― Chuck Palahniuk
The last thing I thought I'd be doing after paying far roo much for my 1850's house would be standing in the front room talking to its resident ghost.
To say I was conflicted would be an understatement.
I thought I had been so clever to purchase and renovate the property and prove to the male realtors that a woman could outsmart them and make a lucrative acquisition--but the joke was on me.
I now owned a haunted house and the prospects of recouping my investment had just evaporated before my eyes. I wished with all my heart that Harry would do the same and thaw and resolve himself into a mist and be seen no more.
But that wasn't going to happen, so maybe I could talk to him a little and persuade him to move onto the light or wherever departed spirits go after leaving their bodies.
“Look Harry," I calmly began, "we’ve got a problem here. I own the title to this property.”
“On the contrary, dear heart—I see no problem. Your piece of paper establishes rights over the brick and mortar in the here and now. But I decided a long time ago I liked this setting and purposed to stay here in perpetuity, regardless of whether the house stood or fell.”
“So you’re saying this is your haunt?”
“Oh, please, Madame—why must you continually use these words?”
“What words?”
“Oh, you know—terms like ghost and haunting as if I’m some kind of turn-of-the-century Spiritualist’s efforts. There’s not one bit of ectoplasm in me, I assure you.”
“Yes, but you are a spirit.”
I obviously said the wrong thing and he immediately winced in pain.
“Ouch! You really know how to hurt my feelings, don’t you?”
“I’m not trying to be insensitive.”
“Well, that’s quite apparent.”
“What is?”
“It’s apparent you’re not insensitive—I mean how else would you be able to see me? I am non-corporeal, you know.”
“Aha!” I shouted triumphantly. “Then you admit it!”
“I don’t understand you dearest—I never denied it. I prefer to see myself as materially challenged. The fact is, I have difficulty negotiating contact with things.”
The air went out of me and I plopped down in one of the canvas-draped armchairs.
I began to weep.
“Oh no, what am I going to do?”
Harry, for his part, seemed genuinely taken aback by my tears. He looked flustered. He reached for a Kleenex, but of course, his hand went right through the box.
“Well now, that’s not going to work is it?”
“Nothing’s working,” I wailed.
“There, there,” Harry consoled me patting me on the shoulder and watching his hand pass through my body.
“Drat! …Still, it’s the gesture that counts.”
“Why can’t you just leave me alone and go on an extended vacation to the Elysian Fields or the River Styx or even Valhalla for that matter?”
“Never did get along with Scandinavians—Couldn’t picture rubbing shoulders with Old Norse gods.”
“What am I going to do? I can’t sell a haunted manse.”
“No, of course, you can’t—that wouldn’t be fair—Wait, I’ve got an idea.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” I grumped.
“Actually, it’s brilliant.”
“Okay, Einstein—let’s have it.”
Harry's face lit up. “Why don’t you move in here?”
“What—to Blair House? Are you suggesting I make this old manse my principal residence?”
“Why not? You said yourself it had good bones. What would it take to fix it up?”
“The question is, what would it take you to move?”
“Don’t be like that, darling. I’m good company—an engaging conversationalist. We could sit on the verandah, drink tea and watch rainstorms together.”
“Hey,” I stopped him and eyed him suspiciously, “how did you know I liked rain?”
“I know a lot about you, dearest—that’s why I chose you.”
It was a perplexing situation. I certainly couldn’t afford to maintain two residences and Harry definitely was charming, once I got to know him.
As I pondered my dilemma, I began to fall in love with the old house. Harry showed me around, pointing out all its charms.
We went skating on Potter’s Pond—at least, I did—Harry sort of glided along.
We sat on the verandah at night under blankets—again, just me—and drank hot chocolate and watched the stars. Harry knew all the constellations.
I’ve always had a weakness for older men and though he looks my age, at almost 175 years old, Harry certainly qualifies as being my senior.
I had to choose between the here and now, and the now and then.
In short, I chose the latter and that’s why I’m the new mistress of Blair House, and that’s why I have Harry.
It’s a good situation and it’s worked out well. After all, Harry’s the previous owner of my house.
Okay, he died 175 years ago, but the problem is, he’s never moved out—or on...or whatever term it is that denotes going to the light or the blissful hereafter.
Basically, Harry liked it too much in the here and now.
He decided to stay and I decided to keep him company every now and then.
It works for us and the truth is I needed a companion more than a house, though Vi can't understand why I'd choose to live alone...
But I'm not alone, it's just that Harry's invisible to everyone else, but my happiness is very visible and Vi can see it herself everytime she calls.
I found my hearth and home and maybe even my heart in Blair House where I belong.