by John Mimms
“I wish I could,” Debbie thought.
It was impossible to put something such as this aside. She knew Grammy Lee had the key to her nightmare. Wrestling the key away from her was not worth causing further distress to her grandmother. She would have to consider this a failed homework assignment. Her future of peaceful and dry slumber would rest in the hopefully capable hands of Dr. Staples.
“Okay Grammy, I will,” she said.
“Good, that pleases me,” Grammy Lee said. “Well, I’m gonna get back to my shows; I really like this Netflicker thing.”
“Enjoy your Netflix, Grammy. I love you.”
“I love you too, Suga’. Take care.”
Debbie sat the phone down and turned to study her empty bedroom. She shuddered when she saw her bed with Lily curled up at the foot. She didn’t want to be in here, not now. Instead of a room of rest and relaxation, her bedroom had become more like a chamber of horrors. She scooped up her car keys and headed out the door. She didn’t know where she would go; maybe drive around; go to a movie, or... “go see Jeff?” a little voice in her head volunteered. She considered this for a few moments; she wanted to.
“But I don’t even know where he lives,” she told the little voice.
“Check under White Pages on your phone, dummy,” the little voice retorted.
Debbie opened the app on her phone and was about to enter the name when Grammy Lee’s voice spoke up as her core of sensibility.
“Don’t go chasing him, Suga’, he might get the wrong idea. If the boy is worth anything at all, he’ll be back around directly.”
Debbie gave a rueful smile at Grammy Lee’s prudent advice. She knew it was true, but it didn’t stop her from picking up her phone a second time and pondering an address search. In the end, she decided to go to Battlefield Mall and window shop.
EVERYONE LIKED JEFF’S web design, ... everyone except Pac. He responded with the sage advice - “it needs more scary shit”.
In a way, he had a point.
The average Joe was not going to pay much attention to a boring science group. The truth is, most people are like Pac. They want sass. Jeff recognized this when he set out to design a logo. He also believed an eye-catching evidence section would be crucial for the website. He posted a few anomalous photos he collected with other groups, taking care to remove the orb photos. Jeff hesitantly posted the EVP he believed to be his mother, though he did not mention his mother. He also posted an edited version of the EVP from the Chilton house.
A week passed and Jeff started to get nervous. He had not received any investigation requests, but more importantly, he hadn’t heard from Debbie. Jeff mentioned this concern to a fellow manager, who happened to be female, over lunch on Friday. It had become somewhat of a tradition for a group of managers from Nuverian to frequent a nearby hot dog vendor for Friday lunch.
“What the hell do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” she asked in disbelief. “She sounds like a sweet girl and, if she is, she is waiting on you to call. She probably thinks you don’t like her!”
“But how could she think such a thing? We had a great time and ... she kissed me goodnight!” Jeff retorted.
Jeff’s friend and co-worker, Caroline, raised one eyebrow and gave him a knowing grin.
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” Jeff admitted.
“There you go! She thinks you don’t want to go out with her anymore because she doesn’t put out. I’m sure she thinks you are a real jerk now!” she added.
Jeff’s face turned three shades of scarlet.
Caroline laughed and said, “Give her a call right after work!”
“I will,” Jeff promised.
Jeff returned home with plans to call Debbie, but he decided to check his e-mails while summoning up the nerve to pick up the phone.
“What if Caroline was right?” he wondered. “What if she does think he’s a jerk and tells him she doesn’t want to have anything more to do with him?”
Jeff imagined himself to be George McFly from one of his favorite movies, “Back to the Future.” “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she tells me I’m no good? What if she says, ‘get out of here Jeff we have no future?’ I just don’t think I could take that kind of rejection.”
“Hey, if George can get the girl then so can I,” he thought. “If you put your mind to it, you can accomplish anything,” he said aloud as his email popped up on the computer screen. Debbie was briefly pushed to the back of his mind as he read the single e-mail in his inbox.
