“My puppy barks non-stop in the middle of the night. And it’s not the act of barking that bothers me. I hardly notice, she barks, and I sleep on most nights.
But not this one time. I can still recall the first few times, but that’s not what I’m discussing here. I know that it’s not the puppy part of her that’s barking (the 6-month-old Bernese bark/yelp/cry/snap.) Our neighbours haven’t complained once.
Honestly. Or even the fact that it’s midnight when my puppy begins barking. What bothers me is that my two senior dogs hardly sniff the air. Loki (the middle boy Catahoula leopard dog) barely lifts a brow.
My three beautiful dogs: puppy (Xena, warrior princess (Bernese Mountain Dog), Loki beau, and of course, Roxy baby (Boxer/ Shepard Mix). The latter being the oldest of eight years and supposedly the most trained. We don’t need guard dogs; they are naturally elevated to it. Like Roxie, for example, the pup’s boxer blood makes her stupid but cute. She also has King Shepard’s blood making her the house’s queen and very protective of my husband and me.
I’m not here to talk to you about how wonderful my puppies are either.
I recall it had begun to bother me when I realized Roxie and Loki never moved a muscle. I honestly didn’t care if my neighbours were concerned. My initial fear was someone was trying to steal my 6-month-old puppy. She’s my baby, and she’s my life. You know, those days when you wonder why you’re busting your ass working. For the man. No human baby, just fur baby.
The barking, right. My husband was never bothered. He never woke naturally to Xena barking, only I did. Of course, I woke him a few times.
It often ended with him growling at Xena, glaring at me, and going back to bed.
The first night, oh. The first night I woke and vaguely could hear barking. Xena had been younger, her bark not much louder than a kitten’s growl. Like when an angry Pitbull runs to the fence only to meow, and then you notice the bark collar. It took weeks for me to acknowledge the sound of Xena’s bark. Now, I can’t even shut her up. My husband and I often argue if children or dogs are worse. Who makes more mess?
Of course, I want a baby. We’re still trying, but yes. Don’t stray me from the conversation.
This one night, though, months later, maybe. My puppy was almost one year old, and I had gotten fed up with her barking. I remember getting up, and the TV made the room green. Ramnes had left it on (again). I dug my arm under his pillow to click it off (and make sure not to bother him). He had to stay asleep. He often laughed at me when he knew I got up.
However, all that grumbling did nothing to help me get that remote. Ramnes is a solid man, my husband. Handsome grey fox of a man, and I got to keep him. Helpful until he’s sleeping (or giving up the remote for that reason either way.) I tell you; sleep weight is equivalent to dead weight. Not that I know from experience, what? Oh, whatever. You know. Oh, that’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes and exhaled the smoke. My nerves melted slightly with the last of the exhale. I leaned further into Xena’s fur. I talk full well, knowing she doesn’t answer. She won’t respond and can’t even if she wants.
It took a bold move on my part to come outside and set up my twelve-hour camp with Ramnes at home and awake today. Some witty remarks about how I should be doing Pregnancy Prep Yoga.
I’d had a feeling I had to figure this out now. To know why Xena barked every night on her own. Without any of the other dogs being bothered. Xena got sick of my talking and walked back into the house.
I pulled a blanket over my shoulders. Wishing Xena was still here, her thick dog hair is a built heat pad for me, plus I’ve self-proclaimed her as my emotional support. But, no matter my silent wishes, Xena remained in the house.
I sat through the sunset, leaning against a stack of cut firewood. In our little northern town, the sun hardly set. It stayed bright even well past sunset. My watch blared a time of 10:37. I listened to the crickets, and the birds went to sleep. My neighbours all had their lights off. My husband was undoubtedly sleeping with soft snoring sounds floating out the window.
With a flashlight, I read through the quiet of the sleeping night. It was peaceful, soul-refreshing. Xena’s jump to the floor disturbed my peace. The classic thump, I could picture her tail. The only telltale sign that my dog didn’t move through a third-dimensional vortex. She seemed to always appear out of nowhere if you didn’t listen for the swish of her tail.
I clicked the light off and closed my book. My elbow got bumped by Xena as she ran two feet further than I sat and began barking. My watch moved to midnight. My eyes trained on the alley fully lit with the lights, the shop light I’d tied to the top of the garage door.
Xena stood beside me and had barked for near ten minutes before I smacked her on the bum hard enough to make her stop. There wasn’t even a mouse in the alley. No wind, no rain, no clouds. Only a sliver of yellow light stretched over the back alley. As if the sun were peering between two clouds. It was no sun.
The long grass gave me a foot up from the ground privacy. The chain-link fence on its own does nothing.
