Four Witness Four

It was fall when I passed and Christmas when they found me. My legs had been wrapped under a blanket and the cold of the north kept me from rotting too much in that time. I died alone. Sitting on my porch in an Adirondack chair, book pressed against my chest as I took the long nap. The porch was attached to one of the original houses of the town. Built in the 1830’s, I learned about the previous tenants upon my death.

When I moved onto the middle world, limbo, whatever you want to call it, I was joining the litany of other souls who had died here. I died in the nineties, but I moved in during the seventies as was apparent to the new home buyers by the shag carpet. I watched as the new folks of the house, a lovely family of four, pulled up the little nails that pinned down the thick therapeutic foam layer to the hardwood floor. Curling my toes, I thought how much pain I was in at the end.

The newcomers were a perfect nuclear family - tall, broad father with thick beard, a doting mother, The boy was about five years old and reminded me of my brother. Black hair, and a wild cowlick. He bopped around happily helping his parents in their new home. The young boy’s sister was an infant, maybe one year old. I smiled as I watched them move in - their lives would be my entertainment.

There were three spirits in the house besides me. Other people had died in the house of course, but their spirits did not linger there. These were the ones that had stayed for some reason or another. There was Brian, a young boy who often liked to cause mischief around the house as youth are want to do. A sickness had taken him in the late 1800s. Seraphine was a teenage girl who had died of an accident in the cellar. Her left ballet shoe she wore upon her death was still down there under the house covered in dirt and dust of the floor. I'd seen it down there when I was alive and left it out of fear of being cursed. Then there was James, a lonely soul…so to speak. He spent most of his time on the lawn. He stood in the corner of the garden looking across the undulating grass. James was a veteran of the Civil War - he had been shipped up north to this house. James was to rehabilitate at the home, but he passed from malpractice. He had lost both an arm and a leg in the war and when I saw him, which was rare, his foot and hand seemed to be more translucent than the rest of him.

My name is… was, Ebenezer, Eb for short.

“Eb?”

Brian bounced by, he was happy to have another boy around the house. It had been so long. Brian, Seraphine, and James had watched me. For twenty years they would sit with me and watch TV. Peer over my shoulder at the books I read, and would mime themselves at the dinner table.

“Yes?”

“You think they will join us?”

“I hope not,” I said with a wry smile.

“Why not?” he absentmindedly replied.

“You see how happy they are most days?”

“Oh yes!” he smiled up at me.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that to end would we? If even one of them was lost, the rest would all be terribly sad. Best if we watch over them, and make sure that they don’t join us. Besides,” I took a look at the books on one of the shelves as we walked upstairs, Ghosts of New England “I think they are well aware that we are here. They at least know about you! I heard them talking about that ball you were moving around in the attic. The girl heard you!” Years had passed since the family had moved in, and she was quite astute when it came to recognizing the difference in sound between the dead and the living. The boy on the other hand would see us from time to time out of the corner of his eyes. He usually just shook it off attributing the shapes to his overactive imagination. I would sit in his captain's chair admiring the artifacts around his room as they accumlated. Trophies, rocks, knives, compasses, books. I wonder if he ever saw me proper - my ghoulish cardigan wrapped around me, with pleated pants and penny-loafers.

“We wouldn’t want that to end.” Brian frowned. I could tell he was thinking of watching his own folks and family react to his death. He took one leap and was back in the attic amongst the mice and hidden molds of the old home.

James and I once spoke about an older spirit who was here. A Native American who had happened to live and die on the same spot the house would be built. She spoke often on the spirit world, and how she had struggled with depression. She took her own life to be with the spirits. She wasn’t expecting an extra step. Something about her life that was left undone, a purpose. Then one morning, she was gone. Poof. None of us knew our unfinished business, that is the problem with ghosts I think. The fact that we believe we know the unfinished business before our death - this a lie, we have no idea - and it's infuriating. The question of “What is it?” Or “What was it?”

Will I go to the good place, or the bad place? Or is this the best that it gets? Does the consciousness float or sink or what?

