31 Ghosts – Day 20: Ghostbluster, Part 2

If you missed part 1, it’s right here

“…Then the bed seriously levitated two feet off the floor,” Karen took a sip of her second dirty martini.

“Oh my God,” Ming said, “And you’re telling us you weren’t scared?”

“No, I was definitely scared. I was scared the bastard wound dent the hardwood when he inevitably dropped the bed. Which, of course, he did.”

“Kar, seriously, why don’t you listen to him and move out?” Louise asked. “He gave you, what? A week? And you’ve been there more than a month.”

“Six hard fought weeks,” Karen corrected then finished her drink in a big swallow and signaled the bartender for another.

“Okay, six weeks – that’s longer than even the month you said he gave you originally. You won. Why don’t you take that victory and walk away while you have your sanity and your life?”

“Because… It’s my goddamn house, Louise. You know how hard I worked to afford my own place. I’m not going to leave just because some ghost wants me to.”

“Umm, some verified homicidal demon ghost.”

“Thank you, Ming,” Karen nodded and took her martini from the bartender, “just because some homicidal demon ghost.”

“Just so we’re both,” Louise gestured to Ming and herself, “on record saying this is a monumentally shitty idea, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” Karen nodded.

* * *

Ming pulled her Mustang to the curb in front of the Dale house. She could see a light wink on in an upstairs bedroom. She craned her neck and leaned over Karen just in time to see the curtain peel back and the sharp features of an older man peer out. “Oh my God, I think he saw me,” she shrieked, flattening herself against her chair.

“Ming, you’re good. He’s only got eyes for me. Glowing red demon eyes, but…”

“Karen,” Ming turned in her chair to face the other woman, “You don’t have to stay here. Why don’t you come stay at my place tonight? Then… I don’t know, we could look for a place to live together – you can leave this place. It’ll be like college!”

“You have a selective memory. You forget we almost killed each other after two weeks. I’m a tough person to live with,” she smiled. “Right now I’m being John Dale’s pain in the ass,” she shrugged. “…And vice versa,” she amended as she turned to regard the house through the window. The curtain dropped back in front of the upstairs window and the light upstairs went out. She picked up her purse and opened the car door and squinted against the dome light flooding the cabin with yellow light. “Thank you, Ming,” Karen turned and smiled. “I really appreciate the sentiment. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Ming said, then added, “leave the lights on.”

“I wish that helped,” Karen closed the door. She opened the mailbox, took out a handful of envelopes and closed the little door. She turned and walked up the walkway to the front door as Ming started off. She wasn’t even at the door and she could feel the negative energy of the place wash over her. She sighed then put her hand on the door knob (she didn’t bother locking up – she had the greatest alarm system imaginable).

She turned the knob and pushed the door open. She had barely a moment to dodge the bloody corpse swinging on the noose towards her. More casually than one would think possible, she stepped inside as the lifeless corpse swung back inside. She pressed the light switch button as she dropped her keys in the bowl on the small table next to the door. She timed the swinging of the lifeless body to close the door. On the backswing, the body came to a stop against the door with a sickly wet thud.

“A little welcome home gift,” Dale called down from the top of the stairs.

“You’re too kind,” Karen said without looking up. She flipped through the mail as she asked, “Friend of yours?”

“Ah, no, friend of yours!” he replied menacingly.

“You know, Dale, you really missed the mark by not having a mustache to twirl menacingly.” For the first time she looked up at the corpse dangling and saw it was Ming’s mutilated body. Panic started to course through her veins, but she instantly and deliberately put the kibosh on that feeling. “Nice trick,” she said flatly. “If I hadn’t seen Ming leave a moment ago I might have bought it.”

“Shit,” he said, starting down the stairs. “I knew I should have used Louise instead. But she’s got that particular bump in her nose, you know? That’s really hard to capture in a convincing corpse.”

“Her Dirty Dancing Jennifer Gray nose?” Karen nodded. “And you’d best not mention that to her because she’d go all exorcist on your ass for that. Seriously, though,” Karen studied the faux-Ming corpse, “If you disfigured the face a bit more I’m sure you could get around the bump.”

Dale stood opposite her and regarded the body, “Yes, but it’s a fine line – too much and you wouldn’t recognize her and where’s the shock then?”

“Good point,” Karen said, taking an object from her purse before hanging the purse on one of the set of hooks above the door side table. “I got you something, too.”

