Stalking Shadows

by Debi Chestnut

  I let myself into the house and climbed two flights of stairs up to the third floor. I settled in by the only remaining inside wall, which butted up against the extremely narrow staircase up to the cupola.

  “Franklin, are you here?”

  Within a few seconds, the ghost of Franklin appeared next to me. His energy felt excited, so I knew he was happy to see me.

  “Tell me your story, Franklin.”

  He nodded in assent.

  I poured myself a cup of hot coffee, and nestled it between my hands to warm them. Franklin’s tall, thin frame rose up in ghostly form, and began to pace the hallway leading down the entire length of the third floor. His long, ghostly fingers touched at the tips, forming a pyramid, and he bowed his head for a moment to gather his thoughts.

  I could make out his dark Victorian suit, vest, and even the chain on his pocket watch. His hard-soled shoes made no noise as he wafted back and forth in the hallway in front of me.

  What follows is Franklin’s story, in his own words.

  “I’ve walked among the living for over a hundred years now, although it only seems like yesterday when I was a living, vibrant man.

  “I’ve watched from the shadows as people live out their foolish little lives. Little do they know what comes after death —an eternity of torment and suffering? I’ve seen my empire crumble into decay around me, knowing I’m powerless to stop it. This must be hell, because no God would allow a soul to suffer as mine has.” Franklin’s voice turned bitter as he spoke.

  “So, have you always lived in Michigan?” I sipped my coffee and snuggled farther under my blanket.

  “No.” Franklin shook his head. “It all started with my father, the saint, who moved us to this insufferable place.”

  “Your father was Robert, right?” I interrupted.

  “Yes. He built this mansion that has now become my prison. Everybody sang his praises during his life and long after his death. Such a benevolent man, a savior to this small hamlet, they said. ‘Remember after the great fire how he rebuilt the town?’ they cooed. ‘Wasn’t it nice of him to leave money in his will to build a school for our children?’ This town adored him.

  “Bah! I spit on his grave!” Franklin’s ghoulish face contorted into an angry mass. “Yes, the great saint gets to go to heaven, and I, the clever and ruthless man in business, am now destined to walk the halls of this house I hated so much for all eternity. Ironic, isn’t it? It was I who more than doubled the fortune! It was I who suffered so much in life, and yet in death am I allowed no peace?”

  “I’ve always found that peace is subjective.” I shrugged. “Where did you move here from?”

  “We moved here from Massachusetts in the late 1850s, because my father saw opportunity. I too saw the opportunities, however they differed greatly from my father’s. In retrospect, maybe they were not that much different; we just went about obtaining our goals in different ways.

  “My father amassed a fortune and gave back to the people whose backs he broke while climbing the industrial ladder. I simply followed in his footsteps, but I kept the fortune I worked so hard to obtain.

  “I went to law school and studied hard. I knew how important understanding the law was, especially if you intend to shape it to achieve your desires. I spent years working side-by-side with my father. Observing carefully all the deals he made, learning from them, learning how to do them better.”

  “I understand,” I nodded. “You must have found some happiness—you got married.”

  “Happiness?” Franklin’s ghostly laugh echoed off the walls. “There is no such thing as lasting happiness. In a small town people talk, and a man of my standing in the community should be married. I thought to myself one day, it would be good for business.

  “A wife is a necessary evil to handle the entertainment for business associates and to exchange gossip with other women of her standing. You never know what you’ll learn from gossip if you listen hard enough. So I found an agreeable woman and married her. By this time, my father was becoming ill with arthritis. It became necessary for me to assist him in the various businesses we owned throughout the area. It was a comfort to know that my wife was overseeing the household. One less thing I had to worry about. Over the years she became a valuable asset to me.”

  “She was a person, Franklin! She had feelings, dreams, and needs,” I protested. “She wasn’t your property. How sad a life she must have led.”

  “She lived a good life.” Franklin’s ghost wheeled around to face me, crouching down so that his ghostly face was inches from mine. “How dare you judge me!” he roared.

  “Perhaps you need to be judged! But that’s your biggest fear, isn’t it, Franklin? To have someone judge you for the actions you took when you walked among the living is your worst nightmare. From all the newspaper accounts I’ve read, you were quite the bastard in life and no one really mourned your passing. I see that you haven’t mellowed much in death.” I jumped to my feet and began to gather my things.

  “Please don’t go,” Franklin pleaded. “I’m sorry, it was wrong of me to treat you so rudely in my home. I get so lonely. Please stay.”

  I resettled myself on the floor and poured myself another cup of coffee. “So tell me about your daughter. Tell me about Betsy.” I already knew most of Franklin’s family history from doing research at the Historical Society and at the library, but I wanted to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

  Franklin’s face softened, and for a moment I thought I saw a spark of life come back into his cold, dead eyes.

  “In 1861, my wife bore me a daughter. I’d been hoping for a son, but the girl child was so beautiful and sweet, and in time I forgot the desire for a male heir. When she got older, I saw to it that she attended a finishing school back East. A young woman of her social standing required only the best education and instruction in the social graces.

