This one got away from me again. This part should be called “Walnut Tree” and you’ll soon see why. The titular “Ouija” will play a more prominent role in the next part, but the woodworking nerd in me dwelt on the details here.

As with most obsessions, Terry didn’t think this would be one of them.

It started at a Halloween party his neighbors down the street threw. Out on the patio by the pool a group of half a dozen neighbors he knew and people he didn’t gathered around a cardboard Ouija board. Three people at a time placed their hands gently on the plastic heart shaped planchette and tried to “communicate with the dead” with varying results.

“People never tire of trying to talk to the other side,” The old widow who lived on the other side of Terry stepped up beside him.

He started slightly at her words, focusing a little more intently on the mostly gibberish the slightly tipsy adults were getting out of the Ouija board.

“Agreed,” he said. “Do you ever wish you could communicate with Roger?” he asked, referring to her husband who had died of a heart attack the year before. She winced a little bit and Terry realized the callousness of his comment. “Sarah, I’m sorry, that was really rude of me…”

The older woman waved off his apology, “No, it’s all right, Terry, it’s all right. I do wish I could talk to Roger,” she nodded to herself. “I’d start by asking him where in the hell he put the retirement documentation, followed by why he didn’t get his blood pressure checked more regularly, and I’d also like him to give me the recipe for his rib rub that he took with him to the grave,” she smiled sadly.

“Oh, those ribs…” Terry remembered. “Often imitated, never duplicated.”

“And never will be, sadly. Unless we can get our hands on that planchette and eek it out of him from the afterlife,” her smile warmed.

“If only…” Terry chuckled.

They both stared in silence watching the game.

“Maybe…” Sarah, started, but let the thought trail off.

“You don’t suppose…?” Terry asked.

“I mean, maybe not Roger, but I wonder if the instrument,” she nodded at the laminated cardboard board and cream plastic planchette, “were of higher caliber…”

Terry surprised himself by considering the idea more seriously than he expected. “Where would we start?”

Sarah furrowed her brow. “That old walnut tree that came down in the storm last week…” she started. “I have pictures of that house from the 1920s and that walnut tree was visible in the back yard. I wonder what that heartwood has seen in the last hundred years.”

Terry knew she was appealing to the woodworker in him in a way he couldn’t let go. “You haven’t had that removed?”

She shook her head. “I got an estimate from one of the tree companies, but I think part of it is I’m still sort of mourning it. It was here when we moved into the neighborhood forty years ago. That tree shaded countless barbeques, my kids playing, climbing. It also…” she stopped, her face growing frighteningly serious.

“How about I come over tomorrow and take a look?”

…

The next day Terry knocked on the old three-story house next door that looked out of place in all the remodeled places in the neighborhood. Sarah greeted him and they walked to the back yard where the full tree had crashed into her prodigious yard, crushing the wooden fence separating her yard from the creek that served as a border for the far edge of her property.

“I didn’t realize it took out the fence,” Terry said.

“Sure did. That storm made a mess.”

Terry ran his hands over the trunk where it uprooted and marveled at the rough gray-brown bark and sheer width. “I think I can get a crew here to take this out. A buddy of mine runs a lumber mill – he’s where I get the slabs for my wood shop.”

“Is that where you got that cherry wood that you made that spectacular end table you gave Roger and I for our 75^th Anniversary?”

“One in the same,” Terry said. “I’ll give him a call – he’d be very interested I think.” He thought back to the conversation they had the night before, but the notion that seemed if not reasonable at least worth exploring under the orange hunter moon now seemed exposed as silly dreams in the bright, cool light of an October morning, so he said nothing about it.

“Do you think it would work, though?” her revisiting the conversation took him by surprise.

He nodded slowly, “I do. Let me see what I can find out.”

Hector came over that same day and thanked Terry profusely for calling him. He worked with Sarah and they had a crew break down the ancient tree’s limbs  and cart off the unusable branches and leaves.

