by Chanel Smith
“Did you hear that?” I asked Diana.
“I didn’t hear anything. What did he say?”
“He asked for more paper.” The voice had been so distinct that I was certain that it had been audible. The fact that Diana hadn’t heard it made me wonder if I was going crazy.
“Should I put in more paper?”
“Yes, go ahead. Let’s see how far he goes.”
With more paper in the machine, Jaxon continued hammering away on the keys. The ring and zing of the carriage became a steady rhythm as the keys continued to click. While Jaxon was typing the second page, Diana and I scanned the first, putting it with the previous pages. It was all beginning to build into an excellent story and neither Diana nor I could contain our excitement.
Jaxon produced three more pages before he finally sat back in the chair, turned it away from the desk and looked up at us. “Mama? Why are you up so late and why is Ellen here?”
“I just came over to check on your mama’s dreams,” I replied.
“Oh. Okay. Good night, then.” He turned away from us and started down the hall to his bedroom.
“What do we do, Ellen?” she asked, after checking that Jaxon was in bed and soundly asleep.
“This is brilliant writing, Diana,” I responded.
“Of course it is,” she replied. “My Granddaddy’s spirit is writing a novel, but for God’s sake, Ellen, he’s using my baby to do it. What the hell am I supposed to do about it?”
“What can you do about it?”
“I don’t know, but I feel pretty guilty about my son being pulled out of bed and 2:00 in the morning to spend an hour or two writing before going back to bed. It can’t be good for him.”
“You told me that he doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s doing it, right?”
“No, but still.”
“Well, if he doesn’t remember it, then, to him, maybe it’s just like a dream. He’s not actually doing the writing.”
“But you’ve got to see this through.”
“Who knows what it’s all about? Who knows when it will end? Why is he doing this to me?”
“And that exactly why you can’t stop it until you know the answer to all of those questions. If you don’t let things run their course, you’ll never have an answer.”
Though Diana wasn’t completely on board with idea of her son typing in the middle of the night, I assured her that if I started seeing signs that it was hurting him and that he wasn’t getting enough sleep, I’d help her put an end to it. I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to do that. I was pretty sure that things would continue as they were until they had run their course, no matter how hard we tried to change them.
Over the next week, the novel continued to take shape and we had nearly 50 typed pages gathered. Diana brought the new editions to me every morning. I was as drawn into that story as I have ever been drawn into any story. It was not only a fascinating work, but the way in which it was being produced was beyond comprehension for me. As I watched that scene unfolding, I began to realize that my life’s work ought to be investigating and explaining paranormal phenomenon, but it was what continued to unfold that sealed the deal for me.
One morning as Diana was presenting the latest pages of the novel to me, she presented a valid question. “What do we do with these?”
“Get them published, of course,” I replied without hesitation.
“How?” she asked. “No one knows who I am and I certainly can’t put Jaxon or Granddaddy’s name on it. They did the writing.”
“Surely there are still some connections to your Granddaddy’s old agent. Think about it, your mother probably inherited whatever royalties are still being generated from sales of his books, right?”
“I suppose so, if there are any royalties being generated.”
“Those royalties are probably being handled by an agent then.”
“I guess my mother would know, but how do I approach this?”
“Send a copy to your mother and see if she can present it for you.”
“There is no way that I’m telling my mother about this, Ellen. She’d flip. She’d worse than flip. God, you don’t even understand how annoying she would become.”
“Why would you tell her about it? You already asked her about the story. Just tell her that you decided to finish it.”
“That’s another thing, she was certain that she found it among Granddaddy’s things, but it was missing when she went to look for it. I’d assume that she is just getting a little bit older and forgetful, but what if it, I don’t know, vanished into the spirit world and Granddaddy is using it. I mean, the story is almost exactly as I had written it, but improved with his professional skill. Do you think it’s possible that he has it somewhere out there?” She waved a hand into space, accentuating her question.
“Diana, you’re over thinking all of this.” It was a way of dodging the question she presented, because I had no clue what the answer might be. “Just call your mother and send her a copy. Put your name on it and let it go at that.”
“But I’m not writing it,” she protested.
“You thought up the story. You wrote the original draft. It’s your story. Put your name on it and accept the rewards.”
“I’ll call my mother,” she agreed.
I could tell that she was being patronizing. “And you’ll send her a copy.”
“Okay, I’ll send her a copy.”
I had to take her one more step. “You’ll ask her to present it to your Granddaddy’s old agent.”
“Jesus, Ellen, I’m not a seven-year-old!” The minute the words came out of her mouth, she started laughing. Though the joke was pretty weak, the laughter was a release of weeks of built up stress and emotion that she hadn’t released. To tell the truth, I laughed along with her, happy that she was finally able to let go just a little bit.
When she had laughed herself to tears and was finally able to gain some semblance of control, she said. “Alright, I’ll call mom, send her a copy and ask her to present it to Granddaddy’s old agent, but I’m doing it anonymously until I see how all of this plays out.”
