle shot vertically into the air, hovered for a few seconds and eventually landed upright on the counter again with a resounding ‘thud’. 

Even John the prankster looked spooked. As we left the house, John took the bottle with him. He was convinced it was some kind of anomalous event… something about air bubbles… 

But I knew what it was when I looked into the upstairs windows. 

I said my goodbyes to John, who was still absorbed with his bottle, I got into my car and drove back to my other house… I had a feeling my good night’s sleep were numbered. 

John’s schedule once again became jam packed, so I finished painting the kitchen on my own. By the time Sunday night came I was completely wiped out, but equally fulfilled. The new refrigerator had been delivered and the old one removed. I painted all the cabinets white with a semi gloss finish. Each shelf was carefully arranged for maximum visual appeal.  The walls were a tinted blue/green, the moldings and baseboards were white. I removed the fluorescent light fixtures and replaced them with a large off white metal chandelier… since the ceiling height allowed it. The kitchen also had a massive window which overlooked the backyard. After meeting Guy, I sewed a set fluffy white balloon curtains made out of a thrift store sheet with a pale green rose pattern. The window seal was large, I found antique green bottles to match my new dish set and filled them with dried baby’s breath. 

It was dusk, I could see the stained glass colours cascade into the kitchen from the front room. Being no stranger to ghosts, I leaned against the kitchen island and looked directly upstairs.

‘I hope you like what I’ve done with the place. I tried to keep a lot of it accurate to the time period. I know how odd, and sometimes ugly new trends can look’

I started wiping down the counters, and continued to speak.

‘John is a prankster. It annoys me too sometimes. But I think I get it… upstairs is your space. I’ve got plenty of room down here so I can respect that’

As stopped speaking I could hear a rustling upstairs. The wind was blowing outside causing all the windows to clank. Something that made me jump at first until I ascertained the source. And then it happened, I don’t think I can ever really explain it. I heard music. It was both nowhere and everywhere. It’s like I could hear it but it wasn’t quite touching this reality. It sounded like an old phonograph. This moment was eerily pleasant. Maybe I had appeased the ghosts upstairs and now they were throwing a party. 

The last two weeks breezed by. Before I knew it, I was all moved in. The house was quiet and uneventful. John stuck to his ‘air bubble theory’ and I stuck to my ‘ghost treaty of 2007’ philosophy as to why the activity suddenly ceased. Halloween was approaching and I was quite pleased to not be spending spooky season in a genuine haunted house. 

There are two busy seasons in a gym. January right after the holidays, and the fall leading into them. Everyone was keen to shed a few pounds before packing them back on with thanksgiving stuffing and Christmas cookies. The personal training kiosk was in the center of the gym while the rest of the gym staff was located in the front. 

We had a large, circular desk lined with high bar stools and fun fitness gadgets only the trainers had access to. 

It was before Halloween, so everyone was in the ‘corporate’ holiday spirit. You know, the witch hat and office clothes (in this case yoga pants and sports bra) aesthetic. I always personally found it a tad depressing. Work and Halloween debauchery should not exist in the same sphere. Santa hats and staplers, sure, but Frankenstein in a cubicle is just plain sad. 

My noon client was out taking care of a sick toddler, so there I sat alone at the trainer’s desk. I decided to catch up on paperwork while I waited. I looked over my schedule as well as my client’s current training programs and results. As I read I felt eyes on me and a bone chilling presence. I tried to shrug off the feeling but my paranoia persisted. I looked up and scanned the gym, nothing appeared out of order. That was until I saw the ‘new sign ups’ desk at the front of the gym. 

Sitting directly across from Shelley’s black cat ears, was Andrew. He was staring at me intensely as Shelley read what I could only guess were the gym’s policies. If only ‘no stalking the employees’ immediately followed ‘please re-rack your weights’. I glanced up at the clock, debating on whether or not I had time to cancel my next client and bail. Five minutes to one… no such luck. 

Andrew crossed his T’s, dotted his I’s, and walked towards the trainer’s desk. My heart raced. I tried to hide my fear by gripping the barstool with one hand, I needed an anchor. 

