Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted Page 13

  “Oh, Miss Essie!” declared Lorena with an incredulous glare. “You pullin’ my leg! This some sort of Halloween prank?”

  “No, Lorena,” whispered Essie. “It’s not.” Lorena put the cap back on the toothpaste, rinsed the brush, and assisted Essie back to the living room.

  “I don’t know, Essie,” said Lorena with a worried face. “You want me to call one of the nurses?” The last thing Essie wanted was to bring more doctors into this problem.

  “Oh, jumping jack-o-lanterns!” she cried. “No! It’s probably just, as you say, Lorena, some pre-Halloween jitters. I’m probably all nervous about that haunted house.”

  “Oh, my yes!” replied Lorena, helping Essie back to her recliner. “I know how you hate those field trips, Miss Essie. You just probably got yourself worked up to a tizzy over it!”

  “But, Lorena,” said Essie, pulling the aide closer to her so she could whisper in her ear. “One other thing. I saw my husband.”

  “Your husband?” asked Lorena.

  “Yes,” said Essie. “I saw him on my quiz show. He was a contestant.”

  “But, Essie, your husband, he died, honey, many years ago.”

  “I know, Lorena,” replied Essie. “But I saw him. He looked just like he did when we were first married. He solved the puzzle too. It was ‘remember when’.”

  Lorena pulled up a straight back chair from near Essie’s front door and sat beside her charge.

  “You know, Essie,” she said warmly and confidentially, “sometimes our minds play tricks on us. Sometimes, I think, our minds play tricks on us because there’s somethin’ we need to do or somethin’ we need to know, and we can’t seem to figure it out on our own. But our minds know what we need, deep down inside of us. Somewhere in there, our mind knows. So it lets us know what it needs in its own way. Maybe that’s what’s happening to you, Essie. Maybe you’re seeing your husband because there’s something you need to know, or something you need to do…”

  “Like what?” asked Essie, totally intrigued by her aide’s theory. It was, at least, certainly better than her own theories that she was developing Alzheimer’s disease or that she was haunted.

  “Maybe,” said Lorena, “just maybe, it has something to do with Halloween. You know? Maybe something about your husband and Halloween? Did the two of you celebrate it in some special way? Maybe that’s it!”

  “But how would that explain why I lost track of a whole day? Why I’m seeing large animals?” added Essie.

  “Hon,” said Lorena, shaking her head, “I wish I knew! I just a nurse’s aide. I’m no psychiatrist!”

  “I guess I can ask my doctor the next time I go,” said Essie with a sigh. “I just wish all these weird things would stop. I’m afraid I might have Alzheimer’s, Lorena.” Essie squeaked this last part out and one tiny tear slid down her cheek.

  “Oh, no!” said Lorena. “No tears, Essie! That’s not you! You a fighter! Whatever you are experiencing, you gonna fight it, girl. You a detective! Remember! You gonna detect it right away!”

  Essie smiled. Lorena stretched her arms wide and embraced Essie into her soft bosom. Essie felt suddenly safe and fine.

  “Thank you, Lorena,” she said. “You’re right! I’m a fighter and I am going to figure out what’s going on. This strange behavior is just not like me. I don’t think I have Alzheimer’s, but if I do, I will fight it with all I have!”

  “That’s the Essie I know!” said Lorena, pulling a tissue from the pocket of her uniform and wiping the tear from the corner of Essie’s eye. “Now, girl, you get to bed on time. That’s probably one of your problems. You ain’t gettin’ enough sleep. What with me finding you dozing in your chair during your favorite show!”

  Lorena said her farewells and left Essie to contemplate her words of wisdom and encouragement. Essie was feeling much better and even though she realized that seeing her husband on her game show was obviously a trick of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder if John wasn’t trying to send her some kind of message from beyond the grave. The puzzle was a phrase, “remember when.” Maybe John wanted her to remember something specific. She would have to think about it.

  It was almost bedtime and Essie rose out of her recliner, pulled her robe around herself tighter, and headed to the bedroom. She’d barely taken a few steps when her doorbell rang.