  “I hoped she’d marry well, and I would have a son-in-law who was worthy to take the reins to the empire I’d amassed. But alas, she fell in love with a man ten years her senior, and a schoolteacher no less! My God, he lived in a boarding house! I was mortified! How could this have happened? I was so careful to see that she met only the right type of gentlemen—men who were worthy of her and capable of running the family business when I retired. Yet, despite my attempts to discourage this unholy union, they married in December of 1880. My daughter could be headstrong at times, and I, being too overindulgent with her, finally acquiesced, although privately I seethed.”

  “Why? Being a schoolteacher is a noble profession,” I interjected.

  “Maybe now.” Franklin shrugged his shoulders. “But at that time, it wasn’t looked upon as being a noteworthy profession.”

  I nodded in understanding. “Go on.”

  “In 1870, my father got elected to the state Senate. In 1871, he died. My mother insisted on a funeral fit for a king and a monument to match. It cost a small fortune, but after all, it was my father.

  “In his will, he left a large sum of money to the town to build a school. I fought it tooth and nail for two years. The family fortune belongs in the family, dammit! Eventually I lost and ended up giving this godforsaken place even more money.

  “He also left a large sum of money to my daughter, who was nine at the time, with me acting as trustee. I invested her money well, and it became a most tidy sum by the time she reached adulthood. Fortunately for me, she had no head for money, and allowed me to manage her estate, even after her marriage.

  “Then one day the unspeakable happened. My darling daughter, who’d been married only three months, died. The circumstances surrounding her death I took with me to my grave. Isn’t that a joke? My body rests in peace, yet I shall never rest.

  “I commissioned a glass coffin to hold her fragile body, and spent a considerable amount of time selecting just the right monument for the grave. I finally deci
ded on using marble for the material, and had it ornately carved into a bed.”

  “I’m sorry, Franklin. I’ve been to her grave—it’s beautiful,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Franklin said. “Although I did not shed a tear at her funeral, inside I nearly died. I stood in stoic silence as they gently lowered her into the ground and covered her with dirt. My wife and other family members wept openly. I do not condone such public displays of grief, not in this family. We mourn in private and hide the grief from the world outside. After all, we are of high society, and it isn’t proper.

  “After the funeral, my daughter’s husband came to me and told me he wanted the money due to him. He argued that he was married to my precious daughter, and her money was legally his. He wanted to go back to his family and start a new life. I lied and told him some bad investments caused Betsy’s estate to suffer. Then I set my plan of action. There was no way I was going to turn this great amount of money over to the man, who was nothing more than a social-climbing weasel!

  “A few days later, I had him sign a paper stating he had no further interest in the estate of my daughter, and gave him a check for $2,000—a mere pittance considering the true value of the estate. Then I walked him down to the train station and purchased him a ticket home. I’d already had one of the maids pack his belongings in a worn, tattered suitcase, which he held tightly in his hands, and I sent him on his way.

  “I then immersed myself into my work. The only thing I ever held dear to my heart had been taken away. What else was I to do? Then, as some kind of cruel punishment, I was stricken with the same affliction my father suffered from. It wasn’t long before I was forced to use the cane, although I feel it made me look like distinguished and dapper. I had several canes custom-made from only the finest materials. They became a symbol of my status and wealth in the community. God, I was a pompous ass!”

  I couldn’t help but agree with him.

  “Soon my illness became such that I was forced into retirement. It was not easy to conduct my business this way, but I managed. I’d been careful to surround myself with good people I could trust and who were loyal. Although I doubt loyalty had much to do with it—most likely it was fear.

  “Then, a few years later, I suffered a horrific fall down the stairs and broke my neck. A short time later, I died from those injuries. Correction there, it should be my body died; my soul shall reside in this house and on this land forever. No one should ever dare to take what is rightfully mine!

  “So I am trapped here, in this crumbling mansion, forced to walk the stairs, hallways, and rooms of this once-glorious estate. I’ve tried, oh so many times, to force out the living who dared move into my house, and to no avail.

  “Then one day, I discovered I had the power to force them out, at least some of them. Others, who were not afraid of me, stayed. I suppose you could say we forged a peaceful alliance, but it would be more accurate to say I lost my will to chase them out. I suppose the company of the living is better than no company all.

  “I also discovered, quite by accident one day as I was roaming the barren rooms, that my daughter’s soul came to the house from time to time. It was as though she didn’t want me to be too lonely. Bless her heart.

  “Yet, in time, her visits became more infrequent. She enjoyed the company of the living, and would leave each time the house became vacant. Perhaps she couldn’t stand the silence.

  “During one of her stays at the estate, we discussed her death and my act of vengeance toward her husband. She chastised me greatly. I feel no regret for my actions. They were perfectly justified, but she fails to understand my reasoning.

  “She forbade me from telling anyone how she died—like I could anyway—at least until you came along. She said it was her story to tell, and when the time was right she would tell it. Her reasoning is beyond me, but I must respect her wishes.”