I restarted my ridiculous story to Xena, wondering if whoever had appeared in the alley would show themselves. “It was that one night that Ramnes accompanied me to check on Xena.” I talked as if Xena were my coffee date in Starbucks. I struggled to keep my voice fearless. Her face remained trained on the alley. “He made such a stupid joke, but it stuck. Planted itself in my brain, and like a seed, it grew and spread.”
Xena remained intent on glaring in the alley. I talked away and kept my fingers tight in her curly hair. My perfect tricolour pup, literally a walking teddy bear.
“That joke, you know what it was?” I force a laugh, and Xena glances at me before jerking back to guard. “He said, ‘maybe she’s barking at a ghost.’”
“And what if she is?”
I yelped, the voice came from the alley, and Xena barked immediately. Her snaps are short and quick. Whoever it was must have come closer. The voice sounded close and caused fear to ripple through my body, total spinal chill. Even my body was telling me to go. I was positioning to run, but I found myself frozen in place when my foot tried to leave the ground.
My dry tongue rolled along my lip before I squeaked out, “pardon?”
Silence. Xena stopped barking and must have sensed my fear. I coughed, then attempted once more. “Hello? Is someone there? My dog, she’ll bite,” I stutter and stand up. The blanket fell to the ground, and Xena bolted to the fence, no longer barking but her tail wagging away. I rolled my eyes and attempted to stand taller. Without the cover of the woodshed on my left, Xena on my right and a heavy plaid blanket on my back: I felt vulnerable. I reached down to grab the blanket to appear larger but froze mid-air when the voice answered me, “I don’t think she’ll bite me, that puppy there, she’s a lover. Not a fighter. Besides, I have nothing for her to bite.”
I blinked, staring into the empty air on the other side of the fence. I half expected a punk-kid to be hanging out in my alley, or a stray cat was annoying Xena. But, instead, shock moved my legs, and I found safety in my room.
My feet are wet from the dewy grass, and my lungs burn from the sprint. Adrenalin burns up too fast. I hit the bed before I realize Xena is in the room also.
My phone’s light glared at me as the numbers flipped past 3:00. I wasn’t sure what to do. Terror kept me wide awake. It’s a hard feeling to describe, and once you recognize it, you’ll never forget it.
Ramnes snored loudly, unphased from my panic. There’s a ghost in the alley. Right now. Xena stared at me from the foot of the bed. I did what any average grown woman would do. I crawled back into bed and pretended nothing happened.
I swiped my phone open and typed- what to do if you see a ghost- into the search bar.
Don’t go alone if you feel a ghost will appear in any particular area! Ghost hunting is a two-person job! (well, Xena the Bernese Mountain Dog is company anyway, right?)
Don’t allow yourself to scare too easily (yeah– okay), but make sure it is easy enough to get you running if need be. Hopefully not. Goodluck.
Age matters, always. Too young, and they aren’t yet powerful, too old and again- get to running. Goodluck.
Be mindful of your questions.
Remember, what you don’t see is what you need to fear truly.
##
I woke, my husband was up and out of bed. The soft dent where he once had laid still scented of him. The end of that sensual thought was the voice. What had it said about the flesh? An involuntary fear gag slid up my throat.
No, it was someone hiding in the alley. I picked up my phone to glance at the time, but I immediately opened the google app. Closed the browser for ‘steps to ghost hunting’ and typed in- robberies Metro Napoulious.
There was someone in that alley. Fear diminished as my brain flooded ideas of hidden burglars, punk kids with rocks, and junkies looking for a quarter.
I was sure of it now. The warmth of my blankets added to the softening of my thoughts. It wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts weren’t real. It was some chick that wanted to see me piss my pants. Anything except a spirit was nothing like a ghost. That’s what I was telling myself. Maybe it was my neighbour, George’s grandson. Walkie-talkies stashed to scare me. For a five-year-old boy, he certainly made an excellent ghost woman voice.
“So, I laid there for more hours than I would want to admit comfortably. It was Saturday morning, and I didn’t have to work. Ramnes did, meaning I got to set up the trail cams all day. There were three I could find. I’m sure we have four,” Xena grunted under my arm, “okay- Ramnes had four. Luckily, I have a husband that enjoys keeping things in their place. It made life more manageable when I quickly found the cameras once I opened the garage door.
“A shop light, camouflage blanket, zap straps, and as many flashlights that I could carry. Ghost hunting was all set before he got home. I suffered through two hours of Pink Slips and enjoyed a dinner cooked by Ramnes. Okay, okay. I had to wash, cut, and chop everything. But at least he cooked it, right?”
Xena winked in acknowledgment. I continued, “by the time Ramnes went to bed, I realized I had been staring at the Netflix catalogue for an hour. I clicked it off and laid in bed with the same strange awe about me. Was it a person? Will this off-feeling ever pass?