Relaxed, Andrew pulled up a stool next to mine. He looked forwards. 

‘I‘ve been slower playing basketball. I thought it was about time I got a gym membership.’, He then turned his head to look at me with a sneer.

He was full of shit. That man hated exercise in all its forms. He regularly berated me for how much time I spent working out, but also had no problems pinching any areas he thought were ‘too plump’ on my midsection, sometimes leaving bruises behind in their wake. 

My one o’clock came up to the trainer’s desk, ending this interaction. She was a sweet, quiet girl. Once we got out of earshot she said she could cut the tension with a knife. She asked me if I was having a fight with my boyfriend. 

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’ I said, looking over my shoulder to spot an empty barstool.

This was not the end of Andrew, my number was up. He never directly approached me again, although he made his presence known. He’d take a seat next to client’s on the vacant equipment, coldly staring me down as they completed their sets.

Although I only lived blocks away from the gym, I made sure to take a different route both to and from work everyday. I’d look for a cherry red truck and I would always park in the back alley behind my house, so my car was not visible from the Main Street. 

One inky black Saturday morning my plan stopped working. 

I had a client I made an exception for, I trained him twice a month on the weekends. It was 5:30am as I walked to my car. The parking lot was empty, as it always was early Saturday mornings. The air was chilly and I was ready to feel the warmth of my car heater… maybe once I got home I’d get under the covers and take a nap. As I turned the key, I heard the ‘ding ding ding’, of my car’s alert system and the ‘low gas’ light flickered on. 

At this moment, I saw the headlights of a cherry red truck turn on across the parking lot. Andrew had been waiting for me. Immediately I started to drive… I had five to ten miles tops before the car would be running on fumes. I pulled out of the gym’s parking lot and turned onto the main road in the opposite direction of my home. I calculated where my landing spot would be. I decided on a well lit Ace gas station, with a bathroom in the front and what I hoped would be a padlocked door. 

My car sputtered as I pulled into a gas station parking stall. With zero hesitation, I sprinted to the bathroom. While in the parking lot I heard the clomp of Andrew’s boots behind me. I didn’t look back… I kept running until I was standing in that dingy little bathroom. I scrambled for my phone. I could already hear the knocking of the gas station attendant. 

‘Sorry! Upset stomach!’ I yelled, ‘I promise I will fill up when I get out but I’m really sick’

The knocking stopped. I knew Andrew wouldn’t press the attendant.  He wasn’t keen on involving cops or causing a scene, too much scandal. I called John and muttered, ‘please pick up’ under my breathe. Tired and disoriented, he answered. 

‘I’m at the Ace on 12th. He’s here’, I whispered. 

John didn’t hesitate. I sat on the bathroom toilet, trying my best to contain my tears. I refused to move from my perch, my legs felt too weak to stand… that is until I heard John’s voice from the outside worriedly asking the attendant if she’d seen a little blonde girl. At this precise moment I threw the bathroom door open and wrapped my arms around John’s neck. At this point I couldn’t hold back my nerves or tears. I cried like a bonafide damsel in distress being rescued by my tatted knight. It was then I saw the attendant’s face shift from annoyance to compassion. Women either fear or have experienced the aftermath of dating the ‘wrong kind of man’, there’s a quiet solidarity there. We made our way out of the gas station convenience store without a word spoken.

There was no way Andrew was going to stick around with John on the scene. John outweighed him with a solid fifty pounds of muscle mass. Although, the size was sadly useless as John and I both knew a fight would immediately result in him being locked up based on appearance alone. But Andrew didn’t need to know this. 

Sure enough, Andrew was gone. But he left a going away present upon his departure. A nice, deep scratch in my glossy black paint job as well as a flattened tire. 

My time as a trainer had come to an end. I calculated my savings and called my father, I knew I wouldn’t have enough to hold me to the end of my rental agreement. I hadn’t told either of my parents exactly what happened with Andrew. In all honesty, I felt ashamed and I didn’t want them to look at me differently. I came up with a story about layoffs and my dad agreed to help me out with the remainder of my rent.  

