by Chanel Smith
She drew the volume of her voice down to a lower tone as she discussed the Jaxon’s issue. He was playing with PCR, who he had brought over along with another collection of toys when they’d come earlier.
Too be completely honest, I was pretty excited to hear her story and to actually hold the paper with the typed words in my hands. She’d told me about the chill that she’d felt as she approached the chair a few nights before and how she had smelled the sweet fragrance of her favorite of her grandfather’s pipe tobaccos.
“So, you told me that there would be a message in there somewhere,” she continued, changing subjects and going back to the discussion of the actual words on the page. “I mean, there isn’t a message written on the page, but there is sort of one implied. Is he letting me know that he really did like my story? Do people who have passed on have regrets about things they said or did and come back to try to fix them?”
“It’s possible,” I responded. “There are a number of recorded paranormal occurrences that are very similar to the one that you’ve experienced.”
“Is it really Granddaddy’s spirit?” she whispered, glancing over at Jaxon, who was busy playing. She knew from experience that even when a child seems to be ignoring what is being said, they hear and process every word. She’d been burned enough times to know better than to think that Jaxon wasn’t listening to them. “I was sure it was because of the aroma and the feelings that I had, but could I have been making those things up out of my own memories, since watching him type on that very typewriter and at that very desk was something that I was very fond of doing?”
“I think it really is your grandfather’s spirit,” I replied without hesitation. “Maybe the aroma was just triggered by a memory or maybe it is an aroma that has always lingered with his spirit. You know, people take up habits and do things that reflect the things that are in their spirits, sometimes even below any conscious level of thinking. Perhaps that aroma was always a part of his spirit and that’s why he took up smoking the pipe.”
“You’re losing me, Ellen,” she replied. “Really, I just want you to confirm to me that my Granddaddy has been visiting my apartment at 2:00 a.m. every night for the last week. Just give me the Reader’s Digest condensed version.”
“The short version,” I laughed, enjoying her dry sense of humor. “Yes, I think that the spirit of your grandfather has been visiting you.”
“Okay, so what is he trying to tell me?” she responded.
“I think you’ll just have to wait and see what happens from here on out.” It was a bale-out response, and I knew it, but in all honesty, at that point I wasn’t sure what message was being passed on to her.
As though she was almost in a trance, she finished off her cup of coffee and started out the door. For a moment, I wondered if she had forgotten the Jaxon was with her. I watched to see if she would leave without out him. She got all of the way out the door and was starting to pull it closed when it dawned on her that she had brought him with her.
“Come on, Jax,” she said, pushing the door open again and making a full recovery from her mistake.
Jaxon wasn’t eager to follow her out the door, but he gathered up his stuff and followed him anyway. After telling me that he’d see me later, he started out the door behind her. Just as the door was closing, I heard him ask if Granddaddy was really the ghost.
In spite of the fact that she had lowered her voice to keep Jaxon from overhearing, he had indeed picked up every single word. Suddenly, she had all sorts of explanations to make. She tried to do the best she could, but since she wasn’t completely sure of it all, she feared that her explanations would be lacking.
When she was finally able to escape to work, she was certain she had gotten it all behind her. On her way to work, she convinced herself that she had big enough problems that needed solving without having to worry over the ghost of her grandfather and a stupid story that she had written as a kid. The problem she had was the fact that, although she refocused herself a number of times, her mind would simply roll back over to the story and her ghost.
“So, what do you think?” Doug said. He’d asked her a question, but it hadn’t registered on her, so he’d repeated himself when she didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “What do I think of what?”
“You weren’t listening to me?” he grinned.
“Yeah, well, no, I don’t know,” she responded.
Doug looked around the café. “Were you guys slammed earlier?”
“We were,” she responded. “I guess I’m just worn out.”
“You’re looking as pale as a ghost,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “Are you getting enough sleep or still worrying about somebody breaking in?”
“No, I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m not worrying about the break in, just not sleeping well.”
“You want to talk about it?” he offered. “I ain’t the brightest guy in the world, so don’t expect profound answers, but I got pretty good ears for listening.”
There was no way that she was going to tell him about the ghost of grandfather hanging around. That would run him off for sure, with the number of prospects for dating that she’d seen recently, scaring one off wasn’t a very good idea if she ever wanted to get back into that world again. She decided to go for another story line. It was true, but didn’t leave her feeling nearly as vulnerable.
“Chris stopped sending child support a few months back. We haven’t heard from him and I’m a little bit worried about making ends meet over the next few months. If that wasn’t enough, the school diagnosed some sort of learning disability in Jaxon and I’ve got to come up with some sort of solution for that.” She was surprised at how easily the words had rolled out and equally surprised that Doug just let her keep talking without interrupting. She rolled through a barrage of complains about Chris and then swung over into not knowing what she was going to do for Jaxon, before she finally realized that she had dumped an extremely heavy load onto Doug’s shoulders. She realized that simply unloading what she had was already making her feel better too.