“Remember,” Terry told Hector as they surveyed the crew wielding chainsaws and dragging brush to the chipper whirring in the front yard, “I get a heart slab – finder’s fee.”

Hector laughed, “You got it man.”

Terry saw Sarah watching through the window. He waved and joined her inside. “You know it’s going to take a long time before we can use that heartwood – they have to mill it and then the slabs have to dry… if we want this slab it will be years…”

“It’s got to be this tree.” The steel in her eyes took Terry aback a bit.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Is there,” he started, “Something about this tree that’s… special.”

“There is.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Alright…” Terry said.

…

Terry visited Hector the following week to pick up a slab of acacia for a vanity a customer in Scotts Valley had commissioned. “How’d that walnut break down?”

“Oh man,” Hector said. “You have to see this…”

They walked out through Hector’s warehouse into the open yard where metal racks ran in long rows holding varying lengths of drying slabs of wood. They crossed to one row and walked all the way back to the chain link fence  before Hector stopped and put his hand on top of a stack of slabs separated from each other by inches to allow air to circulate. “Claro walnut. This one is yours,” he said patting the top of the stack.

Terry had to catch his breath. Eight feet long and half as much wide, the three inch thick slab seemed to almost glow, its whorls and striations picking up the diffuse sunlight between the stacks of drying slabs.

“Not a single crack,” Hector said. “I’ve never seen a trunk so perfect. This thing is magnificent. I thought I was doing you a huge favor covering so much of that removal. I mean, I didn’t mind, you know – that old lady is sweet. But practically everything we pulled out of that yard is solid. Now I almost feel bad!”

“Well, just let me know! I’ve got a really special project for this.”

…

A year later at the next neighborhood Halloween party, Sarah stepped next to Terry as he watched a different group playing with the Ouija board.

“I can make it out of something else,” he started. “I have a great piece of Blue Mahoe left over from a series of bowls I turned. It’d make a gorgeous board…”

“Not for our purposes. That walnut…”

Terry saw that look in her eyes again. “Okay.”

He did make a proof of concept Ouija board out of that Blue Mahoe. He put the tight-grained brown and blonde board with hand-painted letters and numbers on it along with a planchette from the same wood in the window of his Los Gatos gallery for Halloween. It sold handsomely to a couple visiting from Napa.

He had shown the board to Sarah who admired the grain and color of the wood and the craftsmanship. “That wood has a spicy smell,” she said.

“Blue Mahoe is known for that,” Terry said.

“It’s nice. But it won’t work for us. The walnut…”

…

Just before Halloween the following year Sarah fell in her house and broke her hip. When she got out of the hospital her daughter stayed with her during her recuperation.

Terry knocked on the door, a casserole in hand.

“Hello?” the woman with dark hair answered the door.

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s neighbor, Terry. I thought I’d bring by a chicken and potato casserole.”

“Oh, that’s so nice! I’m Jenny, her daughter. Come in. My mom’s in the back yard.”

Terry found Sarah sitting in a chair on the deck overlooking the weeds where the walnut tree had been.

“Those roots are poison,” she started abruptly.

“Sorry?”

“The roots of the walnut tree. They leach a poison that kills other walnut trees, but a whole host of other plants.” She pointed to a row of raised beds with tomato plants that leaned over exhausted from their summer-long bounty, “that’s why we had to build raised beds for the tomatoes.” She scowled. “I was going to tear those out before that damn fall.”

“It happens,” Terry said. “I can take care that for you tomorrow.”

“Really? That would be sweet.”

“You got it, Sarah.” He was quiet as the subject he knew she was thinking of rested between them.

“The wood?” she gave voice to it.

“Hector showed me when I picked up some Monterey cypress for a dining room table. It’s coming along, but he thinks another year. If you don’t want to wait, I have some really even Pau Rosa from Tanzania that would finish nicely…”

“Only the walnut.”

“Sarah, with this fall, I’m just worried…”

“That I’d die before we do this?”