My heart and mind stopped at exactly what would happen at the end of my lease. My employment in any neighboring town ran the risk of eventual discovery. Would I have to move back to my home state, leaving John behind? I never let my mind follow the thread to that conclusion. 

The time following was mind-numbing at best.  At this point, I was the only ghost haunting my home. My state of seclusion ended when I tried my damndest to slide on my jeans to no avail. All the stress snacking had caught up with me, this was my breaking point.  

I slid on my running shorts and headed to my happy haunt, the gym. I knew this was a time Andrew would be at work… but I still peered across the parking lot for his truck. Nothing. I parked a few businesses over in a little lot hardly anyone knew existed. And I made my way in…

I was greeted by the staff who all recognized me, happy to see I hadn’t dropped off the map all together.  After saying my hellos, I headed over to the weights to let out my aggression. I loaded plates onto the squat rack, anxious to feel the weight over my shoulder blades and the delightful rush of endorphins which followed each set. I was home.

In the adjacent squat rack was a beautiful, heavily made up blonde girl I’d never seen before. She was about my age, her clothes were skin tight, everything about her was loud… in this moment I knew we were destined to be friends, and I was right. 

Her name was Sam. She quickly became my favorite person, next to John that is. Sam had a knack for saying weird and hilarious things. Her sense of humor was deadpan in a way I have never experienced before or after. My personal favorite moment was her very serious life advice that it was important to fart with your pants pulled down so it couldn’t cling and follow. 

There was something else about Sam. Something she didn’t like to talk about, she was psychic. Really psychic.  I would always be a little bit nervous during slumber parties. As she fell asleep she would woozily ask me about painful, hidden details from my childhood. Questions like, ‘Why do you hate the purple flowers?’

My elementary school had purple weeds that let off a pungent stink. I picked them as though they were flowers and then booked it home before the neighborhood bullies could catch me. I wanted my mom to think ‘purple flowers’ were what my school days looked like. The vacant lot near my current rental home had a whole field of them. Sometimes I’d catch their scent in the house. 

The group which accompanied Sam was a small, offbeat one. I liked everyone fine but Sam remained my favorite. 

‘Real Halloween’ had arrived and John and I decided to host a Halloween party at my place with our band of misfits. I was elated. It had felt so long since I last hosted a party.

A new misfit joined us on this spooktacular occasion, Sam’s date…Edward. Sam was popular with the boys which came as no surprise. She was intelligent, funny, and beautiful to boot. But sometimes her taste in men left me scratching my head. Edward, the ‘male model’, was a gaunt young man, his hair appeared to be blonde under all the product he layered on. He made sure to let us all know his printed glasses were Burberry and he endlessly bragged about his ‘pheromone’ cologne… although he did manage to land Sam somehow, so maybe there was something to it. 

When Edward wasn’t bragging, we was complaining about the night’s events. The Shining was ‘overhyped’ and our zombie brain shooters were ‘kitsch’. I definitely hid my adorable jalapeño mummy poppers in the oven after John’s bartending skills had been decimated by treachery. 

‘I just expected Halloween to be more scary at a real haunted house’, Edward scoffed. Drinking the artesian water he brought with him.

‘What are you talking about?’ I said with genuine confusion. I could see Sam was uncomfortably shifting on her heels and jabbing Edward in his side, an attempt to shut him up. 

Sam, Edward, John and I stood in the kitchen while everyone else comfortably ate and drank in the front room, Treehouse of Horror played in the background. I could faintly hear Marge Simpson’s voice.

Aside from the few preternatural occurrences that occurred upon my arrival, the house remained quiet since. As such, I never told Sam about the footsteps or the bottle. What was she talking about? 

While I felt uneasy, John felt defensive. Even though he rented a room with his friends three blocks away, he was here enough this was really his home as well. John was an ambassador of horror and reigning Halloween expert, there’s no way a twerp with pheromone shampoo was going to ruin his party. 

‘Do you really want to see something scary?’, John said, every vowel dripping with annoyance.

‘Please’, Edward responded placidly, folding his arms across his T-shirt which said ‘Armani’ in bold print. 

Edward was the only person who hadn’t even attempted to wear a costume. And for this, I was imagining him with a life size douche nozzle fastened on his head. 