It was a good compromise, so I took her up on it, narrowing my eyes and putting on my best act of toughness. “Don’t make me check up on you.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Did you take up smoking?” Doug asked as he brought the bags of groceries into Diana’s kitchen and picked up the smell of pipe tobacco.
The question sent her into a panic. How the hell would she answer that? No, my Granddaddy’s ghost comes every night and smokes his pipe while he possesses my son who types about 100 words a minute on the old typewriter. That would certainly earn her a trip to the loony bin. She scrambled to come up with something fast.
“I’ve been noticing that lately myself. I don’t know if it’s from the previous tenant and it’s suddenly working its way out of the carpet or if it’s coming from a neighbor or what? I thought I was just going crazy, because my Granddaddy used to smoke a pipe, but now that you smelled it, maybe I’m not as crazy as I thought.”
“You’re not crazy at all,” Doug said, setting the groceries aside and wrapping his arms around her. “You are driving me crazy though,” he whispered in her ear.
The whispering tickled and she felt tingles surging all through her body, but she fought back her natural urges and pushed him away. “As much as I want to, Jaxon will be home from school any second.”
“So, send him over to Ellen’s,” he teased.
“You are horrible, Officer McCarty.” She swatted him on the chest as she pushed him away.
“I see how it is now. As soon as things start getting formal, I’m sunk.”
She leaned forward and gave him a peck on the lips. “Later, cowboy,” she said, winking.
“Later it is,” he chuckled.
“Besides, I have some good news to tell you about Jaxon.”
“Alright, tell me about it,” he said, helping her put away the groceries as she start
ed talking.
“The school is astounded by the sudden improvement that Jaxon has shown with his language skills. Actually, they are baffled and wondering if they had simply screwed up on some of their tests before. His turn around was so complete and so surprising that they are terminating his special programs and putting him back into mainstream. In the words of Miss Thompson, the school counselor, it is all ‘utterly inexplicable and totally delightful.’”
“Wow! That is good news. One less thing to worry about and I’m sure Jaxon is stoked. Kids hate special ed. classes.”
“Are you speaking from experience Officer McCarty?” she teased.
“I’ll show you some special ed.” He grabbed her and started kissing her neck.
She squealed and fought against him for a moment, but finally gave in to the kisses as he worked his way around to her mouth. She was thrilled by the news and the relief from that particular stress and Doug’s deep kiss seemed like a wonderful way to celebrate. She was just about to allow herself to let go completely, when Jaxon turned the doorknob and entered the apartment.
“Oh, yuck, mama, that’s disgusting,” he said, covering his eyes.
“Hey, Jax, how was school?” Diana worked at recovering her dignity as she approached her son for a kiss.
“I don’t think so, mom,” he pushed his hands into her face.
“Hey pardner, put her there,” Doug said, extending his hand.
Jaxon slapped five across his palm. “You really like kissing my mama?”
“Sure, her lips taste like strawberries,” he teased.
“Gross!” Jaxon retreated down the hall to his room.
“I better get going, Di,” he said, laughing as he watched the retreating Jaxon. “I’ve got my shift starting in a bit.”
“Oh, bummer, I have the night off,” she replied wrapping her arms around him. “I wish we could hang out and well, you know, send Jax over to Ellen’s.”
“That’s disgusting,” he mimicked Jaxon and then planted a long, passionate kiss on her mouth before turning toward the door. “Keep it warmed up for me,” he said opening the door and slipping out.
When Doug was gone, Ellen continued putting away the rest of the groceries. Her mind, however, traveled back to what had taken place earlier that day. The conference had gone much better than she had expected. She’d initially thought that she was meeting with the counselor and teacher to receive more bad news, but there was nothing but good news.
His recovery had been so quick and totally remarkable, that she began to wonder if Jaxon being possessed and typing on such a highly advanced level hadn’t had something to do with the turnaround. She remembered Ellen saying that there had to be a reason that her grandfather was putting them through all that he was putting them through. Could this be his reason? Is Granddaddy’s spirit helping me with this? Somehow, she felt that he was. Suddenly, it had all been very much worth it.
As she was pondering over what it all meant and finishing up with the groceries, her cell phone rang.
“Diana Curry?” the male voice asked after she answered the call.
“This is Diana. Who is calling, please?”
“This is Albert Herman. I used to represent your grandfather. Your mother gave me your number.”
“Hello, Mister Herman,” she replied cheerfully. She remembered her grandfather’s agent from many years before when she was a little girl. “I remember you just barely.”
“You were pretty young I’m sure,” he chuckled softly.
“I assume that my mother must have forwarded the first portion of my manuscript to you.” She could think of no other reason for the call. She also wasn’t sure whether an agent would bother to call her directly if he wasn’t impressed with her work. However, because of who her grandfather was, maybe Mister Herman was making an exception. She braced herself for his response.
“She did, indeed, and I have to say that I am extremely impressed, in fact, your work reminds me a great deal of your grandfather’s. He must have taught you a thing or two.”