  Strange, she thought. If it was Lorena returning because she had forgotten something, she wouldn’t bother ringing the doorbell; she’d just walk in and announce herself. That’s what most staff members did because all Happy Haven residents left their doors unlocked for this very reason. If any one of them had any sort of medical emergency, staff would need to be able to get in without breaking a lock. Essie rolled over and peered through her peephole. She couldn’t quite tell who it was but there was a tall man outside; he was facing away from the door.

  Nervously, Essie opened the door a crack. The tall man was wearing an Army uniform. He had short hair and numerous ribbons on his chest. As he turned his face toward Essie, her eyes shot open in horror.

  Standing before her was her dead husband John.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “I see my face in the mirror and go, ‘I’m a Halloween costume? That’s what they think of me?”

  ––Drew Carey

  Essie felt herself start to collapse to the ground, but John, or a much younger version of himself, quickly bent forward and gathered her in his arms, pushing her walker to the side, and carried her inside. He gently placed her in her recliner and kneeled beside her.

  “Grandma!” he called, patting her cheek with a firm, warm hand. “Are you all right, Grandma?”

  “Oh, leaping lollipops!” she sighed, opening her eyes to the biggest, brownest eyes she’d ever seen. “You’re not John.”

  “No, Grandma!” replied the young man in uniform. “I’m Keith! Don’t you remember me, Grandma? I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m home on leave from basic training. I guess you don’t recognize me in my uniform.” He was holding and rubbing her hand in an attempt to revive her.

  “Keith,” she said smiling, “of course, I remember you, dear. But in your uniform, you look just like…your grandpa.”

  “Mom thought you might like to see me,” said the young man hopefully. “I surely didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Oh, I’ll be all right, Keith,” said Essie, lifting herself a little from her cushion. “Oh, just look at you. You cut quite a dashing figure.”

  “I don’t know what that means, Grandma,” replied Keith, still a note of concern in his voice. “Maybe I should call Mom. Maybe she’d want you to see a doctor.”

  “Oh, slithering slipcovers,” Essie pouted. “I’m fine. Please don’t call Claudia. Look!” Essie did a few on the spot arm calisthenics and concluded with a subdued Tarzan yell.

  “Grandma,” said Keith with a smile, “you’re too funny!”

  “I’m fine is the important thing,” she continued, now looking her young grandson over more carefully, examining his uniform. “My, look at this fine uniform! And all your ribbons! I suppose you earned each one? I remember your Grandpa was so proud of all his ribbons. How he loved to describe how he won them all!”

  “Maybe someday I’ll have as many as Grandpa.”

  Essie grabbed the boy’s face between her hands and examined it closely. Keith calmly allowed his grandma to peruse his features in a way that most young men would probably find very annoying.

  “I just can’t get over how much you look like your Grandpa!” she declared. “Especially now with your hair cut short.”

  Keith blushed.

  “You’re getting ready for bed, Grandma,” he said. “I shouldn’t have popped in on you so late. Mom said—”

  “It’s fine,” replied Essie. “I spend half the day in my pajamas. It means nothing. Other than I’m old. You didn’t do anything wrong. I love getting visitors. Especially you! Now, how long do you have before you have to return?”

  “Two weeks,” he said. “W
hen I return, I’m being deployed.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “Just another US base for now,” he replied, “but when I know more, I’ll let Mom know and she’ll pass it on to you.”

  “She’s very proud of you,” said Essie. “We all are.”

  “Thanks, Gram, but I’m nothing special.”

  “Your Grandpa always said the same thing about himself,” said Essie. She stared at her grandson. The similarity was uncanny. “He always said he was nothing special but what I understood this to mean was that he was just one tiny part of a great big group of very special people.”

  “Grandpa was special, Grandma.”

  “You probably don’t even remember your Grandpa,” said Essie. Keith had relaxed and was now sitting comfortably next to her recliner, cross-legged on the floor.