“Oh?” He waved a hand and the corpse, noose and all, dissolved into a puddle of ectoplasm.

“You might remember this,” she said and held up a gnarled stick with a small circular drum attached to the end. The drum was covered by some hide yellowed with age, sinew cord zig-zagging the circumference holding the skin taught.

Dale’s eyes went wide and he took an involuntary step backward. “Where the hell did you get that?!” he demanded.

“I had a meeting with a medicine man today,” she said and experimentally twisted the stick causing some beads inside the drum to rattle.

The effect on Dale was immediate; he didn’t move across the room as he instantly appeared on the other side of the room. “Put that thing away. You do not know what you’re holding!”

“Actually, I do,” she said, cradling the drum in both hands careful not to rattle it. “According to my new Miwok friend, it’s an artifact of profound evil. Enemy of my enemy, and all that…”

“You have no idea!” Dale started up the stairs.

“No, really I do,” she nodded emphatically. “You want to stay upstairs tonight then?”

Halfway up the stairs, Dale stared down on her, “You keep that foul monstrosity down there and I’ll stay up here tonight. Deal?”

“Sweet dreams,” she smiled crossing to the couch as she rattled the drum a little more. Dale let out a squeal then disappeared upstairs. Karen slid out of her wedges, sat on the couch, delicately set the drum on the coffee table and reached for the comforter draped over one arm of the couch. She reflected on the danger of the artifact as she undid the clasp of her bra, kicked her feet up on the couch, pulling a pillow under her head and drawing the comforter over her. The drum, she knew, was a calculated risk – and a temporary one at that. She’d have to return it tomorrow. But that was tomorrow and for now she closed her eyes and slept the most luxurious night so far in her house.

* * *

Karen let the warm water sluice over her and reached for her poof and body wash. Before she had time to lather up the poof, the hot water turned to blood. “You asshole,” she yelled out of the shower. She couldn’t hear his self-satisfied laughter over the rush of the blood shower, but she imagined she could hear it. She fought her gag reflex back, telling herself the blood was just an illusion. She lathered up the poof and forced herself to start soaping herself up with the blood water. After a few minutes her effort paid off and the blood turned back to water – though she knew intellectually it was always water.

She toweled off and crossed out to her room, opening a dresser drawer for her underwear. That’s when the cobra shot out at her face, fangs bared. Karen turned just enough to let the reptile shoot past her face. Karen knew it would disappear as soon as it left her sight. She pulled on her jeans and top then moved back to the bathroom to do her makeup. Closing the mirror of the medicine cabinet she stared at her face, but aged, wrinkled and cracking like dried mud. She sighed at the sight as her nose cracked and fell into the sink. “So it’s going to be that kind of a morning, jerkface?” This time she did hear his laughter as she looked at her mummy face. “Natural look today, then.” She said.

“No makeup today?” Dale tsked at the foot of the stairs, hand on the banister. He shook his head admonishingly as she started down the stairs, “Not very ladylike, are you?”

Karen came even with him at the base of the stairs without saying a word. She met his gaze and exchanged a stare. Without breaking the gaze, she smoothly withdrew the dagger from her back pocket and stabbed it through Dale’s hand, pinning it to the banister. He bellowed in pain as she walked past him and took up her purse and keys. “Blessed obsidian dagger, bitch,” she said and left him cursing after the closed door.

* * *

Karen pulled into the driveway and regarded the shadow that darted past her headlight. For a moment, she thought Dale was up to something. No, she was outside of the house. This wasn’t Dale’s work. For the first time in months she really was scared. She reached into her purse and took out the pepper spray and pulled out the safety ring. With a deep breath, she pulled her keys out of the ignition taking the keys between her clenched knuckles, claw-like. She pushed the car door open scanning the space ahead of her for the shadow she saw when she pulled in.

That’s when she felt the sharp cold steel press against her neck. “Drop the pepper spray, bitch,” the voice said into her ear. She steeled herself as she tossed the canister onto the seat of the car.

“Take my wallet. Just let me go,” she said as steady as she could manage.

The second man stepped out from in front her car – the shadow she’d seen earlier. “We’re gonna take your wallet, bitch,” he said moving close to her. “And we’re going to have some fun, too.” He looked around and motioned to the man holding the knife, “Let’s take this bitch back here behind the house.”