I’m irritated. It’s like waiting for someone to stab me, holding the knife against my belly. Get it over with it. Drive the blade and be done. Whatever, you know what I mean, the action moment. You dread the outcome, yet the wait seems to be unbearable. Oh, Xena, I’m so tired.”
I pushed the button on the side of my watch, 10:00 pm. Xena must have understood my sleepy comment since she got up and walked into the warm house. I stayed on the lawn.
11:00 pm- My eyes were beginning to droop just as I heard the first footsteps. They were on the other side of the garage. I was sure this was it. Finally, I was confronting the presence.
Jesus, what was I thinking? I would only have an old wooden baseball bat to defend myself.
Ohmigawd, I’m dead.
The steps dragged through the damp grass, and I watched in my subconscious mind as the perpetrator made their way around the garage. I sat perched beside the woodshed. A pile of smaller cut pieces would be the perfect projectile.
My skin prickled cold, and my breath froze in the dewy air in front of my face. Finally, the footsteps stopped, and I felt I would die.
“Hunny,” it was Ramnes, and I had to bite my tongue from snapping at him. How did he not know he would scare me? I was ghost hunting! Or waiting to be murdered. One of the other. He walked past me to look in the alley, and his pyjama pants hung too low.
“When you are coming to bed?” he asked as he shuffled across the grass and poked at the one very visible trail cam. It was green, the size of a Big Mac box, and had buttons on the side to operate. Night vision enabled.
“Soon, yeah,” I replied, stifling a yawn.
“Where are the other two cameras?” he asked. Turning to face me, he was so strong and handsome. Unfortunately, he couldn’t manage to do the one thing I needed him to do: figure out this intruder. Good old Ramnes believes in nothing until said thing is on his doorstep. Laughing at me when I asked him to make a police report, he had inspected the alley for me. There was not a sign of people. He had turned up nothing, and I couldn’t help but feel frustrated by this.
I pointed to the rhododendron bush, where a camera sat watching. The second one I nailed to the garage siding. He still had an elbow leaning on the third camera that sat perfectly nestled between two fence planks.
“Okay, well. Scream if you need help.” He commented, kissed my forehead, and went back to bed.
I wasn’t sure how long Xena had been barking. Neither of the two older dogs seemed to care whatever ailed Xena. So, in the first few months, we wrote it off to her potty training.
After I picked up chewed bits of household items in the morning, Xena would crawl into her bed and sleep for the rest of the day. Wide awake and ready to play when I was home from work.
Her barking has gone on for at least six months. Or it could have been since we moved into this house four years ago! Maybe Roxi had even spent endless nights barking, and my deep slumbering ass never got a whiff of it till now.
Someone would have complained. Or Ramnes would have begun to hear it. Something.
Midnight- A sound made me jump. My hearing maxed with the devil’s hour creeping toward me. I could listen to everything in the darkness of night. Then, when all was silent, a bug scratching could be heard loud and clear. That makes everything eerie. The owner made the sound as Xena’s head pushed up underneath my right arm. Her hair was thick and curly, and no matter the layers of dirt, it was always soft.
She sat next to me; her fur warmer on one side than the other. She had probably been lying in my empty spot on the bed, next to Ramnes, who was perhaps fast asleep by now.
The warmth was welcoming, but she stayed for only one beat of my heart before she stepped away and began barking at the empty alley.
I leaned forward to get a better view of the woodshed. I glanced left then right, and still, nothing changed. There was no one there, yet Xena continued barking at the empty alley. Three flashlights positioned were illuminating the area nicely. I try to convince myself that someone could be walking in black clothes, but Xena’s head isn’t moving.
She is confident, whatever it is, was stationary. Waiting. I scanned the small yellow circles of the street lights. There was not a man. The views were unbroken, not a single stick or stone out of place.
Xena was beginning to foam at the mouth from her nonstop barking. Her ears flopping back and forth, “shhhhhh,” I whispered in her ear. Hoping to soothe her, but her barking was persistent. Then, finally, Xena stalked toward the fence. So, I took the sound of her movement as an opportunity.
Hunting with Ramnes for so many years, I was confident to move silently, like the grasshopper’s footfalls. Instead, with the spotlight tucked into my hoodie (button taped to off), I army-crawled the night’s dampened lawn.
Xena is barking, I’m crawling, and the alley is stone silent. I see nothing, but Xena seems to be following someone. Or something. Her head moves slowly to her left (which happens to be the side I’m crawling upon).
I was confused for a moment, there was someone in the alley, but there wasn’t. Instead, it was a strange outline. One that was only visible due to the distorted view of the fence across the way.
