sleep in the study for the remaining nights until my trip. When someone has put you on probation and given you the three-strike rule, it’s best not to lie down beside them at night.
* * * * *
I’ve been busy as hell here in Kansas City, but I’ve managed to call Edith the first three nights with no answer. She’s probably still mad at me. But on the sixth day with no answer, I become concerned and call Herb. Clara answers.
“Clara, this is Les.”
“Hi, Les, how are things in the big city?”
“Busy. Would you mind checking on Edith? She hasn’t answered her phone in a week, and I’m worried about her.”
“You’re right. That doesn’t sound like her. Yeah, I’ll go check and call you back.”
She doesn’t call back for two hours, heightening my concern even more. When she finally does, I can tell she’s been crying.
“Sorry it’s taken so long to get back. It was horrible, Les.” She starts sobbing again. “So terrible.”
“Calm down, Clara, and tell me what’s wrong.”
There’s a brief pause. She stops crying and says in a jittery voice, “Edith’s dead, Les.”
My God.
“Take it easy, Clara. What happened?” I ask in a voice beginning to get shaky.
“The medical personnel think she tripped over a cat, fell down the stairs, and broke her neck. She’s been dead for days, and with nothing to eat, the cats started eating on her.”
Oh, my God!
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Clara. I’m catching the next flight out.”
I call my boss and explain what has happened. I call the airlines to book the next available flight. And I call my realtor, telling him to put the house on the market. There’s no way I can go back to living in it.
As I’m packing my things, I think of an old saying with a slight variation: When the salesman’s away, the cats will play.
The Awakening of Amy
Amy and I met in a haunted house, a real one. And it was quite by chance and right next door.
My story started when I walked into the realtor’s office for the second time. I told her I had decided on the house and wanted to pay cash for it. She’s surprised for two reasons.
“That’s quite a feat for a man of such a young age.”
“I guess you could say I’m self-supporting. I invested in the stock market and invested wisely.”
“Well, you don’t have to come up with the whole sum at one time,” she explains. “We can offer a great financing rate.”
“The price is right in this market, and I see no sense in losing the savings by paying finance charges.”
She studies me for a minute. “I could use you for my financial consultant.”
I laugh.
“And what I told you Monday hasn’t discouraged you any?” she asks.
* * * * *
It was during the showing of the house. “I would be remiss in not telling you the reason this house is going at such a great price. The house next door is considered to be haunted,” she said.
“Oh, really?”
“Oh, yes. A young lady was murdered there three years ago, and you know how imaginations run wild.”
“I’m new to the area. What happened?” I ask, my curiosity aroused.
“The young woman, Amy Lynley her name was, was strangled there. They think the boyfriend did it, but not enough evidence was found to charge him. The distraught parents moved away and have been trying to sell the house ever since.
“But having the words ‘murder’ and ‘haunted’ tagged to it, it has been a tough sale. They have a yard crew that keep the grounds up, and a maid service comes for the inside.
“If you decide to buy and start hearing stories, I don’t want you thinking I misrepresented anything and put you with a ghost next door.”
* * * * *
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I tell her plainly.
She laughs.
We finish the transaction, and I start making plans to move in. On the third night in my new abode, my sleep pattern has changed. Not bothered to say or interrupted or made restless, but more like someone is reading my thoughts (or dreams), enjoying the pleasant ones I’m having, and comforting me when they’re not. Something inside my being tells me that it’s urgent to meet this person (or spirit), and it would be in my benefit to do so.
I awaken not knowing if this is a dream in itself, but almost sure it’s more than that. A dream would be a simple explanation. An inner need, more than a conscious effort, leads me to my bedroom window.
In the window across from my own, I see a twinkling of blue light pass by and then come back. It’s not a light really but more of a translucent glow. It senses me, comes closer to the window, and seemingly radiates its warmth out to me. I think now I’m fully awake and try to study this phenomenon in more detail.
The window rises at half mast on its own power, and the curtains blow in and drift out as if they are beckoning fingers urging me: “Come…come, John. See what I’m about.” I’m intrigued and apprehensive at the same time, but my legs carry me to the closet anyway. I grab my flashlight and make my way outside.
When I get to the house next door, I shine my light down both sides of it. Sometimes I have seen kids in the yard during the day but never at night and never inside the house. And I doubt that’s the explanation for the early-morning glow coming from it now.
I walk up the steps onto the porch and turn the knob. At the same time, I can feel help with it from the other side, like someone is unlocking the knob as I turn. I open the door slowly and walk in the same way, not knowing what to expect.
It’s cold this morning and very dark, but the front room is pleasantly warm, and a dim glow lights it even though I know power is not running to it.
“Please take a seat, John Parker,” an unearthly, but distinctly female voice says to me. I’m not sure if it is actually spoken or transferred to me mentally. “I’m glad you came to visit.”
There’s a sofa and a recliner seat in the great room, but for some reason, I’m sure she means the dining-room chair pulled out from the table. I sit down and notice dust on the furniture and cobwebs in the corners. It’s apparent the cleaning crew doesn’t come as often as the yard crew.
“Since you already know my name, may I ask yours?” I say to still air.
“Mine