Karen fought back panic as the knife-man maneuvered her around the car and towards the lightless yard behind the house and blocked from the street by the detached garage. She remembered something from an old Oprah episode or was it a This American Life podcast? Try to humanize them, she recalled. “Look guys,” she started, “You don’t have to do this…”

“Oh, yeah, we do,” the man without the knife said. “Hold her,” he said starting to unbuckle his belt. Then he froze.

The knife at Karen’s throat fell to the ground as she heard a sickening crack. Without the knife, she spun with her key-fist ready, but the lifeless body of her attacker collapsed to the ground. Behind him stood a man in tight black trousers and a red jacket over a tan vest with glowing red eyes.

The other attacker started backing away, but he shouldn’t have bothered. In a heartbeat he slammed against the side of the house, his feet dangling two feet off the ground as his hands clawed at the invisible hand pinning him there.

“You’re a terrible person,” Dale said, walking towards the struggling man. “I mean she’s halfway evil,” he gestured behind him at Karen, “but you and your compatriot…. You’re truly terrible. I want you to see this,” he said, turning towards the prone body of the knife-man.

His form twitched… no, not his body… a glowing shadow in the shape of his body twitched and stood up. Karen could see through his translucent body to her car behind. His spirit slowly stood up and regarded his corpse, silently mouthing “What the…?” The spirit looked up catching sight of Dale.

“Mine,” Dale said simply. The man’s spirit swirled into a shower of bluish sparks. Dale pointed at the ground in front of his feet and the sparks streaked down into the earth. Dale looked back at the man pinned to the wall, his face a mask or terror. “His soul is mine. And now,” he swirled his hand again, and blue sparks coursed out of the man against the wall. As the lights exited his body he sagged against the invisible hand. “So are you,” Dale gestured at his feet again and the earth absorbed the streaming sparks of the other man’s soul. Dale turned towards Karen and the invisible hand released letting the lifeless body  fall to the ground with a thud.

Dale extended a hand to Karen, “Are you okay?”

Karen regarded his hand. “You’re just going to do the same to me – if not now, then maybe tomorrow, or in a week, or a month,” she said flatly, defeat in her voice.

Dale smiled a genuine smile. “I meant it when I said earlier that you were halfway evil. That’s pretty much the best compliment you’ll ever get from me.”

“So?”

He sighed, “You intrigue me, Karen. I’ve never encountered a human like you. You’ve done more than purchase this house, you’ve earned it.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t think I’m going anywhere – and don’t think I won’t continue to fuck with you. But I’m not going to let these…” he sought the word, “Lesser beings mess with you.”

She stared at him.

“Please,” he said extending his hand again. “Let’s go inside.”

“Inside, like… the house, right? Because I’m not interested in that soul-disappearing-into-earth thing.”

“Our house.”

Karen took his hand.