  “Of course I do,” said Keith. He leaned back on the floor and wrapped his arms around his knees. “I remember Grandpa’s boat. He used to take me and Ned out on the lake. There was this one time that Ned caught this huge fish; it was way bigger than he was. Ned got all wet trying to bring it in the boat. I remember trying to help him, but I was really little. Grandpa probably should have made Ned throw it back, but Ned was determined—you know how he is—and Grandpa wasn’t going to stop him. That fish was slapping Ned in the face. We all got totally drenched and in the end, we decided that it was just too big to even try to bring home, but, boy, we all had a great time reeling it in. And, Grandma, Grandpa was just great. He helped and he encouraged, but most of all he let us do it ourselves. He was the best.”

  “I’m so happy to hear about this memory you have of your Grandpa,” said Essie. She smiled as a small tear formed in the corner of her eye.

  “Oh, gee, Gram,” said Keith, leaping up from the floor, “I didn’t want to upset you!” He reached for a tissue from a box on the end table and handed it to Essie.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Essie, taking the tissue and dabbing her eye. “Happy tears!”

  “I probably should be going, Grandma,” said Keith, heading for the door. “You stay there. I can see myself out.” He bent over Essie and placed a tender kiss on her cheek and then headed out.

  “Bye, dear!” Essie called after him.

  After Keith’s departure, Essie remained in her recliner thinking about her visitor. Why had she almost fainted when she’d seen Keith at the door? Yes, her grandson was wearing a uniform and his hair was short and he did resemble John a great deal, but still, it was Keith, and she surely knew it was Keith. It was as if her senses were playing tricks on her. She thought back to her game show and the contestant who had appeared to be her dead husband. She seemed to have John on her mind a great deal. Of course, it was natural, wasn’t it? For a woman to think wistfully about a deceased spouse. But she’d never actually seen a ghost of her husband appear before—either face-to-face or on television. What was going on? And the time lost? And the large squirrel? Please, please, don’t let this be a sign that I am losing my mind.

  At the moment she felt normal—whatever that meant at age ninety. The interior of her little apartment was not floating around. All the items of furniture were where they were supposed to be. Everything was the color it had always been. It was dark outside, so she couldn’t see any creatures. The television was turned off so there was no opportunity for any programming to suddenly turn into a scene from her past. This was ridiculous! She couldn’t live her life in fear of some weird vision that might occur, or her mind losing track of time—or worse.

  She lifted herself up from her recliner and scooted over to her walker and headed off into her bedroom. Other than the loss of time and the strange squirrel, the weird occurrences that had happened seemed to center around her dead husband John, she realized. Why was that? Was there some significance in the strange events?

  She thought back to her game show and the contestant who appeared to be John. When he guessed the puzzle, he looked right at her, or so it seemed. The puzzle answer was “remember when.” Was her dead husband trying to tell her something? Was that his ghost that she’d seen on her show? Was her husband haunting her? Or was she being totally ridiculous and allowing the spirit of Halloween to carry her away? Maybe she just was thinking about John so much recently that everybody seemed to remind her of him. Maybe that’s why that contestant seemed to be John. Maybe that’s why she thought her own grandson was John when she saw him at the door.

  Essie continued into her bedroom and removed her robe and slippers and crawled under the covers, leaving her trusty walker beside her nightstand. Pulling the covers up under her chin, she stared up at the darkened ceiling. Would any new figments leap out to haunt her tonight? Would she have any new dreams? If she did dream anything, she’d better pay close attention, because for all she knew, it might have some underlying meaning. It might be her late husband trying to tell her something.

  As Essie drifted off, she resolved to make sure to ask DeeDee what day it was first thing in the morning. She was not going to lose track of another day. This is Monday, she told herself. Tomorrow is Tuesday. Squirrels are small rodents. My husband is not alive. I will not let senility take over my life. I resolve to keep my mind sharp, even though there’s not much I can do about my body.

  Nodding to herself, and actually quite pleased that she had developed a plan to fight off whatever it was that seemed to be causing her trouble, Essie finally fell asleep.

