by Simon Murik
But these weren’t easy people to walk away from.
I closed down the office and drove home. I was meeting Star, my semi-girlfriend for dinner tonight and I wanted to get a workout in and shower up. I got home and when I walked in the house it was like I’d stepped into a sauna. I checked the thermostat but the AC was at its usual sixty-seven degrees. My skin suddenly felt cooler and I could feel the cool breeze from the vent on the wall above me. Just tired and stressed, I guessed. I got my workout in and then swam for a bit before hitting the shower.
That night at dinner, I couldn’t focus and my eyes kept shifting. Johnny’s guys knew this place. They came here a couple of times a month to blow off steam and although I didn’t recognize any faces, there were enough sharkskin suits to make me nervous. The waiter came and I ordered a Jack and coke. A minute later the waiter returned with it and I took a sip and looked around the restaurant. When I looked back half the drink was gone.
“Did you take a drink of that?” I asked Star.
She stared at me with her big green eyes like I’d started juggling the silverware. “No, Michael, you did.”
I was pretty sure I hadn’t.
“Did you see me take a drink?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said flipping her hand in the air, “I wasn’t really watching. But who in the hell else would have?” Star picked up her glass of wine and slightly shook her head as she took a sip.
I rubbed the side of my face. “I’m going to go to the bar for a second, do you want anything?” I asked.
She shook her head and I got up and walked to the sleek black bar at the front of the restaurant. The stools were all taken by men in thousand-dollar suits and their leggy dates. I walked up behind a guy in a tan suit and his date, who was wearing a shiny silver dress.
As I watched the bartender mixing drinks, a thick-necked guy sidled up to me. I could see in the corner of my eye that his black suit wrapped around his powerful frame like a scuba suit and he reeked of cologne. “Don’t make me ever hear your voice mail again,” a rough voice said.
“Look, pal,” I said, turning to him. There was no one there; all I saw was a waiter scurry by and a couple of twenty-something girls in black dresses giggling over their phone a few feet away. I rubbed my forehead. Now I’m having conversations with guys who aren’t there.
“What can I get you, sir?” an eager voice asked. I turned back to the bar. “Jack and Coke.” The bartender nodded and hurried off. A minute later I had the drink and walked back to my table.
I numbly made it through the rest of the dinner. I knew the men in sharkskin suits were watching me and my food tasted as flat as cardboard.
I took Star home and she jumped out of the car. “I’ll call you,” I said.
“Don’t bother,” she snapped.
“Perfect,” I said and drove off.
I turned on the radio—static. I flipped the dial around and it was just static station after static station. I smacked the wheel as my racing mind swore it heard “Die … you let me die,” scratch out of the static.
I imagined south Utah had little to no gangster activity.
I got home, sat in the Jacuzzi for an hour, and then went to bed.
The nightly thump rocked me out of my sleep and I rushed into the exercise room.
Nothing.
Screw it.
I went to my computer and typed in Moab, Utah. Images of red desert canyons and clean, blue sky came up. I booked a flight.
A month later I was looking over the Canyonlands in Moab from the patio of the condo I’d rented. I had plenty of money and had paid for everything in cash, sold the practice by proxy, and didn’t tell a soul about the move. Most of my stress was gone and there were no more thumps in the night.
Had Johnny’s pissed off ghost really been harassing me or had it all just been in my stressed-out mind?
Who knew.
But there were no more gangsters and I’d gotten a fresh start.
And that was more than many people get in one life.
It’s been six weeks since I buried my wife of over fifty years and I still can’t get along too well without her in my life. Betty was my life and soul and I’m lost without her. We knew each other since my family moved into her neighborhood when I was six. We were boyfriend and girlfriend in high school and yes, I married my high school sweetheart, a marriage everyone told us wouldn’t last. I don’t know how I could have lived without her. A better match could only be found in heaven. Now I spend the better part of the day wandering around my house hoping to see my wife walk by. I know she’s gone, but I have had a hard time accepting that I’ll never see her again.
Everything in the house reminds me of her. The collection of figurines on the fireplace mantel, the pots and pans I cook with, the his-and-her towels in the bathroom, pictures on the wall, and pretty much everything else in the house. It’s overwhelming at times; I thought of getting rid of her things or moving to another house, but the idea of doing that caused me more grief than by being reminded of her in the house we shared and loved.
Shortly after the funeral, I began to see things; I thought I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. For example, one day I was wandering around the house trying to figure out what I was going to do—that was when I thought I’d have to get rid of her things. I kept a photograph of her on my dresser and that was one of the first things I saw every morning when I got up. It was hard to look at the lovely picture of her when she was young and beautiful and life was fresh and new for us. It hurt me to see it and I turned it around so I wouldn’t be faced with it every day. I thought I’d only do it until I could come to terms with her being gone.
I woke up one morning and as I went to the bathroom I stopped in surprise. The picture was facing out again and I could see her sweet face. I thought it was strange and wondered if I’d somehow turned it around and didn’t remember doing it. Without much thought, I turned it back around and took care of my morning business. As I came back into my room, the picture was turned around again. A chill went through me and I couldn’t do anything but stare at it for a few minutes before I turned it back around. I kept an eye on it for a few minutes, getting the weirdest feeling, as if a low-level electrical charge was running through me. It made me shudder and the hairs on my arm actually stood up and tingled.