My imaginary revenge was disrupted by John’s real life stupidity, he grabbed a flashlight from the utility drawer. He was going upstairs, and I wasn’t going to stop him. 

I of course protested to the point of bluffing a breakup… but mr atheist was on a Halloween vendetta against mr Armani, he wasn’t going to be derailed. And with that, John led the full band of misfits on the ‘upstairs tour’. Sam and I had the common sense to remain downstairs. 

Once they finished their paranormal investigation, they all proceeded down the narrow stairs… laughing at the creepiness of It all. John was pleased, Edward was annoyed, I was enraged.

We all settled into the front room once more. Everyone prattled on about the made beds and claw foot tub. John avoided my dagger gaze as he laughed with the group. To him I was being silly and superstitious, there was no such thing as ghosts or an afterlife.

‘We need to stop talking about them’ Sam suddenly blurted, warning us all in her frightened voice.

As we all fell silent, the house went black and the kitchen decidedly grew loud. Slamming and crashing noises echoed into the front room. I cringed at every thump and shatter. My beautiful kitchen… 

Once the commotion ended everyone ran to the kitchen doorway to see just what caused all the ruckus. John ran over, his flashlight ablaze.  While they were filled with morbid curiosity, I was filled with dread. Sam stayed with me until I was ready to get up.

I wasn’t prepared to see the damage… 

Every wicker basket had been thrown out of the cabinets, their contents scattered across the floor mixed in with my now shattered green dish set. All the drawers were open and emptied. The curtains were torn from the wall and the chandelier swung and then it crashed onto the kitchen island. 

The ghosts upstairs just decimated the peace treaty of 2007, I was fucked. 

After the Halloween party, John’s atheistic illusions were shattered along with my Avon dishes. We were well beyond the bottle theory, air bubbles don’t destroy kitchens. 

So there we sat with Sam at the Denny’s… I needed some nostalgia. It was a cool night so Balou sat in my car, I refused to leave him alone in the haunted manor at night. Sam was giving us our ‘ghost debriefing’ over hash browns. Edward wasn’t there, she’d dumped him over his general intolerability a week too late by my estimate. 

Both real and mundane events had collided over that week. While I was cleaning up the kitchen in the daylight hours, I was overtaken by an extremely foul smell. I looked through the house for the source, once I walked into the bathroom I wretched. The city’s sewage system had ‘backed up’ into my shower… 

After the kitchen and bathroom were scoured, another foul occurrence began. Any new produce that was brought into the house would be covered by maggots in a matter of hours. This phenomenon continued over the entire duration I remained in the home. I never looked at bananas the same again. 

The breakers now tripped regularly, leaving the house in total blackness at any given moment. Doors slowly creaked open then loudly slammed shut. This became especially annoying as I had made the laundry room which was about the size of my bedroom into Balou’s play space for when I needed to leave him at home. I’d come home to see his dog gate or connecting doorways were open, giving him full run of the house.  Anyone who has ever known or owned a bored Border Collie themselves can attest to the mayhem they’ll create. 

And lastly, we now had loud upstairs neighbours. The clomping and stomping was constant, lasting all night and destroying any hopes one had of a good night’s sleep. Since John still worked nights and I was out of work, I could only begin to drift off to sleep as the sun came up. Apparently, I had become a Vampire. 

Sam, our expert ghost liaison, was breaking down the ‘ground rules’ for living in a haunted house. John decided to listen to her, as his disbelief in ghosts is what started this whole mess to begin with. 

‘The first thing you need to know’ Sam took a sip from her Diet Coke. ‘Whenever anything happens, try not to pay attention to it. And if you need to talk about it, never do it in the house.’

‘Why?’ John asked flatly, he wasn’t yet accustomed to this new reality where superstition superseded science. 

‘Because right now, they are trying to get you out. If they pick up on your fear or frustration, they will amp up the activity. And the other thing about ghosts is this… they will send you messages.

‘But isn’t the message essentially to get out?’, I looked at Sam. She took a deep breathe and contemplated her words cautiously. 