31 Ghosts – Day 19: Ghostbluster, Part 1

Unbeknownst to Karen, on the day that she closed on her new house, the selling agent and former owner threw such a raucous party at the bar down the street that the police came… and joined them until dawn. They sold the house at a considerable loss. Their excitement about getting out of the house fell in line with a long history of such celebrations. A century earlier the white settlers negotiated the sale of the lot where the house now stands from the Native Americans living there. John Dale, the man whose name graced the first deed for the land turned to his attorney as the natives danced away and asked, “Look at those savages! Whooping and dancing – don’t they know those trinkets are practically worthless?” One of the Native Americans, meanwhile, said to the other, “Can you believe those White Devils took that land off our hands?!” “Right? Now we no longer have to perform the ceremony to keep the evil spirits in the ground!” They high fived. Really. The first Dale house stood proudly in the center of town. It burned down in an unexplained fire a year later. Undeterred, John Dale rebuilt the house on an even grander scale: a tall, elegant Victorian. So proud of this second house (he referred to the first house as a “rough draft”) he sent for his wife to come from the capital to live with him. House complete, John Dale carried his newly-arrived wife across the threshold into the new house. A week later she threw herself out the third story turret. And the house burned down a second time a week after that. Historians agree that John Dale was a shrewd, successful business man. However, they disagree as to what stupid stubborn streak drove him to rebuild the house a third time, bigger and more gothic than before. Some say he incorporated arcane patterns into the foundation, or the number of rooms pacified the spirits, but whatever the reason, this time the house didn’t burn down. John, however, joined his wife taking a swan dive out of one of the turrets later that same year. Flash forward through owner buying and rapidly selling the grand, imposing Victorian at the corner of Main and Cross. Taken together, the house sat empty (well, not completely empty) twice as long as any people actually inhabited the place. But the series of owners always insured that the house never fell into disrepair. So, when the relator accepted Karen’s offer, she thought she had won the proverbial lottery. Her friends that had helped her move her furniture and boxes didn’t stick around for the celebratory beer and pizza, several leaving without so much as saying goodbye. Only Louise stayed behind. “Karen, I’m going to level with you,” Louise stated, one hand on her hip, the other on the door knob behind her, “This place is creepy AF.” “Did you really just say ‘A’ ‘F’?” “It applies,” she said. “Look, I love you. We’ve been through a lot, and I’m worried about you staying here by yourself…” “But?” “But there’s no way in hell,” a box crashed to the floor in the adjoining room, “HECK! No way in heck I’m going to stay here with you.” Karen stared at the floor and sighed deeply. Then she looked up meeting Louise’s eyes, “Yeah, good thing I got such a deal on this place – I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep any roommates.” A vase crashed upstairs. “You think?” Louise furrowed her brow. “Was that a vase?” “Sounded like it.” “You haven’t unpacked any vases, have you?” “I don’t own any vases.” “Huh… okay. I’m out!” she said opening the door. A crow sat on the railing of the porch and cawed at her menacingly. “Seriously?” She said with an arched eyebrow. Turning back to Karen, “Toodles, Kar. Don’t sleep with the lights off!” Karen remained sitting on her couch, reflecting in the silence about the fact that the amount of furniture she had would barely decorate two rooms of the Victorian. Maybe, she thought, I bit off more than I can chew with this place. A ghastly shriek tore the silence and startled Karen. None of the crashes, bumps, and now, shrieks scared her. Really, they pissed her off. “Hey, ghost! Shut it!” The house seemed taken aback. The box across the room burst open, loose papers swirling around like a tornado hitting Office Depot. “Oh, hell no!” Karen stood up. “Enough!” she yelled and the papers stopped fluttering around and drifted listlessly to the ground. “Ghost,” she demanded, “You’re going to put those back where you found them.” A mocking cackle echoed through the house. Karen clenched her jaw and bit back a curse, then reached down to the cooler next to the couch, opened the lid and removed a firm orange water balloon roughly the size of a grapefruit. Without hesitation, she threw the water balloon down on the hardwood floor. The balloon exploded in a cloud of steam as a shriek that seemed to emanate from every board in the house shook the place. “Oh, I see I have your attention now.” The house was still. “I gotta say, I’m grateful – you have no idea what a pain in the ass it is to make holy water balloons.” A slow clapping sound came from the kitchen. Karen turned to see a middle-aged man in tight black slacks, and an elegant red jacket over his tan vest. Perched on his salt and pepper neatly trimmed hair sat a genuine friggin’ top hat. He slow clapped a few more times as he smirked at her. “John Dale, I presume?” “Sort of…” the man started. “You don’t think the top hat is a little much, do you?” Karen asked. “Really?” he asked removing the hat examining it. “I’m rather fond of it,” he put the hat back on. “You be you, Dale.” “Yeah, see I’m not exactly John Dale.” His voice became sonorous, echoing throughout the room, “I’m the embodiment of an ancient evil manifest upon this plane in the human form of John Dale.” “Ah, okay, that makes more sense.” “Oh?” “I did my research before putting in my offer….” “Hence the water balloon? Nice touch, by the way.” “Thanks.” She continued, “The historical society provided what amounted to a helpful dosier on this pace. One thing that became obvious was that John Dale didn’t exactly leave this place in a… voluntary manner? So, I was a little surprised his form would show up acting – and,” she gestured to him, “looking – like a boss.” He bowed slightly, “Flattery will get you nowhere… well, at least it won’t get you out of here in one piece if you don’t leave soon. Well, soon-ish. I’ll give you…” He looked at his watch, “a month. Does that work for you?” When she didn’t respond immediately, his brown eyes glowed red, “Or do I need to get evil.” Karen crossed the distance between them casually. “Dale,” she started, reaching out and straightening his collars of his jacket, “May I call you Dale?” “Your human voice cannot begin to pronoun—“ “Dale,” she cut him off, “I get that you’re immortal evil, blah, blah, blah, blah,” she showed her teeth, “I don’t care.” “John Dale left through the turret upstairs, you know?” “Well aware.” “And I tossed his wife out before him, yeah?” “Before you burned that place down.” “Thank you for noticing,” he flashed a condescending smile. She returned the smile. “By my count,” he half turned and started pacing the length of the great room, counting on his fingers, “One owner went crazy – institutionalized for the rest of his life. Another shot himself in the stomach and died slowly on that landing there,” he pointed at the stairs. “Eww.” “Yeah, my suggestion,” he turned and whispered, “it hurt more and longer.” Karen rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t forget the Tuttle massacre.” “Killed his wife and kids with an axe before lopping off his own head?” “Impressive, right?” She held out her hand level to the ground and tilted it back and forth. “Like the top hat, a bit over the top.” “And they say I’m evil?!” “Yeah, they do,” Karen said. “And I don’t give a crap.” She crossed to stand directly in front of him, “How many owners, Dale?” His lips moved with the calculation, “25. No, 26 – I almost forgot about Gabe.” He laughed, “he screamed like a little girl. Didn’t last a week.” “Yeah, about that ‘like a little girl’ bit, how many of those 26 owners were women?” “Women? None. Why?” “Because I am.” “My dear,” he donned a patronizing smile, “I’ve killed, maimed, and driven crazy plenty of women.” “Yes, but not any of them were owners. There’s power with my name on the deed.” “You don’t have any clue what you’re getting into.” “That’s where you’re wrong, Dale. I wouldn’t have put my offer in if I didn’t. Look,” she said, “I’m under no illusion that I can get rid of you. You’re literally part of the land – I understand that. But this is my house now and we’re going to be living together.” “You know I’m not alive, right?” “Don’t argue semantics with me. You know what I’m saying.” Dale stared at her, his eyes glowing again, “I take back my offer of a month. You’ve got a week, lady.” “It’s gonne be an exciting week, won’t it?” Karen smiled. To Be Continued…

