A Word Edgewise |
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A Word Edgewise |
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Last Updated 03/29/07
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Email: mjclen@our-town.com
GHOST TIME AGAIN. BED QUAKES IN THE NIGHT
By Mary Joe Clendenin
At first, the phenomena was just the extension of my expectations. Just like common feelings established by years of habit. After all, Ray and I had been married fifty-seven years when he died. Adjusting to living alone took a bit of getting used to. It seemed only real that things in the house eked of his presence, seemed to breath with an essence of the second half of a partnership that had existed for more than half a century. When I needed an answer I would open my mouth to ask him. When a Ranger batter struck out I would turn to ask if that last pitch was really a strike. As I prepared a meal, his preferences crossed my mind. If I heard a sound in the other room I thought, “What is he looking for now?” Since we had spent much time looking for misplaced articles, as our memories began to falter.
So, little dog Jeddie and I had no easy time learning to live in that house saturated
with the habits and peculiarities of two people when only one now occupied and tried to absorb the presence
of two.
It was only natural that when the bed shook ever so slightly as if someone were
trying not to wake me, that I would get a hint of a pleasant feeling, almost like the echo of a beautiful
tune that tickled my memory. Maybe an interrupted touch that I expected to the extent that I actually
felt the skin on my cheek tingle, comforted rather than alarmed.
The shaking bed grew more demanding of my attention. Each time the jar startled me,
rather than scaring me. But when it happened in the middle of the night as I slept, my eyes would pop
open ----and I would begin to search for a cause: first looking over to the chair where the dog slept
as relaxed as a puddle of water. Then I would ask myself if a muscle had suddenly relaxed with a jerk?
Had I been dreaming? During all this search, I didn’t look toward the source of the movement—I was
afraid I would see a ghost—and what would it look like, the familiar handsome man I had married, or
like maybe a skeleton with skin falling off? I didn’t want to see.
Actually, after a few times of being awakened, I felt like it would not have a
horrible appearance, but would be a comfortable presence. After all he had said, “I don’t fear death,
I just hate to leave you alone”
After I carefully lay my hearing aides on the bathroom counter at night, being sure
that the one for the left ear is on the left side, and the right positioned on the right so that I won’t
have to debate which is which in the morning, lay my glasses by the book I’ve been reading in bed, turn
on the dim night-light in the bath, made sure only a crack of light gets into the bedroom, I’m somewhat
handicapped.
Then that last night of the quivering bed came.
I was awakened by a jar, maybe an earthquake, I thought at first. Then realized the
dog was barking at the door to the house, excited by something outside my window at the outside door. And
a voice whispered directions. “Slide out of the bed flat on the floor so that you make no silhouette
against the bathroom light. Snake your way to the phone, (at the foot of the bed and near the door to the
kitchen) and call 911. Someone is trying to get your door open. They are picking the locks. Will soon have
the deadbolt open and the door lock, too. They are armed. Be very careful.”
Dan Waggoner said, “That may be, but you must
remember that my son has a very rich daddy.”
So I did as directed. I was very careful not to make a sound, even though I was
shaking with fright. I reached the phone, hid the light from it with my body and called 911. Then I lay
there on the floor and waited. It seemed hours, but must have been a very few minutes until I saw the
flashing lights and heard the officers. I eased the phone back but stayed down until the police rang the
doorbell. I picked up the scared dog and let the police in. The two burglars were being led to one police
car.
I had grabbed a shirt and put it on over my gown and tried to calm enough to answer
questions without mentioning the ghostly help I had received, and agreed to go to the police station in
the morning.
Well, I’m convinced I had ghostly help, though no one else has ever found anything
spooky about my house, and I could never prove there had been a friendly visitor who enjoyed shaking my
bed. I’m almost disappointed that my nights and dreams are no longer interrupted by quakes in the
night.