“Well…”

“Terry,” she said, “I’m old, but I’ve still got fight in me. Don’t worry about that…”

“Why this walnut,” he gestured to where the tree used to stand.

“Sit,” she instructed pointing to a chair next to hers.

“Mom, do you need anything?” Jenny asked. Sarah shook her head. “Terry? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said.

“Okay, I’m going to go call Adam then,” and she disappeared inside.

“Jenny’s been wonderful. It’s been nice spending so much time with her,” Sarah said after her daughter went inside. “Her husband, Adam, is a doll as well. I feel a little bad taking so much of her time, but…

“She had an older brother,” Sarah said and let the statement hang for a long moment. “Joey,” she smiled. “He was a good boy. Troubled, though,” she nodded solemnly. “We… Roger and I… we did our best. We knew he had some issues with the kids at school, but neither of us knew the extant of it, I guess. Until…” She remained statue still and silent for so long Terry wondered whether she would continue. “I found him. He’d come home from high school early. I was out running errands, but I saw him through the kitchen window as soon as I stepped in the front door,” she gestured to the windows behind her. “I will never forget the sight of his body hanging from one of those branches,” she pointed to the air where the walnut tree stood, “swaying in the wind. Lifeless. My boy. My boy…”

“I’m so sorry,” Terry said. Sarah nodded.

“I’ve seen him in those branches over the years,” she said solemnly. “As a boy climbing the thick limbs. I’ve seen him swaying at the end of that rope. I heard his laugh when the winds rustled the leaves.” She turned to look Terry in the eyes with that fierce look. “That tree. It has to be that tree.”

Terry’s blood ran cold knowing the story of the beautiful, tragic tree.

“The walnut,” she said, nodding to the empty space where the tree stood. “That tree.”

To be continued…

There was a point not so long ago that I lived with four cats, a dozen fish, ten chickens, and a dog. The chickens and fish started going first. Then Shurik died and Amaya ran away and it was just Kione and Clementine along with Winston. Clementine died last year, and Winston died a little more than a month ago. So, now it’s just Kione (or Kiki) and me. She’s become a very different cat. When Clementine was around, Kiki treated her like her kitten and was very maternal and reserved; Clementine was the “perma-kitten” to Kiki’s quiet resolve.

Not anymore. Kiki has found her voice. Just this morning I was trying to eek out a little more sleep and Kiki very vocally let me know her wet food was not down at the proper time. When I do feed her (FYI, Fern, bless her soul, got up and fed Kiki this morning to let me sleep) Kiki mews and rawrs and meows like she’s grumbling that I’m not fast enough. At around 16, She’s settling into her golden years and feeling herself and her single-cat-ness. Okay, Kiki, I get it. This one’s for you.

I’m not a cat person. I’m not a dog person. No, I’m just not a pet person, full stop. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like cats or dog – I absolutely love them… so long as someone else is doing the feeding, the cleaning, and the maintenance. If I can pet them, hug them, play with them and then give them back? Perfect.

Talking to my friends it also makes finding a new place a lot easier. It took Susan three months to find a place that would allow her to have her three cats. Alan’s rottweiler required him to have a special codicil on his renter’s insurance in case the dog went mental and mauled someone.

Me? I got this tiny little detached house behind a bigger apartment unit. I think it used to be the caretaker’s cottage back when that was a thing and housing prices were such that you could afford to have a whole place just for that. It’s 400 square feet of adorableness as far as I’m concerned – I even have a little garden with a little café table between me and the apartment block. It’s my Eden.

It’s perfect. At least it was, that is, until I found out it was haunted.

Four a.m. and I’m dead to the world… until the meowing starts.

“Mew, mew, mew” came quietly into my dream. Then, when I clearly wasn’t taking the hint, full on “Meow! Meow! Meow!”

“The hell?” I wondered if I left a window open or something. I peered over the edge of the bed loft and sure enough, prowling around down there was a lanky gray and white cat.