31 Ghosts – Day 18: Sunnyvale, Part 1

Objectively, if you know I’m writing about ghosts then just the ironic use of the name “Sunnyvale” sounds like it should be especially creepy. Alas, unless you have an aversion to suburbs, egregious real estate pricing, or tech startups, the city of Sunnyvale, California isn’t particularly terrifying. But there are a few true ghost stories that I can tell which take place in this unassuming burb.

If you’re familiar with the San Francisco Bay Area, and the South Bay in particular then you may already be familiar with the history of Sunnyvale. Before it was “Silicon Valley,” the Santa Clara valley was regarded through most of the 20th century as “The Valley of Hearts Delight” owing to its expansive orchards of apricots, cherries, plums, and just about anything else you can think of. Only a few reminders of its agricultural past remain today – Gilroy still clings to its garlic dominance, and a few heritage orchards remain in Los Altos and Sunnyvale. For the most part, though, the trees and fields were paved over in the name of progress.

But some things don’t disappear quite that easily.

One notably haunted destination in Sunnyvale was the Toys “R” Us on El Camino Real and Sunnyvale-Saratoga Road. Paranormal researchers throughout the 70’s and 80’s descended on the toy store seeking to prove the existence of ghosts or increase ratings or whatever. Through the joy of YouTube there’s a few wonderful 80’s-tastic gems to sort through like this Leonard Nimoy narrated clip from “Real Ghosts” or this segment from “That’s Incredible!” The recreations alone are worth the price of admission. Psychic Sylvia Browne performs a number of seances in the stores over the years with varying levels of terrible haircuts and the tale she recited back sounds ridiculous enough that I’m not going to put it here – you can read it for yourself here, or here at Snopes. Or, seriously, watch the “Real Ghosts” recreation. OMG, I’m not overselling this – it’s hilarious. All of this is to say this Toys “R” Us developed a bit of ghostly notoriety.

And I worked there.

Okay, not for a long period of time, but in my short tenure I experienced a terror that makes the undead seem like a Sunday picnic in the park: Alvin and the Chipmunks “The Chipmunks Song (Christmas Don’t Be Late)” played on repeat, every day. Yeah, it was Christmas and I needed to make some money while on college break. Oh, and if Alvin repeatedly decrying his unrequited desire for a hula hoop wasn’t terrifying enough, the must-have gift of this particular Christmas was the talking Barney the Purple Dinosaur. Tell me that hell doesn’t sound more appealing than that and I will tell you that you have no soul.

Taken during a seance in the Toys “R” Us. The figure in back by light wasn’t actually in the room when this picture was taken. He was looking for Barney Dolls.

