Copyright, 2015 by Jack Bragen
The dog went into the kitchen while I was at the laptop working. Then I hear a gentle thud and think nothing of it. Then I go into the kitchen to get a drink of water, and I see that the dog is munching down a loaf of bread that fell off the countertop.
The dog can not get to the countertop--she can't jump that well. She is a fat dog and is about twelve years old, with short legs and arthritis. I was baffled. I went into the bedroom where I saw that the cat was sound asleep on the bed. That ruled out collusion between the cat and dog. The loaf of bread had been well-placed on the countertop and should not have fallen off. (I snatched the remaining bread from the dog and threw it into the trash; she wasn't too happy about that.)
That was a month ago, and since then, more strange things have happened. My potato peeler went missing. I keep track of what is in my kitchen, and I swear, the potato peeler was always kept in the drawer next to the sink. It was an antique potato peeler, and they don't make 'em like that anymore. For a full hour I was furious, wanting to know who had come into my kitchen and taken the potato peeler. And then it turned up under a stack of napkins atop the microwave. It made no sense!
I am widowed, and my wife has been gone about a year. At the point of the third incident, I began to doubt my own sanity. A meat-cutting knife, kept in a wood knife holder, disappeared. I checked the kitchen top to bottom for it and it was gone.
My wife had been vegetarian, had doted over the dog on a constant basis, and had always used the potato peeler when she made her meals from scratch. I wondered if someone was coming in while I was gone and was pulling some grand hoax to drive me over the edge. But I had no known enemies. I had not done anything to piss anyone off. I thought, whoever did this is some kind of sadist.
My mom visited me at my condo where all of this had happened. She is bipolar yet at one time had fancied herself a psychic.
"Your wife Erica is stuck in your kitchen," she said. She sat on the sofa in the living room. In front of her on the coffee table was the tea I had fixed her.
"Ma, you know I don't believe in any of that stuff."
"How else do you explain loaves of bread knocked off counters, your potato peeler mysteriously moved, and a missing knife?" she replied. "Do you trust that your memory and faculties are intact? Do you believe the CIA is coming in here attempting to drive you nuts?"
I thought for a moment. I said, "Maybe I am going crazy."
My mother replied, "Why is it so hard to believe that people have spirits?"
At that moment, I heard another sound coming from the kitchen. I went in there water was flowing from the water faucet in the sink. I walked over to it and turned it off. "Odd."
I turned around but then heard something again. I did yet another about face, and again, the water faucet was turned on. I felt a knot in my stomach. I went back into the living room. My mother had poured a second cup of tea.
"Why don't you give me your best explanation?"
"This is impossible," I said. "There has to be some explanation."
"Your wife is stuck in your kitchen. She needs help getting out of the kitchen. Do you believe me?"
"All right, then what's keeping her there?"
"That's what we have to figure out. We need to do a séance so that we can find out the issue and do what is necessary to resolve it."
"Is this your form of ghostbusters?" I laughed, but it was a laugh of nervousness. "I thought you had traded in your magic wands for a mood stabilizer."
I heard the sound of earsplittingly loud clatter coming from the kitchen. I went in there and all of the pots and pans had come off of their hooks and had fallen to the floor. One of the pots of its own volition jumped at me and hit me in the shin. The light above the sink flashed bright for a split second and was burned out.
"What the hell!" I went back into the living room. "You're on your third cup of tea. Doesn't the caffeine destabilize you?" I was shaking and I had my head turned away from the kitchen. I shut my eyes and wished this situation would just go away.
"We need to do the séance. I'll call Madame Burchfield for this one. She is the best. Meanwhile, you might consider checking into a motel. Your wife could be upset with you."
I had a nagging thought of something in the back of my mind. It couldn't be that, I thought. Or could it?
**
Madame Burchfield, her assistant (whose name wasn't given to me) my mother, and I, sat around a card table that had a special table cloth and that had Burchfield's crystal ball in the middle. The shades had been drawn and the lights dimmed.
The dog entered the room from where she had been sleeping in the back room. She sat at a cautious distance from our séance and she began to whine. I had never seen such behavior of the dog.
"I am connecting with your wife," said Burchfield. She had said it in such a profound way, and her voice had taken on a Transylvanian accent. Her eyes were shut, and her eyelids twitched. The Madame put out her hands and nodded, indicating we were all to hold hands around the table.
"Michael?"
My stomach sank. I had assumed the séance would be bogus. But I could have sworn it was the voice of my wife.
I said nothing. Madame Burchfield's face was lit up, but I didn't know of the light source. Now her face was changing, and in a couple of moments, Burchfield's face resembled that of my deceased wife.
I shouted, "What the hell kind of trickery is this?"
"I am very disappointed with you, my dear." It was my wife's angry tone. She had always spoken quietly when mad, but with her soft tones knew how to stab.
In that moment, my gut told me it was my deceased wife, despite not believing in that stuff. I said, "Erica? Why are you upset with me?"
"Think, my dear."
I paused and felt shaky. "Is it Annette?"
"Bingo! You're a cheat and you're a liar. I am here to come after you until the day you die, and then you can apologize to me properly when you get to the other side."
At that moment, I was convinced this was real. I felt the sweat on my forehead and I was starting to have difficulty breathing. "Can we stop?"
Burchfield's previous trance medium voice, with the Transylvanian accent, came through. "It is not advisable. This spirit is upset with you, and you do not want that. Dig a little deeper and remain seated."
I said, "Erica, I apologize from the bottom of my heart. It didn't mean I didn't love you. It was a bad impulse and I have always regretted it. I didn't know you knew." I felt the moisture of tears rolling down my cheeks. My mother handed me a Kleenex.
"I didn't know. You had me fooled until I got here. I don't know if I can forgive this."
"Isn't everything okay where you are?" Despite it all, my curiosity had kicked in.
"There is no difference--just no body and therefore no limitations."
"Erica, I'm sorry. I am taking care of your dog, I have your picture on my wall. I cherish your memory. I am not seeing that woman any more. Do you want me to remain celibate? I could do that..."
Burchfield's voice came forth again. "The connection was ended. That could be good or that could be bad. I would exercise caution." She paused. "Turn on the lights. This séance is done."
I lacked memory of the hours that followed, and the next thing I remembered was waking up in my clothes at nine in the morning, disoriented. I looked at my digital watch and realized it was Sunday. I went to the kitchen, and everything was in order. There was no threat of pots coming off their hooks and banging me, which I had worried might happen. The kitchen knives and the potato peeler were where they were supposed to be. On the refrigerator, written apparently with a red marker, were the words, "Goodbye, good luck, and thanks."
end.
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