“Meow!” it crowed as it rubbed against the ladder. “MEOW!” it insisted as it brushed against the tire of my bike.

“How in the hell did you get in here?” I asked as I started down the ladder. The cat walked towards the front door as I got down.

“Meow?”

“Yeah, you! How’d you get in here?”

“Meow!”

“That’s helpful,” I said. Then grumbled to myself, “I don’t know what I was expecting…”

I reached down to pick the cat up and my hands went right through it. “What the?” I staggered backwards in shock.

“Ghost cat?”

“Sounds like it,” Carrie said at lunch.

“Definitely,” Susan agreed. “After Muffin died last year, I swear I could hear him sometimes.”

“Okay, yeah, but this isn’t a ‘sometimes I hear my beloved pet.’ This is some damned cat is haunting my new house.”

“Look on the bright side,” Carrie said. “At least you don’t have to change its litter box!” She crinkled her brow. “Unless… you don’t think it leaves some kind of… spooky dookie around?”

We all laughed. “No, thankfully no spectral turds. Just a loud wake up call at 4am all weekend.”

“It’s hungry,” Susan said.

“For my soul,” I intoned menacingly.

“Seriously,” Susan continued. “Cupcake and Cheeto let me know if I haven’t fed them straight away after I get up. Cheeto will go so far as to walk on my face.”

“Cheeto? Cupcake? And Muffin?” Carrie said. “Girl, you should not name your cats when you’re hungry.”

“So, I just need to get some ghost cat chow…” I started.

“I don’t know, maybe start with real cat food,” Susan offered.

I thought about it. “Eh, couldn’t hurt.”

I picked up a small bag of cat chow on the way home. Next morning, like clockwork the phantom gray and white cat started its 4am serenade. “Meow! Meow!”

“Hold your ghostly horses,” I said coming down the steps. I got a bowl out of the kitchen and set it down next to the fridge and filled it with kibble. “There,” I said and started back to the ladder.

“Meow! Meow!” It demanded.

“You have food!”

It walked to the front door. “Meow!”

“You want to go out? Just go through it! You’re a ghost.”

“Meow!”

“Fine!” I opened the door. The cat just looked at me like I was stupid.

“MEOW!”

“What?!” I asked. Then I got it, “Oh, you want your food outside. Okay. Whatever.” I retrieved the bowl from the kitchen and set it just outside the front door.

The cat sauntered out, stood by the food, and mewed what I took to be a contented “better. That’ll do, human.”

I went back inside and got another couple hours of blissful, meow-less sleep.

When I opened the door and wheeled my bicycle out to go to work, the cat food was empty. “Hungry little ghost,” I said but knew that couldn’t be right. I shrugged, locked my door and headed out.

The next day was the same 4am wake up meow. Fed her – I’ve decided my ghost cat is a she – and went back to bed. Food was empty when I went out at seven.

Lather, rinse, repeat, and by the time I had to buy a new bag of cat chow, I decided to get one of those video monitors to see if, I don’t know, the ghost cat ate the food. More likely, I though, I’d see a giant, plump racoon snarfing down on ghost cat’s breakfast.

But that wasn’t what I saw.

A few days later I was reviewing the video on my phone. There I am, all sleepy girl in my ratty bathrobe and slippers, setting out a bowl of food and new water (yeah, I figured even ghost cats get thirsty). No ghost in frame, though, seriously? I expected be the first person to catch a ghost on film? And it’s a cat? Yeah, don’t think so…

Anyway, food and water down, I can be heard telling ghost cat, “Bon Appetit,” and closing the door behind me. A few minutes later, a little emaciated black kitty comes out of the brush tentatively. It’s looking at something near the food. It was looking at the ghost cat. It tilts its head and rubs it against something in midair—the ghost cat! Then it starts purring so loudly that the camera picks it up as it hungrily starts eating the food. When it finishes, the kitty curls up on next to one of the rose planters and damned if I couldn’t make out the impression of a ghost kitty tongue grooming the contended little kitty.

