“All right *smiley face*! I’m getting worried now.”
“John!!! Answer your phone!!!”
The last one was just, “?????”.
I tap Meisha’s picture on my phone, and it starts dialing. She answers it after the first ring as if she had it in her hand waiting.
“John? Thank God, I was getting worried.”
“I’m all right, babe. I’m sorry you were stressed. I was so exhausted after the appraiser left that I must have passed out and slept for hours.”
“I get it. You probably didn’t sleep well in that house after avoiding it for so long. We should have come with you. It was too much for you to do on your own. When are you heading back? I can put some steaks on the grill.”
“Well–” my mind wanders. If Meisha had come out with me last night then who knows how things would have gone. The image of Mother on the pole and in the bath comes unbidden to mind. “That’s what we need to talk about.”
“Okay.” Meisha sounds both confused and supportive.
“I think I need you both to come out here after all.”
“Oh.” This response is just total surprise. “I thought the appraiser was going to do most of the work.”
“Yeah. They are.” I let out a deep breath. “It was too much too soon. I just found out about…mother.” Mother. “And I asked them to come back next week.”
After a few seconds of silence, Meisha responds, “Oh.”
“I was really hoping you would come and spend the weekend here with me. You and little Johnny. Neither of you have ever been here.”
I imagine her unspoken arguments in the dead air that follows: You hate that house, John. You said your family would never step foot inside that house, John. You said you never wanted to go back to that house, John.
“Oh,” she replies after taking time to think. “Yeah. We’ll do whatever you need us to, John. We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through any of this alone.”
“Thank you, my love.” My sense of gratitude is marred by guilt. Which head am I thinking with right now? They both say I will find every relief I need in my wife.
“I already put Johnny to bed for the night. We can leave first thing in the morning. I’ll get everything packed up now. Does that sound okay?”
“It sounds perfect. You’re my angel.”
“Are you sure you are all right, John?”
“Yes, just tired. I’ll be so much better after I hug you again. Please drive safe.” At this moment, I feel a great unease about my family coming out to the house.
My mind flashes confusing, disturbing images of myself kneeling down before Her with a knife discarded at her feet, some round and bloody bundle in my hands.
I shake my head. It’s just too much stress. I’ve heard stress can cause imaginary violent images to manifest.
“We’ll see you late morning.”
“I love you, my bride.”
“I love you, too, husband.”
I can hear the smile in her voice.
3
Friday
I don’t get much sleep that night as I spend hours pacing, agonizing, wondering if I should call Meisha back and tell her not to come. What dangers await them here?
Danger. I mull the word over. Is there a danger? I haven’t been harmed, have I?
Yes, the house caused the early death of my father and mother, and my sister was never the same after playing with the Ouija board. But all that took years. This is just a week. One single week and the three of us will go home.
Meisha texts me in the morning when they’re ready to leave. They’ll be here in an hour and a half if they make no stops.
With a scotch in hand, I pace the foyer while I wait. My eyes frequently dash to the grandfather clock along the wall.
“Relax, John.” Her voice is soothing. It promises that Mother will take care of everything.
What if She wants to meet them? The thought makes me break out in a sweat despite the morning chill pervading the house.
I swig more scotch to calm my nerves. The crystal glass is now empty. I glance at my watch and see that I still have about thirty minutes before my family arrives, plenty of time to go refill my glass.
The air in the study smells strongly of sex, which doesn’t make sense. That was more than fifteen hours ago, and I’d left the doors open all night.
Shame burns my cheeks when I glance at the sitting chair. Cheat.
I gasp as if a hand slapped me across the face. Am I a cheat? Is having physical relations with a ghost really cheating? And how many people actually believe in ghosts? I’ve been trying to convince myself for the past four years that I don’t. I don’t believe in ghosts.