  John was wearing his uniform and had a rifle with a bayonet. He was fighting a large squirrel. The squirrel was attempting to crawl into a boat and John was pushing it over the side with his bayonet. He kept crying out, “Remember when!”

  Essie was cringing. She could feel her body shaking and tightening in fear. She tried to call out to John but no sound would come from her lips.

  Suddenly she awoke and sat up abruptly in her bed. She looked around her bedroom. Everything was quiet and dark. It was obviously the middle of the night. She had had a bad dream. Or, at least, that’s what she thought it was. She peeked over at the mirror on her dresser. It seemed to hold an entrance into her unconscious mind. All she could see reflected in its surface was the opposite side of her room, although dark.

  She pulled herself to the edge of her bed and, grabbing her walker, set her bare feet on the floor and into her slippers. Pushing herself up, she felt the room sway and she plopped back down on the bed. She grabbed the bed to steady herself. Then, determined, she again pushed up and clutching her walker for dear life, she headed slowly into her bathroom.

  A quick nighttime potty break finished, Essie stopped at her bathroom mirror over her sink and peeked into it from the side. All appeared normal in her reflected bathroom, but as Essie turned away, she felt the room sway as it did back in her bedroom. Essie reached out for the bathroom wall to keep from falling. Her hand touched the light switch and as Essie started to slide to the floor, the lights in the little bathroom came on. The room started to roll, the walls lurching to a strange angle. The overhead light, now on, began flickering in some sort of strange pattern.

  Essie grasped the handlebars of her walker in a desperate attempt to remain upright, but the rolling of the room was too extreme and she soon slid to the floor. Holding for dear life to one leg of her walker, she scratched her way towards the bathtub where she could hold on to a firmer surface. As she used the tub to steady herself against the writhing and rolling of the room, she glanced over at the inside of the tub. Instead of the rubber mat and shower chair that always sat in the center of her bathtub, now she saw a giant rodent—the exact same one that had greeted her from inside her dresser mirror the other day. The big brown creature opened its mouth, exposing a two-tooth grin. Essie stared in horror at the monster which was seemingly lounging in her bathtub while the entire room roiled in agony. Essie tried to cry out in horror but, again, her lips could form the words, but no sound came out. She fell.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  “Dreaming men are haunted men.”

  –�
�Stephen Vincent Benet

  “Miss Essie! Miss Essie!”

  The familiar voice seemed to be calling to her from a great distance. She hated to respond because the horrible experience with the giant rodent in her bathtub had transformed into another beautiful memory of John. This one was of one of the parties they had attended at the Reardon National Bank soon after John had been made Vice President. She remembered it was the holiday season and the Reardon bank was all decked out in holly and sparkling finery. She and John were dancing to a live band that was playing marvelous music. She could actually feel John’s arms around her waist and her chin on his shoulder.

  “Miss Essie!” the voice again interrupted the scene. “Are you all right? I can’t believe you’re still asleep!”

  Essie’s eyes popped open. DeeDee was staring down at her.

  “DeeDee! What time is it? What day is it?”

  “Way past your regular wake-up time, Essie,” said her aide with a look of concern in her eyes. “And it’s Tuesday morning.” DeeDee gently pulled back Essie’s flowered duvet and reached out her hands to help Essie to the side of her bed. Essie hesitated.

  “I hate to get up!”

  “What?” exclaimed her aide. “You’re usually ready to hop out of bed. I’m lucky if I can get here before you start dressing yourself.”

  “I don’t know, DeeDee,” replied Essie. “I was having such a good…dream.”

  “Oh. One of those,” said DeeDee, nodding knowingly. She helped Essie pull her feet to the floor and started their morning routine of getting Essie dressed.

  “I hardly ever dream about my late husband, DeeDee,” said Essie pensively as she sat on the side of her bed, staring out, “but lately, I seem to see him everywhere.” She smiled coyly at her aide.

  “Is that so bad?” asked DeeDee, whisking her bedclothes to a side chair and expertly helping Essie into her bra and panties.