4am the next day, the meowing wakes me. “You’ve got a friend!” I tell the ghost cat as I get the food ready.

“Meow!”

“That’s why you’re here! For her!”

“Mew!”

“You’re a good little ghost cat, aren’t you!” I said setting the food down. “Say hi to your living friend, and Bon Appetit,” and closed the door.

The next day after I closed the door, I went to my computer instead of back to bed. I pulled up the live video and waited until the kitty was well into devouring the food. I padded quietly to the door and slowly, quietly, opened it. The kitty was too busy eating to notice me at first, but as the door opened wide enough for me to step out, the kitty’s head popped up, and it spun and started back to the hedges.

“MEOW!” I looked down and the ghost cat was by my ankles. “Meow, meow, meow!” it said and the kitty stopped by the hedge and turned around warily.

“Meow!”

The kitty started back towards the food, slowly, eyes focused on me.

“Meow.”

The kitty resumed eating, but eyed me.

“Mew!” Ghost cat said to me.

I stepped out and the ghost cat moved to stand right next to the eating kitty. “Mew,” it said again.

I reached out a hand and the ghost cat meowed comfortingly to the kitty. I touched the kitty’s soft black fur. It tensed. “Mew!” Ghost cat said again. The kitty relaxed and started eating again and let me pet her. And started purring. Her little motor was humming! She finished eating and instead of retreating, let me pet her more. She had no tags or collar and she clearly was too skinny to be taken care of by anyone.

“I guess I have a cat now,” I said as the black kitty rubbed its face against my hand insistently.

“Meow!” the ghost cat said.

“Sorry, I guess I have two cats now.”

When last we left our intrepid ghost fighters, they’d managed to irritate their resident specter. Now, they’re going to make it really angry…

“I’m going to make a quesadilla,” I said walking to the kitchen, iPhone flashlight illuminating my path.

“I’m good” came Jessie’s voice in the darkness.

“Cool,” I said as I opened the dark fridge for the cheese. The light from the cooking flame under the cast iron skillet caused little shadows to dance eerily on the walls. Still, I wasn’t as nervous as before. Sure, I was still acting as bait, but at least I had a task to accomplish – and there would be a tasty quesadilla to toast our victory over the specter.

Tortilla down on the melted butter, shredded cheese on top and the second tortilla on.

The door to the garage opened slowly, the hinges creaking a warning.

I swallowed hard as I flipped the tortilla with the spatula.

The temperature in the kitchen plummeted. I hoped Jessie had gotten into position.

The kitchen filled with a deafening howl that made my blood run cold and forget the entire plan. I spun in time to see a white shape streak from the garage into the kitchen and straight for me. I didn’t have time to think. I did have time to scream – which I did – and grabbed the cast iron skillet to defend myself.

Unfortunately, I neglected to use an oven mitt when I grabbed the bare iron handle and the pan came up, the quesadilla fell to the floor, the pitch of my scream turned from terror to searing pain as I let go of the hot pan. It arced through the air as the ghost shot towards me and the two collided, the pan ringing with contact and ricocheting off into the darkness. The white streak veered off and seemed to stagger and fall into the counter by the fridge.

“Jessie!” I yelled, instinctively running my hand under the cold water in the sink.

The door to the back patio flew inwards as Jesse rushed in, “JT, you okay?”

“No!” I said, one hand under the water, the other reaching for anything on the counter as the ghoul’s two red eyes resolved within the white shape and turned towards me. My hand grasped something and I threw it at the figure. “Suck garlic, ghost!”

“That’s vampires!” Jesse yelled, moving around the kitchen table.

The garlic sailed right through the white mist and bounced onto the counter behind it. The red eyes looked down at where the garlic passed through it, then tilted at me like it was saying, “Really?” before the red eyes narrowed and it started towards me with my hand still in the sink.

It didn’t see Jesse round on it and throw two handfuls of roofing nails at it. The nails that struck it impacted like they hit something solid and the ghost shrieked a high pitch wail of pain and then seemed to melt into the floor and disappear.