  I heaved a deep sigh of disappointment. One of the greatest mysteries of the town was how Betsy died, and it was painfully clear I wasn’t going to get any closer to knowing the truth. “So the real reason you’re still here is to protect the family secrets, and not the fear of judgment as you proclaimed earlier?” I provoked.

  “Someone has to!” Franklin wheeled around to face me, his phantom face twisted in anger. “Don’t you see how important our family is? Don’t you realize the humiliation we would suffer in our social circle if the truth came out?”

  “Franklin, you’ve been dead over 150 years! No one really cares anymore except for a precious few, whose only real question is how Betsy died. Everyone else is dead! You don’t even come up in conversation!” I jumped to my feet so I could meet him eye to eye.

  We stared each other down for what felt like hours, but in reality was only just seconds. Then, without another word, Franklin vanished.

  “You get back here!” My words echoed throughout the cavernous third floor. I’d never had such a vicious argument with a ghost before, and I wasn’t sure what was going to happen. Perhaps I’d pushed Franklin just a little too far. Sometimes, when dealing with a ghost, such a harsh dose of reality can do more harm than good.

  I sat back down on the cold, hard floor and poured myself another cup of coffee out of my thermos. I took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to warm me from the inside out.

  Within a few moments, Franklin once again appeared before me. “I apologize for my behavior,” he said.

  “Forgiven. I’m sorry too. I should have never spoken to you that way.”

  “I deserved it. Now, where were we?” Franklin’s translucent figure settled down on the floor across from me.

  “Why don’t we change the subject, since we appear to be at an impasse? Tell me about your existence since you died,” I said.

  “Well.” Franklin raised a ghostly hand and stroked his chin. “For the longest time I was confused. I really didn’t realize I died. I couldn’t figure out why everything was gone and people I didn’t know were in my house. I couldn’t affect my environment at all, and I became extremely frustrated.”

  “Understandable.” I nodded.

  “I tried to talk to the people, but they behaved as if they couldn’t see or hear me. That’s when I realized I was deceased. Naturally, it took me awhile to come to terms with my own death, and I retreated to the cupola—up the staircase behind you. No one alive ever went up there, so I figured I was safe, you know?”

  “Right,” I said.

  “One night when I was walking through the house, Betsy showed up and tried to convince me to go with her to heaven, as she called it. But I knew I couldn’t follow her. She begged me to follow her and leave, but it was impossible. Someone has to stand watch over the place. I’ve tried to make her understand, but to this day, I don’t think she does.

  “Anyway, it took some time, but I learned how, in my own way, to make the living that dared to invade my property aware of my presence. I would stomp up and down the staircase, move their tools when they were working on the house, and when they tried to come up to the third floor, which I now call home, I would try to push them down the stairs—something I’m not proud of, but one must protect one’s privacy, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, to a point. But you let me come up here to visit with you anytime I wish,” I told him.

  “True, but you’re the first person in over 150 years that understands, and who I can really communicate with.” A smile played around his phantom face.

  “Which brings me to the point of my visit today, Franklin.” I couldn’t look into his eyes. “There was a meeting in town last night, and your home is going to be torn down.”

  “What?!” Franklin leaped to his feet, well, as much as a ghost can do that. “Why?”

  “Because the house is in such disrepair and, according to a structural engineer, it can’t be fixed,” I said. “People were at the meeting who tried to save the house, me included. But there was little w
e could do. I’m so sorry, Franklin.”

  “What am I to do? What’s going to happen to me? Where can I go?” Franklin’s ghost paced frantically up and down the hallway.

  “You could join your family on the other side,” I suggested.

  “Never!” Franklin’s voice roared in my head. “I shall stay here and fight!”

  “As you wish, Franklin.” I rose from my seat and gathered my blanket and thermos. “Godspeed, my friend.”

  “You won’t be back?” Franklin stopped in his tracks. I don’t think this fact ever occurred to him.

  “No, Franklin. I won’t be back. The house will be gone in a few days. There’s really no reason for me to come to an empty lot.”

  Franklin’s ghost moved toward me and stopped just short of where I was standing. “I have to admit I’ll miss you.” He bowed his head.

  “I’ll miss you, too. Goodbye.” I walked slowly down the two flights of stairs to the first floor and let myself out of the house for the last time.

  A few days later, the once-glorious mansion was reduced to a pile of rubble and hauled away. I, like many of the townsfolk, gathered at the scene to mourn the death of another historical landmark. We gathered up some bricks from the house as mementos.

  A couple of months after Franklin’s house was destroyed, I was in the antique store in town, having coffee and donuts with some of the other local women. One of them told us that the man and woman who lived next to the mansion, and who’d fought the hardest to have it destroyed, were having a horrible time with paranormal activity. They’d hear footsteps, items in their home were being moved, and doors would open and slam violently.

  I smiled to myself, knowing that Franklin had found another place to live, and I could appreciate the irony of the situation. The people who detested his home the most were now going to have to live with the ghost of Franklin, whom they’d displaced. You just have to love karma.

  [contents]

  Chapter 6