‘For the original ghosts, yes. But there’s also another.’ Sam paused for a moment. ‘She’s newer. I wouldn’t call her a ‘safe’ spirit because I’m picking up on drugs and possible violence surrounding her death. She’s disoriented, there might be other things attached to her. She’s dangerous because of this, but she’s also protective.’

My heart dropped to the floor at this description. 

‘Is she middle aged with dark hair?’ I asked pensively.

Sam nodded. ‘She sits on your little couch a lot, watching you.’

I knew who this was. In my home state a high school friend’s mother had disappeared without a trace. My stomach twisted into a knot. 

‘Why did she come here?’ I asked. 

‘I think this whole town, is a portal’, Sam said grimly. 

Sam and I looked each other. There was something I didn’t say aloud but I knew Sam read it by the nature of her gifts. This woman didn’t escape her Andrew and she wished to guard me from mine. She picked up on my frequency of isolation, fear, and justice unserved… and there she found familiarity and made my home hers. I felt the tears well in my eyes but I kept them at bay, how could I ever explain this to anyone? 

‘This spirit’s signs will feel different.’ Sam continued… ‘And they are all going to contain meanings. She’s new, it takes all her will to manifest them.’

In this moment I felt a combination of sadness and gratitude. I had an ally on the ‘other side’.  

We paid for our food said goodbye to Sam. I gave her a big hug in the Denny’s parking lot. Sam had always been ridiculed for her abilities, made to feel like a freak. I knew sharing her gifts this was an act of love and vulnerability on her part. To this day, I haven’t forgotten it. 

Weeks after the Denny’s plan was established, John and I were taking Balou on a walk, I would like to say it was for general health.  Really, it was because as John reached for the tv remote and the decorative candle beside it slid across the coffee table at the exact pace as John’s hand before it flew off the table, and smacked against the wall with a thud.

It was early December and by this point John and I had our routine down. We would wordlessly gather our things and leave the house to go on a drive. 

Today we arrived at a strange and beautiful park. I was shocked I’d never seen before. It was grandiose and filled with decaying stone gazebos and other structures from the turn of of century. Directly next door was a home I’d come to call the ‘Satis House’.

I called it this as it reminded me of the grand, dilapidated estate from Great Expectations… I fully expected to see an elderly woman in a tattered wedding gown run across the grounds wailing at any moment. 

I ended up asking Ian about this home. The owner was an eccentric millionaire who shipped genuine marble edifices and statues in from all over Europe… over time the place had presumably become a drug den. His kids liked to party and they brought their friends. The result was a 10 acre property with once finished gardens completely overgrown. Abandoned cars and trash sat all over the property mixed with massive stone arches and lions as well as two story water fountains now cracked and crumbling. The ornate windows were shattered, cardboard filled the gaps. 

I finally found the house creepier than mine.

At this juncture, John and I decided to get into his green truck and drive home. But we weren’t alone.

I saw it directly overhead. I want to say it was scary, but it honestly felt… cliche. I thought I was REALLY losing my mind. As we drove a ghostly apparition in a long tattered gown flew directly overhead. I could see the fabric flapping at the top of the window. I chalked this one up to paranoia and lack of sleep, that is until I heard John say,

‘Do you see it too?’

I nodded. 

The next part moved from cliche to unnerving. As John turned into the driveway his headlights lit up our backyard, and there stood it stood. The thing which followed us home. I slowly lifted my finger to point… but John was already staring… 

The figure had extremely long pitch black hair, she wore a white Victorian nightgown. She glared in our direction, then vanished into thin air. 

The ghosts of the upstairs made it known they could follow us, they heard every word we said… there was no escape. 

As we exited John’s truck, I saw Balou’s lips curl into a snarl.  

Balou was half Shepard, he had a very keen sense for real danger. As such, I hardly ever saw him ready to attack. He wasn’t the dog that barked at everything. He was bred for strong wit and intuition. And tonight he sensed evil. 

He jumped out of the truck, bearing his teeth. He prowled across the yard, his belly sliding along the grass as he fearlessly surveyed the darkness. He growled and snapped, fur standing on end. The trail led him up to the back door… and into our house…

This moment marked the end of annoyance… and the beginning of malice.