The message was from a Julia Schwender, sent to his new SMS PAST account. He opened the e-mail and read it.
Dear Mr. Jeff,
I hope you can help me with my problem. I just can’t get any rest with the presence disturbing me in my home. It follows me and when I go to bed at night, it tries to smother me. I know I’m not crazy so please help me. You can call me at any time at (417)555-7789.
Sincerely,
Julia Schwender
Jeff paused, considering the e-mail for a moment before punching the numbers in his phone. A few moments later, an elderly woman answered.
“Hello,” she said.
“Is this Mrs. Schwender?” Jeff asked.
“Who’s this?” she snapped.
“This is Jeff Granger with SMS Past. You e-mailed me about a problem you were having.”
There was silence for several moments.
“SMS PAST, I don’t know...what are you selling, son?”
“Ma’am, I’m not selling anything,” Jeff said. “I am with a paranormal group you contacted about a presence in your home.”
“Paranormal? Hmmm...I don’t...are you with the ghost people, son?”
Jeff had to suppress a laugh.
“Yes ma’am, I’m with the ghost people. How can I help you?”
“I don’t know what in tarnation is going on here, but I just can’t live with it anymore,” she said with unmistakable panic in her voice. “I can’t rest; it-it won’t leave me alone.”
Jeff could hear the woman weeping on the other end of the phone.
“Ma’am, would you like me to come and talk to you tonight?”
Her voice broke as she muttered, “Yes.”
“I’ll come by and talk to you. Is seven o’clock okay?”
“Yes, ... fine,” she replied.
She gave Jeff her address before hanging up. He stared out the window in deep contemplation. This was indeed a very interesting case right off the bat, one he was sure harbored a completely prosaic explanation. This old woman lived by herself. She was probably taking a dozen prescription medications. Not to mention, her eyesight and hearing weren’t what they used to be. He considered all this, but also knew he had to keep an open mind. She was in distress, whatever the cause may be.
As Jeff pondered his visit to Mrs. Schwender, a brilliant idea struck him.
“I should ask Debbie to go with me.”
With newfound courage, Jeff picked up his cell and hit Debbie’s number. His heart leapt into his throat when Debbie answered on the first ring.
“Hi, Jeff!” she said.
Debbie said she would be ready in thirty minutes.
Chapter 19
“HOW’S YOUR WEEK BEEN?” Jeff asked when Debbie opened the door.
“Just fine. I think I’m startin’ to get the hang of teachin’.”
Jeff opened the truck door for Debbie. Mrs. Schwender only lived a few miles from Debbie, so the drive was short and cheerful. Debbie was glad Jeff called. The nightmare had returned twice since the futile meeting with her grandmother. She would be going back to Dr. Staples in the morning.
They reached the home of Mrs. Schwender a little before seven. It was a modest home, similar in style and age to Grammy Lee’s house, except this house was one story. Being early October, the night was cool and crisp. Mrs. Schwender had immaculate flowerbeds lining her walkway. The beds contained a mixture of mums and golden Euonymus bushes. They provided a bright and colorf
ul façade to an unassuming old, white house. Like Grammy Lee’s house, it needed a paint job.
Mrs. Schwender greeted them through the peephole with intense paranoia. Jeff had to remind her he was with the ‘ghost people.’ Once she heard those magic words, Mrs. Schwender went into action. They heard several clicks and metallic scraping as she unbolted at least a half-dozen locks.
The door opened to reveal a stooped woman with a face resembling an apple doll. Two kind green eyes beamed at them like dull sapphires. Her long, pink nightgown dragged across her shabby hardwood floors from beneath a short-sleeved zipped up shift.
“It’s so good of you kids to come see me!” she proclaimed. Her voice cracked with delight.
“Hello, Mrs. Schwender, I’m Jeff Granger, I spoke to you on the phone,” Jeff said, extending his hand. Mrs. Schwender considered it for a few moments. She then limply shook it.