“He did give me some pointers and was a little hard on me.”
“William was the blunt sort as I remember him. Anyway, though I’ve been cutting back on the number of clients I represent, I’m getting a few years on me, you understand, I would like to make a special trip to set up an interview with you at your convenience.”
“Are you kidding me?” She wasn’t sure how to react, but she was pretty sure that acting surprised was not the right way. She quickly tried to get herself back under control. “Sure, I can do that, when were you planning on being in Southern California?”
“Actually, it works out great for me as both a vacation to visit my own granddaughter. I will be out there in two weeks time and we can set up something then.”
“Any day works fine for me. I go in to work at 3:00 p.m. on most days, so as long as we’re talking noon or sometime before, that will work.”
“How about we plan on having lunch on Wednesday, the 22nd?”
“That will work for me,” she replied. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
“I as well. I’m sure you’ve grown up a good deal from when I last saw you.”
“I have. I have a son, now. He’s aged seven.”
“That sounds quite impossible to me,” he laughed. “But I guess we all grow up sometime, right?”
“We do, sir,” she chuckled in response.
“I will call you when I am in town to finalize arrangements. Is this a good number to reach you at?”
“It is.”
“Very well, then. Keep writing and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll do just that, thank you, bye.”
The instant Diana hung up the phone, she dashed out of her apartment and came to pound on my door, eager to share her news.
Chapter Seventeen
With a great deal more confidence, Diana began to see how her grandfather’s spirit was not only helping Jaxon overcome the trouble that he was having, but she was beginning to see her story unfolding beautifully and she was already beginning to see a way for her to find a solution to the financial problems that were looming on the horizon.
Sitting down to lunch with Albert Herman had her full of nervous excitement, which she fought hard to control. He was a great deal older than she had remembered him, but he was at least a familiar face and very easy to talk to.
“Diana. This novel that you’re writing is brilliant. As I said before, it reminds me of your grandfather’s work. In fact, it almost makes me suspicious that you dug up an old manuscript of his.”
“I can assure you that I did not,” she smiled nervously. “I started this story when I was 15 and had him look at it. He had written notes all over it in red and, to tell you the truth, Mister Herman, it was very discouraging to me and I never picked it up again until recently.” She prayed that he didn’t ask him any more questions or pry too much about it. She didn’t want to have to break down and tell him of how it was being written.
“I know about that original and those red marks,” he whispered, leaning in toward her.
“What? How?” she asked. “Did he show it to you back then?”
“No. Not exactly. I’m certain that you’re going to think that I’m crazy, but I received a rather strange package with your father’s name and his old office number on the return address a week or so ago, with the marked up manuscript in it. When I got to reading it, I noticed how closely it resembled your story and I started to put things together.”
“That is a little bit odd, but I don’t understand, why would I think you’re crazy?”
“It is the fact that I received in a rather odd way. I had immediately assumed that your mother had forwarded it to me, as we had engaged in a discussion about how similar the writing was to your grandfather’s. She assured me that she had seen the original story, as had your grandfather and that you had written it many years ago. But, she had also seen the manuscript recently among your grandfat
her’s things, but when she had searched for it again, it had not been there.
“I was completely baffled as to how the package had arrived the way that it did, until I saw the postmark on the package and then I knew that I was crazy. It was postmarked in 1989. So, am I crazy or not?”
Diana didn’t think that she was one to judge, although, she too was baffled by how a story that her mother had seen among her grandfather’s stuff had disappeared and then showed up in a package postmarked from when she was 15 years old. That same story had been hidden among her own stuff in the trunk in her mother’s attic for at least 10 years. But how were those things any weirder than the fact that her Granddaddy had shown up a little over a month before and started the process of writing the same story on his old typewriter through the use of her son. There were a lot of things about the story that seemed pretty messed up, but she wasn’t going to volunteer any other information about its odd production.
“You’re not crazy, although, I can understand why all of this might drive you to think that you are crazy.” She looked for a way to change the subject, but Albert Herman beat her to the next topic.
“I will have to share with you the amazement of the publishers that I’ve presented it to. They’re not only impressed, and currently in a bidding war over it, I might add, but it is nearly unheard of in this day and age to receive manuscripts that are typewritten. I have to say that I’m a bit perplexed about that as well. Why are you writing it on a typewriter instead of using a word processor and printer?”
She was trying to keep from appearing nervous, but every time his questions came so near to the truth, she was certain that she was going to be found out. Thinking quickly, she produced the best reason that she could come up with as to why she used a typewriter.
“Actually, I am typing it on Granddaddy’s old typewriter,” she smiled.
“You are? That old Olivetti Valentine? I know, because he was so proud when he bought that machine. He showed it to me and bragged about it to me ad nauseam. I guess you are a chip off the old block then, huh?” he chuckled.
“It’s amazing, actually, when I’m sitting there writing, it is almost like I can feel him with me and smell the sweet aroma of his pipe tobacco.” She was putting on a great act. She had to or she would break under the pressure and have to admit that she was crazier than he was.