The only sound was water in the sink.

“You okay?” Jessie crossed to me.

“I burned my hand,” I said experimentally flexing it under the water.

“Is it bad?”

“Not too bad,” I said.

“Okay,” he said going to the fridge and taking out a bag of frozen peas which he wrapped in a kitchen towel. “Hold onto this.”

I shut the water off and took hold of the peas in my burned hand. The coolness felt better than the water, but it still hurt.

“A little better, JT?”

I nodded.

“Okay, I don’t think we have much time…”

“You don’t think we got it?”

“No, I think we really pissed it off. Let’s set up for the coup de grace.”

“The cootie gah?”

“Coup de grace – it means the finishing stroke.” He looked at my hand holding the peas. “I think we’re going to have to reverse our roles, but that should be okay. I think it’s super mad at me right now.”

…

Jesse sat on the couch in the family room playing “Call of Duty Mobile” on his phone as I stuffed myself in the awkward space under the stairs next to the love seat. My leg cramped from waiting, and I rubbed my calf to get blood back into it, but that was the most movement I would spare. My hand still throbbed, but it definitely felt better after we put aloe on it and wrapped it up.

I shivered and realized the room just cooled unnaturally quickly. I wanted to say something to Jessie, but he tapped his right foot twice indicating he felt it too. I flexed my legs to make sure I could move when I needed to, because Jessie warned the ghost might be fast. I mean, if it was only moderately angry when it came at me in the kitchen and now it’s righteously angry?

The rocking chair in the corner by the fireplace started to rock on its own. That was the only clue we had before the ghost erupted from the dark fireplace. I saw the red eyes first, flaring like hot embers. The white misty shape appeared even more defined and I could see whispy arms and hands tipped with claws extended as it shot towards my brother.

Two feet away it crumpled hard against an invisible wall.

“JT! Now, close it!”

My legs sprung and I launched from my hiding place, my hand already upturning the cylinder of salt. The white crystals fell to the floor in a stream overlapping a semi-circle. I hurriedly traced the other side of the circle with the salt. As the stream crossed the other side of the semicircle a barely audible click came from the circle.

The ghost mist whirled and launched towards me, slamming against the invisible barrier that extended upwards from the now-closed circle inches from my face. I fell backwards from the sudden shock.

“We got it!” Jessie cheered.

The ghost spun and rammed every angle of the five foot diameter cell it found itself in. It twisted its mist like a tornado, spinning upwards testing the cylindrical barrier all the way up to the roof.  It settled back down to the floor and stalked back and forth turning the red eyes on Jessie and then me. Sure, it looked like we had the thing trapped, but it emanated a pure hatred.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“Tell us who you are and why you’re bothering us,” Jessie demanded.

The ghost’s reaction surprised me. The mist coalesced into a quite distinct hand extending a middle finger.

“Suit yourself,” Jessie told it. And so we started messing with it.

We sat on opposite couches and tossed a football back and forth right through the ghost.

Jessie retrieved a battery powered work light from mom’s tools in the garage, turned it on pointing it at the wall and urged the trapped ghost, “Go towards the light!” It spun with fury.

We collected the nails from the kitchen and took turns bouncing them off the ghost. It screamed with each nail.

My quesadilla wasn’t too dirty (1 hour rule, FTW!) and I took a bite and offered it to the ghost, “Hungry ghost?” Jessie laughed at least.

“Look, just tell us who you are and why you’re bothering us and we’ll let you go,” Jessie told it again after a while.

The finger again.

We tried burning sage to really set it off, but we couldn’t find any in the kitchen. For the record, burning oregano has no effect on a trapped ghost and smells terrible.

Jessie tried reading passages from the Bible, but it didn’t react. However, when he started reading old Eminem lyrics from his phone the ghost went nuts.