“This is my associate, Debbie Gillerson,” Jeff said, stepping to the side and nodding at Debbie.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am, you have such a beautiful home and your flowerbeds are prettier than a picture!”
Mrs. Schwender did not wait this time. Instead, she grabbed Debbie’s hand with both of hers and pulled her close.
“I like you, sweetheart,” Mrs. Schwender whispered, inches from Debbie’s face.
Debbie tried her best not to wince. She found herself engulfed in a fog of onion, coffee, cheese, and something else strong, but unidentifiable.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Debbie said, pulling back out of halitosis range.
“Is this your boyfriend?” Mrs. Schwender asked, cocking her head at Jeff.
Debbie flushed.
“She’s my very good friend,” Jeff interjected, his face flushing as well.
Mrs. Schwender gave him a suspicious eye, and then shrugged.
“Shame., You would make a handsome couple,” she said.
Jeff’s idea of Mrs. Schwender’s dulled senses from age may be accurate, but her perception was still sharp as a razor.
“Won’t you kids have a seat?” she said, shuffling into a small den.
It was a typical abode for an older woman. A mixture of 1960’s and antique furniture graced the room. Two love seats rested on the far side of the room covered by a pair of handmade quilts. Several hand knitted pillows with embroidered red flowers in the center adorned each love seat. A host of fragile trinkets lined narrow shelves around the ceiling, and filled every inch of an antique curio cabinet. Mrs. Schwender moved the pillows aside on one of the loveseats and motioned for them to sit.
“I just made some tea. Would you like some?” she beamed.
Neither of them were thirsty, but they both thought it would be rude to turn down their hostess’s gracious offer.
“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Schwender. Thank you,” Jeff said.
Debbie agreed.
She disappeared through a door at the back of the room, returning a minute later with a tray carrying three glasses of tea. They might be drinking glasses, if one considered used jelly jars as a drinking glass.
The tea was excellent.
“This is really good!” Jeff said, “What kind is it?”
Mrs. Schwender smiled; revealing teeth stained a dull brown. Debbie noticed the snuff can and spit cup beside Mrs. Schwender’s chair. It occurred to her this must be the unidentified element to her unusual brew of bad breath.
“My own special blend!” she said.
“Tell us what’s troubling you, Mrs. Schwender,” Jeff asked as he set his glass on a coaster atop the cluttered coffee table.
Mrs. Schwender explained how it all started last month. She was sitting in her chair one day watching “Days of Our Lives.” A little girl walked through the door to her kitchen, smiled, turned around, and then disappeared.
“I’d never seen the child before,” Mrs. Schwender told them. “I thought she was a neighbor child, but my doors and windows are always locked from the inside. She was just gone like a puff of smoke,” she said, wiggling her bony fingers to simulate smoke.
“How many times have you seen her?” Debbie asked.
“I’d say about three or four...always in the same place, “she said, pointing at the door.
“Have you experienced anything else?” Jeff asked.
Mrs. Schwender sat quiet for a moment and then her eyes bulged. Her face contorted into a horrible grimace. She shifted her body away from the door, the door they would soon find leads to her bedroom.
Her mouth quivered as she spoke. “At night,” she croaked, and then began to sob.
Debbie got up, walked over, and knelt beside Mrs. Schwender. She took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“It’s okay, we’re going to help you,” she whispered.
Mrs. Schwender tightened her grip on Debbie’s hand. She reached over to her reading table, almost knocking over the Styrofoam cup serving as her spittoon. She grabbed a tissue and then dabbed her eyes.
After several long moments, Mrs. Schwender finally gained the composure to speak. “At night, sometimes,” she began by nodding her head towards the bedroom door. Her free hand clutched her chest while she grasped Debbie’s hand even tighter. It was as if she were afraid to point because something or someone might bite off her fingers. “A man comes to my bedroom,” she wheezed.
Mrs. Schwender gazed into Debbie’s eyes for reassurance. Debbie didn’t blink. She returned a warm smile.
“Go ahead, it’s okay,” Debbie said, patting her knee.