Not much happened for the next few days, but then another strange incident occurred. While making dinner, one of the boxes of pasta I kept in the cupboard fell out onto the counter. I didn’t feel any kind of movement or earthquake or anything like that, and I just stood there staring at the box. As I looked, feeling a little bit strange about it, I noticed it was my wife’s favorite kind of pasta. I walked over and put it back in the cupboard, making sure the cupboard door was closed. To be honest I don’t remember if it was closed or not when I came in, but out of habit I had always closed them so it left me perplexed. Even still, it wasn’t normal and I felt myself again shuddering at the thought of it. The house no longer felt the same; it felt like there was a presence here. It was odd and uncomfortable.
Later that evening when I was watching television and nodding off in my chair, the channel on the TV changed and startled me. The remote was on the table and I know I hadn’t touched it and I really began to feel worried. I didn’t know what was happening and being alone, and rather advanced in age, I began to wonder about my sanity or if I was doing things I was unaware of. I was sitting in the chair thinking about this when I noticed the show that was on was one of my wife’s favorite shows she had watched religiously. I wasn’t too fond of it; if I had changed the channel, why I would have changed it to this?
Was my subconscious making me do things to remind me of my wife? I’d heard of some pretty interesting things that grieving people did and I thought maybe I was doing that too. Didn’t seem like it to me though; I was old but not senile. I flicked off the TV and headed to bed. Wouldn’t you know it? That damn picture was turned around facing me again! Now I really bega
n to get spooked. This time I turned it around and laid it down so the picture was facing the dresser.
My sleep was restless and I didn’t sleep well, almost jumping at every little sound the house made. Sounds I’d heard for years but now I couldn’t help but wonder if someone was in the house trying to drive me crazy. I must have finally dozed off and when I woke up, the first thing I did was look at that picture. It was standing up facing me—now I began to panic.
What the hell was going on? I thought that I must be dreaming all this; this kind of stuff isn’t real. I tried to ignore what was going on because I didn’t believe in these types of things which I refer to as goofy crap. I decided to just ignore it all and pretend I didn’t see any of this. That didn’t work.
I’d spent the last week not responding to anything; I didn’t turn the picture back around or even try to figure out any of the other odd things, like the box of pasta, going on during that week. Then something happened that set me to trembling. I headed to bed that night and the picture was turned so it faced the door, almost like she was looking at me. That was it; I’d had enough. I left the house and got a hotel room just to get away for a night and try to figure this stuff out. I have to admit, I was scared.
I realized I couldn’t ignore this anymore; whatever it was that was happening was real and I had to accept that. What I hadn’t counted on was being afraid to go back to my house. I didn’t understand any of this but I did realize that something was happening that I couldn’t put words to. When I woke up the next morning I just sat on the bed trying to get the courage up to go home. I couldn’t and paid for another night. This was just scaring the hell out of me and I didn’t know what I should do. I thought of calling my son but we weren’t real close and I’m sure he would have thought I was losing my mind so I didn’t. That night I had nightmares involving Betty and I woke up terrified.
They were not real, of course, but all I could remember was her calling out for me and I couldn’t reach her and then she disappeared with a look of sadness on her face. I decided to go back home no matter what I felt and if it got real bad, I’d seek professional help. Maybe they had an answer for what I was going through, although I didn’t think that they would. I pulled up in my driveway and couldn’t get out of the car; I was actually trembling at the thought of what I’d see in the house. I felt foolish for being so afraid and before I could talk myself out of it and head back to the hotel, I grabbed my bag and headed in.
When I opened the front door and looked in, I dropped my bag and just stared. I could feel that someone was in there and I felt that weird electrical charge again. I began to shiver and I looked around. There were fresh-cut flowers on the mantle. Soft music, music my wife loved, played softly in the background and when I went in, I could smell the perfume I always liked her to wear. I was either going crazy or something else was going on—my wife was here in spirit. I found my heart racing and I started sweating in fear when I moved further into the house. The presence felt even stronger.
I walked slowly into my bedroom and not only found the picture of her on my dresser, but another of the both of us after we’d been married for about fifteen years. While I stared at the pictures, a voice right next to my ear said my name, “Ezra.” I jumped and spun around but there was nothing there. The voice had sounded hauntingly like my wife’s and I got goosebumps when I heard it. I sat down on my bed and gave up. I gave in to the feeling of her being all around me and actually spoke to her.
“Betty, is that you?”
My words fell on quiet and I wondered what was going on with me when I heard her voice saying my name in my ear again. I looked around and asked, “Honey, where are you?” I was trembling and didn’t know if it was in anticipation or I was just scared to death.
Again I waited and nothing happened for about three minutes. Then, I saw a shimmering form start to materialize in front of me by the door. It was her! I’ll be damned, it was my lovely wife! I felt at peace as I watched her glide closer to me and my heart raced, thumping loudly in my chest.
