Life as a Ghost - Part 4: Julia Takes Charge

Read the First installment, first: Life as a Ghost - Part 1: The Dead Life

Read the Previous installment:  Life as a Ghost - Part 3: Confusion Reigns

I could handle this next part (It'smostly not essential to the story) by writing that Julia sold my strange but happy home right out from under me (over me?  around me?).  And she did it in a highly entertaining fashion.

More later.

Or...

Julia showed up a few days after the fire, with her lawyer and a lawyer from the trust I’d set up to pay the alimony.  I realized I’d never thought to change my will, and neither had my lawyer.  The house was still in both our names!  Well, now it was hers, along with all my money (who knew from prenuptial agreements in 1954?).  But I still ‘lived’ here!  She was welcome to the money, but I didn’t want her in ‘my’ house.

I needn’t have worried.  The point of her visit was not to arrange to move in; it was to arrange for the sale of the house.  As soon as possible.  At whatever they could get for the ‘monstrosity.’  She and the lawyers toured the house, discussing housing values, special features and white elephants.  Then she floored me.

“What do we do about his ghost?” she asked, sitting primly on the study divan.

“Hunh?” I said

“Julia!” her attorney said in the large-male-speaking-to-small-female-or-child voice some men use in those situations.

“The cop said he heard him,” she insisted.  “And he said he saw a hazy man in jeans and a tee shirt, and cowboy boots!” she added triumphantly.  “George loved his cowboy boots.”

“Julia,” the lawyer said again, exasperated this time, “for the two hundredth time – there is no ghost!  There are no ghosts!”

“He said George was naked the first time and he just floated into the house through the door, and he spoke to him, and he came back later with clothes on!”  She was yelling now.

“Dammit, Julia!” snapped her lawyer, “the cop’s in Fallsview fer chrissake!”

“I’ll be damned!” I said, from where I floated just behind her right shoulder,  “I thought he couldn’t see me.”

Her head snapped around and she looked at me.  “Oh, God!” she said, and fainted.

“Julia!” yelped my trust lawyer.

“Christ, now what?!?” from the exasperated one.

“Well, whattaya know?” from me.  “I think she saw me, and she said the cop saw me.  Twice.  They both heard me, but the lawyers didn’t.”  I was totally bemused.  It appeared I could ‘will’ myself heard, and even seen, by those to whom I addressed myself, or with whom I had a relationship, however bad it may have been.

Julia was waking up.  “George?” she said.  “George, you sonuvabitch, where are you?”

Same old sensitive and caring Julia.  Half conscious, and in the house where the man to whom she’d once sworn undying love had died, she was now swearing at his ghost.  I could’ve kissed her.

I kissed her.

She shivered.  “George,” she said, “don’t do that.  You’re dead.”

“Julia,” I pleaded, “don’t sell the house.  At least, not yet.  I live here , and I can’t leave.  Give me some time to figure things out.”

“Julia,” sternly, from her lawyer, “to whom are you speaking?”

“The house goes, George,” from my former beloved.  “You’re dead, and besides, you screwed me on the settlement.”

“Julia,” I leered “I remember with pleasure every time I screwed you, and that wasn’t one of them.  Besides, you’ve got everything now.  Keep the house.  You can afford it, and I need it to live in.”

“George Pellton, being dead has made you crude!”  She said, her voice rising with every syllable.  “Besides, you’re dead!  You can’t ‘live’ in anything.  The house goes up for sale today, and if you try to queer the deal, I’ll have you exorcised!”

“Julia....” a desperate plea from her lawyer.  “Julia, we must go darling.  You’re overwrought.”

“Oh, shut up, Jack,” from my formerly delicate former spouse.

“Darling?”  From me.  And again, “Darling?  You two...?  Ah-ha!”  As if I’d discovered her in the act of being unfaithful with him.  Well, actually, I had.  “But... but...” I stammered, “I’ve only been dead a few days!”

“Oh, George, do be quiet!” to me.  And, “We’re leaving, Jack,” to ‘Darling.’

“Julia...” I pleaded.

“The house is mine, George,” she said, firmly, “and I’m selling it.  Immediately.  Come on, Jack!”  And she swept him up with her, and headed to the door.  My attorney followed, looking around nervously all the way to the car.  Well, it wasn’t his courage in the face of the unknown for which I’d hired him.  But, he didn’t have to be such a wimp!

And she did.  Sell the house.  Everyone had heard about the Hudson Haunted House!  Our friendly neighborhood policeman had talked to anyone who would listen, including local newspapers, and they had talked to other papers and they....  But you get the idea.  Fallsview, the policeman’s new abode, is a psychiatric hospital.  Nevertheless, there was a parade of alleged buyers.  People who wanted to stay the night were politely told to go away.  If they bought it they could stay all the nights they wished.  Private security guards kept out those who tried to sneak back in.

Through all this, I stayed quiet.  ‘Darling’ showed up just before the first open house.  He spoke with me as if I was the corespondent in a divorce.  Well, actually he stood in the middle of the front living room and spoke severely as he peered at the walls and ceiling and slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees.  Twice.  I floated in the air a foot from his face, and he never knew it.  His speech took about fifteen minutes, and it was mostly threats.  He was obviously embarrassed, standing there making speeches to empty air and threatening a ghost he didn’t believe in, but I figured it was OK.  After all, the threats were pretty empty too.  The gist of it all was that I was to permit the sale of the house to go forward, and any interference from me would be dealt with promptly and severely.  Specificity was lacking, as was conviction.