“The man, he’s more like a shadow. He-he stands by my bed and sometimes he...,” her voice broke as she sobbed, “He tries to smother me.”
Mrs. Schwender began to moan as tears streaked down her face. Debbie reached over and grabbed two more tissues. She patted Mrs. Schwender’s cheeks with a Kleenex as she rubbed her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Debbie said, “we’re right here, nothing is going to hurt you.”
“Mrs. Schwender, have you ever seen the man’s face?” Jeff asked.
The terrified woman shook her head as she continued to wail. Debbie frowned at him as if to say the question could have waited. Several long moments later, Mrs. Schwender calmed down and patted Debbie on the hand.
“I’m okay now, sweetheart, you can go on and sit back down.”
She turned to Jeff and said, “I never seen his face, not even sure if he has one. It’s more like a shadow man.”
“Mrs. Schwender, we can bring our equipment and check out your house. Would tomorrow night be okay?” Jeff asked.
“I was hoping you could do it tonight,” she said, disappointed.
“Well, we would, but I don’t have our equipment ready and my team isn’t here.”
“Could you get your equipment and come back?” she asked hopefully.
“I could,” Jeff said, “but I couldn’t get my team together tonight. We can give it a thorough investigation tomorrow.
“Fine,” she said with a frown.
“Will you be okay tonight?” Debbie asked.
“I suppose so. I’m a bit of a night owl, so I might just fall asleep in my chair watching TV.”
She glanced at the bedroom door and shuddered, “He’s never tried to get me in here.”
Jeff wrote down his contact information and instructed her to call him at any time, day or night, if she had a problem or a question. Debbie helped her carry the empty glasses of tea back to the kitchen. Mrs. Schwender wouldn’t let Jeff assist because they had to go through her bedroom to get to the kitchen.
“My housekeeping has been shameful today, and I might have a few unmentionables lying about,” she told him.
Debbie winked at him when she went through the door. However, when she returned a few minutes later, she seemed troubled. Jeff frowned at her as if to ask what is wrong, but she shook her head and nodded at the door. She would tell him, but they needed to leave now.
They bid goodbye to Mrs. Schwender with the promise they would return tomorrow evening. When Jeff and Debbie wer
e halfway down the walk, Jeff grabbed Debbie’s arm.
“What is it? Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m not sure; let’s get in the truck.”
Jeff opened Debbie’s door and then got in on his side. He put the key in the ignition, but did not start it.
Debbie regarded him and said, “I don’t know...but when I went into Mrs. Schwender’s bedroom; I got a very eerie sensation, like someone was watching me. Then...when I went into the kitchen, I started to feel sick.”
“Was there anything in there that would have made you sick?”
Debbie thought about it and crinkled her nose.
“Nothing, other than Mrs. Schwender’s breath.”
She let out a small hiccup of a giggle. Jeff couldn’t contain one of his own. They felt guilty about laughing at the poor woman’s expense. She was in distress and Debbie’s personal experience may have lent credibility to her claims.
“Well, there may be something to this. I expected to find an over medicated old woman or someone in desperate need of attention. She seemed sincere and lucid,” Jeff said.
Before leaving Mrs. Schwender’s house, Jeff sent an e-mail to the group. He inquired if they were available on Saturday night. Pac replied in less than a minute, followed shortly by Elvis; they would both be there. Dr. Staples declined due to a prior engagement.
“Are you okay?” Jeff asked before they pulled away.
“I feel fine, whatever it was is gone.”
“Do you feel up for dinner?” Jeff asked.
“You bet!”
Dinner at a local dairy bar was not the romantic or expensive outing of a week ago, but neither of them cared. They could have been just as happy eating Vienna sausages and saltines on a street curb. The decisive moment came when Jeff brought Debbie home.
He initiated the kiss this time. It lasted longer than their previous one, but there were no obnoxious rednecks to interrupt. Jeff drove home, although neither one of them got much sleep. They were worried about Mrs. Schwender.