She smiled at me and leaned over to speak in my ear. “I will always love you. Be well, my love, and we will be together again soon.”
With that said, she was gone. I guess she just wanted to say goodbye because after that, none of the weird stuff ever happened again. I was at peace and no longer afraid of dying—my Betty had showed me that. I was happier and I now knew that the ghosts of loved ones were always around you. You may not know it, but I guarantee you they are.
As Heather swung the Jeep up the hill she shot me a smile. “So look, the night isn’t easy but you make it through and you’re an Alpha Delta.”
I nodded and stared ahead. The late evening sun hit the mid-October red and orange leaves so strongly they made the tree branches look like they were on fire. The dirt road curved left and I saw the cabin. It looked like it was built from perfectly smooth Red Cedar wood with a bright and clean rectangular window and a charming little cobblestone porch. The wind blew some dry leaves across the porch and it felt like we were in some secluded forest resort area a hundred miles away from school—in reality, we were less than three. I gripped my smart phone tight and checked the weather, it was supposed to rain in a couple hours.
Heather brought the Jeep up to the front of the cabin and put it in park. I wasn’t scared, ghosts had never been my thing, but the idea of being out here by myself wasn’t exactly thrilling.
I grabbed my overnight bag from the back seat. “So the place is really haunted by some dead family?” I asked.
Heather looked at the cabin, took a deep breath, and exhaled. She turned to me with a tight face. “Just stay out of the bedroom and you’ll be fine. OK?”
A little dramatic but whatever. “OK,” I said.
Heather smiled again. “See you at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow, Amy.”
I hopped out of the Jeep and Heather backed out and sped off. I looked at the cabin. Maybe I wouldn’t even go in. I could just sit on the porch and wait it out until morning. But that would be admitting that I was scared and I wasn’t about to do that. It was going to rain tonight anyways.
I walked up the steps to the patio and looked back at the road. The sun had set and the fiery fall colors had dulled. I turned the doorknob and walked in.
The cabin was dark but I saw a switch right next to me on the wall and flipped it on. Two spearmint-green lamps at opposite corners of a sort of living room lit up. It was actually pretty nice. Clean wall-to-wall beige carpet covered the floor and a cushy, amber-colored recliner sat next to the window. The walls were smoothly painted white, and on the far wall framed photos hung of what looked like a smiling and laughing family doing various activities. Across the room and just to the right of the photos was a room with two full-sized beds; next to it was a small bathroom with a porcelain gray sink and toilet. Straight across from me was a small kitchen with a silver sink, a white stove, and a round plastic table for four.
I set my bag down and walked over to the bedroom. It was darker in here, no windows, and the air was thick like a musty attic that no one ever visited. The beds were made so tight with black and red comforters that they looked like a kind of skin around the beds. I closed the door. Like Heather had told me to, I’d be staying out of here.
The wind howled outside and I sat down, took my laptop out of my bag, and started watching a detective show on Netflix. After a couple of hours I started to doze off.
I woke up with my heart racing to the sound of a door rattling. The cabin door wasn’t moving at all and just as I turned to check the bedroom door, the noise stopped. I got up and walked into the bathroom. Turning the sink on I splashed warm water on my face and then patted my face dry with a crimson towel that hung on a metal rack across from the sink. My racing heart slowed down and I went back out into the living room. Glancing over at the photo wall, I noticed a few of the photos were tilted—were they like this before and I just hadn’t noticed? I didn’t know, but my heart started to beat a little faster again. Wa
lking up to the photos, I quickly straightened them and then looked at the bedroom door. I could swear it’d been rattling but maybe it had just part of a dream I was having.
I checked my watch. It was 11:27 p.m.
I looked over at the window but all I could see was the black night. Walking over to the window, I put my fingertips on the glass and a flash of lighting lit up the road and the woods in bright white light. An instant later everything went dark again with the soft thud of big rain drops starting to hit the roof of the cabin.
I went to my overnight bag, unzipped it, and took out the pint-sized bottle of black cherry vodka I’d brought. I wasn’t much of a drinker but the girls had suggested I bring it just in case I needed help making it through the night. I twisted the cap off and took a sip.
A little harsh on my throat but not bad.
I sat back down and started watching some movie about high school girls being mean to each other. I took another sip of vodka and my back muscles relaxed; after about twenty minutes my eyes got heavy and started to close. They popped back open when the door started rattling again. It sounded like someone trying to open a door without turning the handle.
The instant I started to turn my head to the door the noise stopped.
When I did see the door it was perfectly still.
I took a deeper sip of the vodka and with the bottle in my hand walked back over to the wall of photos. This time I studied the pictures more closely and suddenly the happy smiling faces of the children suddenly didn’t seem so happy. The grins on their faces looked strained, like they were being forced open by invisible hooks and the warm parental smiles of the mother and father now seemed more like the tight lipped smirks of a couple of snakes sneaking up an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Photo after photo was like this. In each one the kids were staring into the camera while the parents stared at the kids: at the playground, walking through the woods, shopping in town … The last picture was a family photo of all of them standing in the bedroom.