Eventually we actually got bored tormenting the thing. Jessie yawned, “I’m going to bed. You can stay trapped there until the sun come streaming in this window,” he said, opening the drapes. “I’m just guessing, but I don’t think that’ll be good for you.” He turned to me, “You coming, JT?”

“Yeah, let’s go,” I said, and followed him up the stairs.

We were almost to the top when a voice floated up to us. “Fine.”

“Was that you?” Jessie asked me. I shook my head.

“It’s me, you stupid kid!” The voice came from the red eyes and the mist trapped in the circle.

Jesse sauntered past me back down the stairs. He drew up just opposite the ghost and said, “my name is Jessie. My brother’s name is Jacob. Neither of us is named ‘Stupid kid.’”

“I don’t care what your names are,” it said with vehemence. “You’re in my house and you’re annoying as hell!”

Jessie took in a breath and let it out slowly. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and said, “Show yourself.”

“Go to hell,” the ghost said.

“Funny, by my watch…”

“Jessie,” I whispered, “You don’t have a watch.”

“By my phone,” he corrected himself, “You’ve got about five hours to reconsider before those hills out there start to get pink and soon after that it’ll be you going to hell.”

The mist swirled and coalesced into the translucent bent figure of an old man with a deeply wrinkled face. “I moved into this house fifty years ago,” it said. “My wife died in this house. I died in this house. My stupid kids didn’t visit either of us. Then they up and sold this place to your mom. My house!” It bellowed. “And I’m not going to put up with two kids,” he spoke the word like a curse. “Not in my house. Not after my own kids did us so wrong.”

“Look, mister,” I said coming down the last steps. “This was your house. But it’s ours now. I don’t know your kids, but I’m sorry that they were jerks. We can’t do anything about that.”

“So?!” he yelled.

“So, do you know where our mom is tonight?”

“A bar? Trying to find you brats a new daddy?” it laughed a wheezy laugh.

“JT, get some more nails, I’m going to get that cast iron pan.” The old man’s eyes widened and he stopped laughing.

“No, jerkface,” I said. “She’s at her mom’s, our Nana’s. Our grampa died last summer and she’s scared to be alone in the dark after fifty years together. So, our mom is over there comforting her.

“We can’t do anything about your awful kids, but that’s not how our family works. We live here now. We’re not your kids. And we all need to get along.”

The old man thought for a few minutes then said, “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” Jessie said. “Just to leave us alone.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Stop messing with us. If there’s something you don’t like, come to us and we’ll see what we can do to make it better.”

Jessie came next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Jacob’s right. We’re all in this together here,” he said kindly. “If you want to be a jerk and make our lives miserable, we can play right back.”

The ghost harrumphed, but seemed to soften.

“You don’t terrorize us and we’ll treat you with respect,” I said. “Do we have a deal?”

The old man stood still for a long moment. Then, finally, said, “Alright… I can give it a try.”

“Thanks, Mister,” I said.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jessie said as he stepped forward and deliberately scattered an arc of the salt with his foot. An audible snap crackled in the air and the old man put his hands out experimentally. When they didn’t come into contact with anything he stepped back and relaxed.

“You kids need to clean this place up before your mother comes home!” he chided.

“We will. I’ll get the magnet for the nails. JT, get the broom?”

“You got it,” I started to move.

“Hey,” the old man said.

“Yeah?” Jessie replied.

“You kids are pretty clever. And fearless.”

“No,” Jessie laughed, “We had plenty of fear.”

“Still,” the ghost said. “Thanks for making my afterlife interesting.”

“Thanks for coming around,” Jessie said.

The old man faded from view and we started cleaning up.

He’s still here. If we’re doing something he doesn’t like, he definitely lets us know – sometimes it’s a cold breeze. Occasionally it’s a stern word. But we know we deserve it. We told Mom, but to this day she doesn’t believe us, but when she comes home from work and finds we did the dishes unbidden she declares, “Thank you, ghost!” to the ceiling. I saw him behind her in the doorway to the garage smiling once after she said that.