Going into it, I had heard the lore. I’d heard that every morning the opening shift started their day by picking up the stuffed animals the ghost had played with during the night. I’d seen the séance picture with the supposed ghost leaning invisibly against a wall and realized that was right about where I sat while I filled out my application.  Still, the job seemed tolerable and maybe I’d get some good ghost stories to tell.

I was wrong. Well, about the tolerable part, at least. I can say without hesitation it was the worst place I’ve ever worked. The customers were… well, harried Christmas-shopping parents, but the real drain was my fellow co-workers, all of which had a sob story about how terrible their lives were and just didn’t give a crap. Theirs was a collective psychic morass I felt pulling me down into while the chipmunks sang about planes that loop and that aforementioned goddamned hula hoop.

So about the ghost, I’d been told that there was a section of the storeroom that felt cold and you felt like someone was watching you. I wasn’t told where it was, though. Let me digress a moment and tell you what passed for customer service: I was instructed by my manager that when a customer asked if we had stock on a certain toy in the back our procedure was to tell the customer I’d go check on that. Once I passed through the swinging black doors into the storeroom I was to just stand around for a few minutes before coming back out and telling the customer I was sorry but we were all out. Procedure. This happened a lot. Particularly for Barney dolls. After the fourth or fifth time I decided to use my time productively and actually wandered around the darkened storeroom looking for said toy (imagine that!). I never found Barney, but I found the haunted section pretty damn quickly. It was on the second floor of the storeroom where the Barbie Dolls were kept. The temperature indeed dropped noticeably in this area and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. The storeroom during this time was relatively deserted – just a few other employees standing idly near the doors “looking” for stock. But up there in the unnaturally cold area you knew you weren’t alone.

I didn’t stay there long – by which I mean both that haunted area and Toys “R” Us in general – I lasted two weeks (hey, on my third day my manager had me training a new(er) employee, so I was clearly on the fast track!). I felt kind of ripped off that I never got to experience faucets turning on by themselves in the bathroom, but it was a small price to pay to escape Alvin and the Chipmunks with some sanity intact. The store went through a massive remodeling recently, and I don’t know whether the ghost is still at it, though I’d read somewhere that the Petco in the same shopping center had been experiencing some unexplained phenomena. I can only hope that the Toys “R” Us ghost finally found peace and left that terrible, terrible soundtrack.

A few years later I started dating a woman whose parents lived just a half mile away. I don’t know whether or not their property was originally part of the Murphy farm that spawned the Toys “R” Us ghost, but if it wasn’t this former orchard-land certainly was a close neighbor. The woman I was dating at the time, Anna, and I would eventually marry and divorce, but that’s a different story (filled with ghosts, I should add!). In those early days of our relationship we were sleeping in her room at the back of the house. Her parents and brother were away on vacation, and we were sleeping in one Saturday. On the other side of the wall where her bed was positioned was the spigot and hose used to water the garden – and there was a lot to water. Her parents filled the backyard with a dozen or so rose bushes, dahlias, sweet peas, and several citrus trees. When everything was in bloom you’d be hard pressed to find a more Edenic place. Anna had been given extensive instructions for how to water the yard, and she was starting to move to climb out of bed to do just that when we heard the spigot separated by just the wall turn on with a deliberate creak. The sound of water rushing through the hose could be heard as well as the splashing of water out the diffuser nozzle. And then the sound of the water streaming from the nozzle began to move. We listened carefully, frozen with fear as the nozzle watered each rose bush in turn, then moved around the yard to each potted plant and tree. After a few minutes, when everything had been sufficiently watered the nozzle returned to where it had started and the spigot creaked closed again.

Hardly believing what we had just heard, we both rushed through the house, first checking the front door – locked still. Then out into the backyard. As we expected, every bush and tree had been perfectly watered, and the hose coiled neatly by the spigot. We checked the gates leading to the backyard to see if anyone had come in unexpectedly from those points. Both 8-foot tall gates were padlocked closed from the inside – someone on the driveway couldn’t even have reached the lock even if they had a key. No, we were alone and we had one less chore to do that day.

There’s one other story I have that takes place in Sunnyvale, but for that one I need to gather some testimony. That particular building is no longer there along the railroad tracks and I only hope its former ghosts aren’t currently haunting the condos that replaced the old building. No, actually I hope the ghosts are still there just to piss off the homeowners association.