Relay: The Invisible Ghost
Over the years on Halloween I’ve been the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Tin Man from “The Wizard of Oz,” a princess, of course, and a giant face, a mask that covered everything except my shoes. But I’ve never been a ghost, because I’m afraid of ghosts. As luck would have it, I’m pretty sure one has moved in with my husband and me.
I always knew there was something a little different about me. Watches with dead batteries come back to life on my wrist, and I have premonitions that often come true. On the day of the Montauk Fire Department’s Big Bucks raffle a few years ago, I told my husband earlier on the day of the drawing that I was going to win. I told him we were going to win big, not the big prize of $50,000, but a big one nonetheless, and I did, I won $15,000. When the announcer called my name he prefaced it by saying “Montauk’s favorite reporter.” Of course, that’s a humble brag, and there are many who might disagree with that statement, but it sure made my winning even sweeter.
So why wouldn’t I have a ghost? Its presence is felt when things go bump in the night, doors slam, weird noises are heard from the kitchen, lights go on by themselves, and there are dark, dancing shadows in the living room at night. Most of these things probably all have reason behind them. The wind may have blown a door closed, the kitchen light never fully went off and recharged itself, and the kitchen noises could be from our refrigerator. But how do you explain how our black cat, which is brought in at bedtime, is sometimes found outside when we wake, waiting to get back in?
My ghost is playful, so not too scary. It likes to move things around and drive me crazy when I look for them. There are times when I know for sure I’ve left my sunglasses, which are like an appendage to me since I am sensitive to light, on the kitchen counter only to find them missing when I need them. I’ll search the house all over and afterward when I glance over to the counter there they’ll be, just where I left them.
Articles of clothing that I’ve folded neatly in a pile will be found strewn about the bedroom, with some of it missing and turning up days later right on top of the refolded pile. Sometimes my ghost comes in handy, and I kind of wish it had been around when I was younger, so I could’ve blamed my ghost for not doing my homework. “My ghost took it,” I’d tell the teacher.
My friends know about my ghost, so if they pay a surprise visit I can say, “Do you believe the mess my ghost made?”
When I was a little girl I had an attic bedroom and swear the Virgin Mary visited with me. I opened my eyes and there was an apparition in flowing blue robes. I took that to mean I was supposed to become a nun, but that whole celibacy thing didn’t work for me. And, of course, it could have just been my mother in a new nightgown.
My husband thought I was just being absentminded, but my ghost showed him. Like most men his age, he takes several medications. One day a few weeks ago, two bottles of meds that he had just refilled disappeared from the shelf where all his meds are stored. We checked with the pharmacy and sure enough he had picked them up and signed for them. Our wonderful pharmacist gave him a few days’ supply until we figured out what happened to them.
We searched the whole house and finally gave up, thinking somehow they were lost between the pharmacy and our house. Two days later, the two bottles of missing medications were front and center back on the shelf. They were not controlled substances, so we don’t think any kids were at play.
Do you need more proof? This is a good one. My cellphone charger, cord attached, is plugged into a socket in our bedroom, never leaves it. That is, until my ghost took it. Again, a household search and a half-hour spent trying to find out if any of the other phone chargers we owned would fit my phone. Two days later I’m in my backyard hanging linens on my clothesline (yes, I still do that, because I love sleeping with the smell of fresh air on my sheets and pillowcases), and there on the ground was my phone cord. Got goose bumps yet?
It’s odd that I can write about this because I’m such a scaredy-cat and writing about it makes it valid, somehow. I’ve written before about how when I was a child I slept with a big stick near my bed to protect myself — from what, I had no idea. But an online survey I recently took made it all clear. I learned that I was a man who was sacrificed to the gods in biblical times, which explains a lot. Deep in the recesses of my mind I guess I’m always waiting for an angry mob to come to my doorway out here in Montauk to offer me to the gods.
Tomorrow on Halloween, there will be mobs of kiddies knocking on my door, but I will be gracious and offer them a treat. If they’re nasty, I’ll invite them in to meet my invisible ghost, which should be willing to show itself on what I presume would be its favorite holiday. But if it does, I’ll be the first one running and screaming from my house.
Janis Hewitt is a senior writer at The Star and its Montauk correspondent.