Doug, had waited for a while after she finished speaking, allowing her plenty of time to start in again if she need to. When she didn’t continue, he decided that he could help her out a little bit. “I can help you out on the problem with Chris, I’ll put out some feelers and see if somebody has a line on where he’s at. Hell, he might have a bench warrant out on him. I can’t promise you anything, but it won’t hurt to try. In the mean time, I can help you out with some groceries or with a few bills until you get things figured out.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she objected.
“I never heard you ask,” he said smiling. “And, since we’re both off tomorrow night, what say we eat some dinner somewhere nicer than this greasy spoon and go see a movie or something.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer. I need to unwind and relax a little,” she replied.
Chapter Eleven
The sound of the alarm clock startled her out of a sound sleep. It took her a moment to regain her wits as she tried to figure out when the last time she had slept through the entire night without being awakened by the typewriter. She had gone to bed the night before completely relaxed and hadn’t even thought about the typewriter and the ghost.
To be sure, she had been excited about the fact that Doug had asked her out on a date and she had felt a huge weight being lifted from her shoulders after having talked to him about some of the things that had been bothering her. As she slid out of bed to go awaken Jaxon, she realized that it was Sunday morning and he didn’t have school.
“Sunday, Diana, why did you set the stupid clock?”
She considered going back to bed, but decided that it was entirely possible that she had simply missed hearing the typewriter during the night and went to the living room to take a look at the typewriter and see what had been written. She moved toward the desk slowly, though she could already tell before she drew near that ther
e was nothing typed on the sheet of paper.
As much as the early morning typing had been undoing her nerves, she was quite disappointed to see that there was nothing on the page. He’d really not come to write last night? Did he not write on Saturday nights? What sort of a spirit kept a schedule? She chuckled as she realized that if the ghost was truly her grandfather, then he would most definitely have a schedule. Her grandfather was a prolific writer who stuck to a strict schedule and produced work at the end of every day, but when he stepped away from his writing to do something else or to take a break, he was equally disciplined about resting.
In spite of the fact that her grandfather stuck to a schedule, she felt herself wondering if what had been written was all that was going to be written. If that was true, then what had it all meant? What message was she supposed to gather from what she had?
“You’re being silly, Di,” she told herself. She was already awake, so she decided to go ahead and make a pot of coffee. Once the coffee was finished brewing, she remembered having decided that she was going to call her mother and ask about her story. Sunday morning was a perfect time to give her a call.
“Hey, mom,” she said when she heard her mother’s voice on the phone. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Oh heavens no, sweetheart,” she replied. “I’ve been up for a while now. How are you doing?”
“I’m getting along alright,” Diana answered. “Still working second shift.”
“No chance of getting on first shift yet?” Her mother had been hoping that she could have the better shift for quite some time.
“No. I think I’m pretty much stuck on this one for a while. Once someone gets on that first shift, they don’t often leave until they die or move away.” She’d actually thought that her opportunity would be arriving soon, but she’d actually wondered if she would rather be on that shift. In truth, she enjoyed the second shift, except for the fact that it limited some of her time with Jaxon.
They talked about a number of subjects, catching up on what was going on in each others lives and the differences of the weather in Southern California and Western Ohio. She worked around to telling her about the diagnosed learning disability of Jaxon and received some pretty good short term advice for helping him out, as well as a promise that she would send her more stuff after she went through some of her school things and did a little bit of studying. Diana finally got around to asking the question that had prompted her phone call.
“Hey, mom? I’m curious if you would happen to know where that story I wrote when I was 15 or 16 happened to end up.”
“Oh, lord, Di, I wouldn’t have the foggiest notion. I’m assuming that it is in your trunk in the attack over the garage or in one of the dozens of boxes that are there.”
“I have dozens of boxes there?” She didn’t remember having left behind enough stuff to fill a dozen boxes.
“You do now, I’ve been going through things, you know family memories and such and dividing them between you and your brother. I don’t know if you have quite a dozen yet, but there are quite a few up there.”
“Do I need to come get them? I’m not sure if I can make the trip yet.” It would cost her money that she simply didn’t have.
“Heaven’s no, Honey, those things aren’t going anywhere and I still have a ways to go sorting through things. There are a few things of your grandfather mixed in with your stuff too.”
“More of Granddaddy’s stuff?” The excitement in her voice came out a little bit stronger than she had thought it would.
“You know what, Di, now that I think of it; I might have seen that story of yours among his things. I’ll check later if you want me to.”
How would her story gotten mixed in with his stuff? She was pretty sure that he had returned it to her marked up in red ink. “It’s in Granddaddy’s stuff?”