As he sidled out the door, he snagged the thread holding the center seam of the back of his coat together.  It hooked to the doorjamb on a splinter.  I had nothing to do with it.  Honest!  As he reached for the door of his Cadillac, the entire right half of his jacket slid down his arm and bunched at his wrist. He stood absolutely still for five seconds.  Then he yanked off the offending jacket, leapt into the car, and backed at high speed smack into the Sycamore by the driveway entrance.  Slamming the car into forward, he spun it in place and shrieked the tires off the driveway gravel and onto the blacktop.  I never saw him again.

Would-be buyers, I saw.  By the dozens.  By the hundreds.  The Realtor whom Julia had signed with showed up the day after Jack the Cowardly Attorney left, and he held an open house.  Within an hour he had called the police for crowd control.  I went to the attic to sulk.  I was damned if I’d play to this crowd.  Besides, I was beginning to wonder if it would actually be such a good idea to confirm the existence of a ghost.  Especially in front of a large crowd of nosy parkers like these.  So I kept out of  ‘sight.’  I’m sure Julia was pleased, because she came out the day after she signed the contract to sell the house.

She walked into the house as if she owned it (which, of course, technically, she did).  “George,” she called (sweetly, I should note), “please come out here and show yourself.”

So, I came down from my self-imposed exile in the attic.  “Hi,” I said, not so sweetly.

“Hello, George,” she said.  “Nice to see you.”  Was there the slightest edge of sarcasm there?  Probably.  I magnanimously decided to ignore it.

“Hello, Julia,” I said.  “Welcome to my humble haunted house.”

“George,” she said, “we need to talk about that.  I’m very sorry you’re dead.  Really, I am.  But you are, and the house isn’t yours any more.  You’ve got to leave.”  I thought she might cry.  Well, she wasn’t that sorry, I guess.

I looked at her.  “Julia,” I said, “ex-light of my life.  Would that I could.  It’s lonely here, and it’s boring.  Being dead is no bed of roses.  But I can’t; I just can’t!”

“Why not?” she asked.  “You have to!  You’re dead!  Besides, it’s not as if it’s the old family homestead.  You just bought the place to show off your money.  You can’t be that attached to it.  Why won’t you be a good ghost and go?”

“Attached,” I said, “appears to be the operant word.  It’s not a matter of won’t.  I can’t!  I’ve tried.  I can’t get past the property line.  Don’t you think I’d love to go somewhere?  Hell, I’d love to go anywhere!  But I just can’t.  I’m bound here.”

“George, you’re just being stubborn!” she snapped, crossing her arms over her lovely chest.  “You could go if you wanted to.  You’ve got to!”  And she did begin to cry.

“Whoa!  What’s all this?”  I said.  “You’re not going to have to live with me.  And the new owners will hardly even know I’m here.  Besides, I’m harmless.  I don’t eat much, and I don’t snore.  And I hardly ever shriek or moan.  Except on Halloween.  Think how much fun I could be on Halloween.”  I smiled winningly.

She tried on a smile in response.  Combined with the sniffles, it wasn’t a bad effect.  “You do too snore, George,” she said.  “And the new owners already know you’re here.  And they intend to have you exorcised.  They said that when the priest is done with you, you’ll go to Hell and burn for(hic)e-e-e-ver!”  She started to bawl, and sat down on the sofa.

I tried to hold her.  No good.  So I just stood there and let her cry herself out.  When she was down to just the hiccups, I said, “Darling, you didn’t care this much when you were married to me.  What’s this about exorcism?”

She explained.  The new owners were a strongly religious Catholic couple, who had purchased the house with the understanding that, although they absolutely loved the place, if they couldn’t get rid of me, Julia would have to buy it back, with enough extra to cover their interest payments and insurance.  I was puzzled.  What about all those folks I’d overheard declaring their absolute ecstasy at the thought of owning a real haunted house?

Well, yes.  But it seems none of them had wanted it enough to pay for it.  In fact, this couple had made the best offer – about half what I’d paid!  They’d seen the bargain of their lives, and jumped at it.  Estate sales of real estate are notoriously low-ball sales, but this was ridiculous!  I was furious!  I had been insulted!

I didn’t believe for a moment that this couple, or any of the other cheapskates who wouldn’t offer a decent price, really believed in ghosts.  Julia had gotten screwed again (not that it mattered – she could have given the house away and not noticed the loss), and ‘Darling Jack’ had let it happen.  Exorcism my flaming arse!  I said as much.  I said more.  I said a lot more.

Finally, I said, “Julia, how in the seven Hells of Hallelujah are they, or you, going to prove or disprove my banishment?  They’ll live here as long as they want, and then tell you I’m still here.  You’re going to wind up paying these people off, and they’ll live here rent-free in the meantime.  Besides, exorcism is voodoo.  It’s religious superstition.”

“So,” she said, “are ghosts.”

“Yes...  Well...  Hm-m-m....”

After a while she asked, “Isn’t there any way you can escape?  I really am still fond of you, now that I don’t have to live with you (wan smile), and I don’t want you to die and go to hell.”  She was beginning to cloud up again.

I discovered I was fond of her too.  “Well,” I said, “I don’t think so, but I’ll try to stay out of their way.  Maybe they’ll just live here and leave me alone.  And maybe I’m right about the exorcism.”  I sounded supremely self-assured.  I felt supremely angry.  I was also very scared.  I hadn’t counted on exorcism, and she was right.  For all I knew it was no more superstition than ghosts were.  And I was my own best example of the error of my previous beliefs on that subject.  Ah, well.  We’d soon know.  I bid her farewell.

Read the Next installment:  Life as a Ghost - Part 5a: Beginning the Exorcism

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