Winter came to the house. It was now 2013 according to the calendar. How time flies when it means nothing to you. Nineteen years since I’d passed and been put in the ground. The boy studied hard for his senior year, he spent hours at his wooden captain's chair. The desk that his grandfather had built. I wish I’d had a son, or a daughter for that matter. His black hair was now tousled. You could see his shoulder blades and back muscles through his shirt. We had seen him work hard for the family, overnights at the farm, chopping firewood for the stove, yard work, felling trees, and the like. When he was about fifteen Seraphine had a crush on him and would try to catch innocent peaks even though she could have just walked through the door or wall at any time. I had to preach decency to her on multiple occasions. She got terribly jealous when he snuck a girl into his room the previous year from present.

She had since gotten over him and preferred to spend her time dancing with the younger sister in her room. They were about the same age now at fourteen. “Eb, why don’t you come join us?”

“Oh, my old joints won’t make it.”

“We both know we don’t have any joints! But suit yourself.” she grinned.

My favorite time to keep over them is when they turn on a crime show and watch it as a family. The dad usually falls asleep as the theme music comes on, the mother watches intently trying to figure out the killer while sharing Doritos with the son who usually does figure it out. The sister’s interest could be anywhere. But they are all together, after all that time.

“Beautiful isn’t it?”

I jolted with surprise. James’ monotone voice broached the question and he stood in pressed uniform watching as well.

“It is.” I said. “I always wanted one.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Never felt it coming on I suppose. I just worked, and worked. I read, gardened, and I felt comfort in that. But now I will never touch a flower again, never feel the soft petals between my fingers. The scratch and cut of a paper cut as I flip through an old read. The taste of tomato soup and grilled cheese on a cold winter night.”

“What is grilled cheese?”

“Oh, nevermind.” the trace of an invisible and unexisting tear pressed against my cheek before smiling again at the family.

“Anyone seen my sweater? I really wanted to wear it to the Christmas party!” the father asked. The family had not seen it, nor would they. Brian was playing one of his typical pranks on him. The father would tear the house apart, clean his car twice, even look in the garage for the garment.

I walked through the house, looking for the little snipe. “Brian?” I shouted.

“Yes?” his head popped out of the ceiling. He stared upside down at Eb.

“Give me the sweater.”

“Why should I?” he pouted.

“Think of how happy you will make them if you return it?” his face lit up… as much as a ghost’s face could. Brian’s actions were never malicious, there was more joy in ending his teasing than watching the people’s discomfort.

“Okay!” Within the hour, the sweater appeared folded on the arm of the couch. The whole family was sitting around the living room, none noticed it appear. “Where did this come from?” The dad asked when he saw it. They were baffled, none of them had been able to find it, and here it was, presented for them. Brian had done similar things, and would go on to do them. One year, he stole a screw from the porch door when it was being painted off its hinges and I convinced him to return it. Brian didn’t understand the best way, and the screw ended up standing on end in the middle of the porch. This noticeably caused suspicions.

From then on, the other ghosts and I tried a hands-off approach.

The family throughout their time were stewards of a number of cats, some of which could see the ghosts and would play with them from time to time. I learned that cats often can feel the presence of spirits. If you see a cat looking at seemingly empty space, or playing in the air with nothing present, it is likely a ghost. There was one year when the family went away the days before Christmas Eve, and when they returned on the day, a cat gave birth to five kittens. We watched over them the best we could in their absence. It was nice to have a pet, even in death. They made it more bearable.

I realized as I watched the boy go off to college that I would miss him terribly. His jokes, and the way that he would look after his sister. She herself was quite the character, headstrong and vibrant of soul. Our warm-blooded companions dwindled from four to three, then three to two as the girl moved away and married. We would see them all from time to time, mostly at holidays. The parents, now pudgy and gray. Telling the same stories that we heard and witnessed throughout the years.

We had watched the history. When the house nearly burned down because of an overloaded outlet. When the girl nearly choked to death on a hard candy. The boy’s first kiss. When the father lost his job and when he wrote his first book. When the mother made stinky fish dishes that even the cats wouldn’t eat. Playing or camping in the yard. I remember the look on the kid’s faces when their grandfather passed. Part of me wished that they would join us, just so that we could speak, to know each other fully.

The four of us sat and listened to them. One family - half specter, half souled.

As for my search for my unfinished business…Well, it could wait a while.