“I don’t know for sure, but I think I did see it in some of his files or notebooks or somewhere. I look for it this week and let you know.”
“Thanks mom. That would be great.”
“What has you interested in that story again?”
She had been expecting that question and was surprised at how long it took before it came out. “I’ve just been thinking about it a lot lately.” She was hoping to dodge any further questions and Jaxon showing up in the kitchen was the perfect excuse. “Mom, Jaxon’s up, you want to talk to him?”
“Well, of course I do, put that grandson of mine on the phone.”
She handed the phone over to Jaxon and watched for a few moments while he shyly talked to his grandmother. He typically started out that way, but quickly warmed up and began chattering away once his grandmother had primed him with the proper questions. She turned away to start fixing breakfast, listening to only half of the conversation that was taking place as she pondered why her grandfather would have kept her story and how he had gotten a hold of it again.
“Grandma wants to talk to you again,” Jaxon said handing the phone to her and bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the present.
“Okay. I’m back.”
“So, what was he telling me about Granddaddy’s ghost using the typewriter?”
She hadn’t thought about the fact that Jaxon might spill that particular little bit of information to his grandmother. She had to think quickly for a way to get out of further interrogation.
“Oh that,” she chuckled, trying to come up with a quick answer. “That’s just the way that I keep him from playing with the typewriter.”
“Di, you might scare him with something like that.”
“Did he sound scared to you?”
“Well, not really,” her mother chuckled. “I better let you finish getting his breakfast. He just finished telling me how starved he was.”
“Okay, mom, I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Honey. Take care of yourself and that sweet boy.”
“I will. Bye.” She hung up the phone and finished fixing breakfast while her mind continued trying to answer the myriad of questions that were assaulting it.
Chapter Twelve
For more than a week, the typewriter stayed completely silent. Diana had checked it every morning and every night, still seeing the blank sheet of paper sitting in the typewriter with not a single word or letter anywhere on it. As one week passed into another, she stopped checking on it.
After her date with Doug, she felt a little bit more optimistic about her future, finally seeing a man that was not only very interested in treating her well, but someone with whom she felt like she could be herself and really open up. She hadn’t opened up about the ghost, but she had intended to if it had continued, since it did not, she felt like she dodged having to have a very uncomfortable conversation.
She was able to start getting herself back on focus and forget about worrying over what was meant by the short excerpt from her own story that had been typed by her ghost grandfather and life was beginning to return to normal, though the concern over money and Jaxon’s learning disability were still worrisome. Doug had shown up a few times with bags of groceries, the only way that he had been allowed to help her out. She might save a little bit from his assistance and it might get her through one more month than she had originally thought, but at some point, if Chris didn’t return to taking care of his responsibility, she was still going to have trouble.
Whatever had been the purpose of the “ghost writer,” as she and I had begun referring to him, it seemed to have played itself out without either of us really understanding the full meaning behind it all. All of that came unraveled in a completely new way at 2:00 a.m. one early morning.
The sound coming from the living room down the hall made her sit bolt upright in bed. It took a moment for the sound to fully register, but when it did, she knew exactly what it was. The unmistakable sound of a typewriter hammering away at the rate of that of a professional secretary was coming from down the hall. He’s back. She slipped out of bed and started down the hall, ready to see what new
message might be revealed to her from her grandfather’s spirit.
Only half awake, she flipped on the light and then jumped back with a start. There was an actual figure sitting in the chair and working the keys and carriage return lever. She squealed from both the start and the realization of who that figure was. It’s Jaxon!
Initially, her only thought was to pull him out of the chair and put him back to bed, however, she froze before she could take action. It was completely impossible that Jaxon could be sitting in front of the typewriter typing anything useful. He had to be just playing, or was he? As she moved closer, she could tell that he was neither awake not asleep, but in some sort of trance as he continued to work. She couldn’t help but stand at the chair looking over his shoulder at the words that were flowing from the tapping keys and onto the page.
The word pictures that were being developed were brilliant and reminded her of something out of her grandfather’s novels, however, the story that was being told was the beginning of her novel of Herman and Olivia. She stared on in awe of what she was seeing taking place. It had only been a few minutes and a bit more than three-fourths of the page had already been filled with the beautiful, flowing prose and she began to think about tracking down another sheet of paper, not fully understanding just how much would be written.
As she got the paper ready, Jaxon’s fingers suddenly stopped typing and he turned the swivel chair away from the desk. Looking up at her, fully awake, he said, “Mama? What are you doing up?”
She debated whether she ought to tell him what he had been doing. The fact that she didn’t actually understand it herself, made her decide not to. “I just came to get a drink of water for you.”
“I didn’t ask for a drink of water.”
“Honey, I think you were asleep or maybe I just dreamed it. In fact, maybe we’re both dreaming.”