It’s pitch-black outside. The colour most people don’t understand as ‘pitch’ until they see it. The lights cutting through the thickness do nothing to add colour to the strange outline, but I think I see it move. I freeze and am not sure what to do next. The transparency slightly alters the view behind it disappears then reappears between Xena and me.
“Holy fuck!” I yelp and flop onto my back. A sad attempt to get away indeed.
“That’s a horrible language,” the voice reprimands me like a parent, but I’m mid-thirty and still see not a person near me. The blurred line moved gracefully, not a blade of grass disturbed. Xena’s barking stopped. She had no ‘tuff.’ Her hair was thick like a bear, but I could still see when she was perturbed. Her ears twitched, and she scanned the alley. But the ghost was past her, speaking to me or speaking in my mind.
I wasn’t even sure it was aloud or not. But then, just as quickly as I thought the woman was speaking, I realized she was placing the words in my mind. Then I saw her.
I considered screaming, but Xena’s barking was irritating me. I blinked and sat upright, as did she. Even her legs had been crossed haphazardly in the same form as mine were. In the upright seated position, I pulled my legs in to sit criss-cross, “apple sauce,” she finished in my mind.
“Are you reading my mind?” I asked aloud. You always wonder what your first question would be to a ghost, alien, or even a politician. That was my first question. And wow, it stunned me too!
“No, it was such a silly word you said to me! So, I said a silly word back.” Did she reply, comment or blink? She was a collection of time and memory. It is held together by some unknown force that creates the ‘ghost.’
“But it’s a nursery rhyme now,” I replied aloud.
“A what? That’s malarkey!” Her face was young, but the draw of being dead caused it to appear old at the same time. Her hair blew gently in the invisible breeze, and I only sensed it was the exact movements of my hair. Even as she spoke the words, I, too, felt my jaw twitch to yawn, hiccup, or something.
“Are you copying me?” The second question can be just as stupid.
“Yes, that’s the only way you can see me.”
“Who are you?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I need you,” her hands rubbing her ghostly arms made me aware that I had been doing it first. The last heat left from the dirt below my bottom, and I was freezing. Xena had grown bored (or could no longer see the ghost with her mimicking me only) and had gone back to bed.
“I have been trapped here longer than I can remember. The sides of your fence, barn and bodes are enough to drive me to drink!” The girl’s face was sad. Long, drawn nights of loneliness were apparent. I felt sorry for her suddenly, a feeling you would not associate with the initial meeting of a ghost.
The sadness passed and left me with curiosity. I tipped my head to one side then the next.
“No, we’re not playing this stupid game. Look, I’ve tried enough times to figure this out. We have only one sunrise to get my name.” Her words did nothing for the silence that surrounded us. My breath filled the small space between our noses. If I leaned forward the furthest my flexibility would allow, I would touch her nose with mine. She was a cute ghost. Maybe I only noticed because of my heightened hormones from ovulation-inducing drugs.
Then her comment sunk in, and I chuckled, “can you even drink?” I whispered. Unsure why I lowered my voice, but I was suddenly well aware of how crazy I would potentially look if someone saw me speaking to the grass blades in the backyard. She was only visible to me as long as her movements met mine exactly. I would even have moments my arm flinched, and she would disappear completely.
She glanced at the east, filling me in quickly on prior attempts at locating her name. Other’s that had been capable of matching movements for her to beg for the trade. “It’s magic of the Earth,” is what she explained, “within 24 hours of a wish, you have to grant me my birth name. Then I will be released from this haunting.” That’s what she called her ball and chain. The point in the world that chained her never to move.
My wish was easy enough, “I want a baby. I want a son to carry my husband’s name forward. If I don’t birth a son, his family name is gone. Like you are if I can’t find my name, lost forever.” And so, I went into the house and grabbed my cell phone, and the ghost and I googled local deaths. I went even as far as The Valley, a solid hour drive from home, but you never know how far spirits can travel immediately after death.
##
Crawling back into bed a mere thirty minutes before Ramnes alarm went off was due to the hours spent researching. I was clicking through hundreds if not thousands of articled newspaper stories online. While I was studying, the ghost woman had disappeared several times. She had trouble matching my iPhone googling movements.
Maybe that’s why there was so much distance between people to communicate. I pretended to sleep for the first ten minutes of Ramnes moving around the bungalow. By the time the coffee pot finished brewing, I was up and sitting with him (five hours into a 24-hour restriction on the magic.) I also needed to test her end of the bargain first. She insisted on that. I needed to have the reassurance that my half was indeed completed (meaning I was right now, sitting at this table with my husband of seventeen years, and I’m pregnant.)
So, we talked instead of me thinking. And I told Ramnes I would pull an all-nighter to catch the perp. Or a ghost., I added to myself. Or a kid, but I doubted.
“I hate it when people say they need coffee to be anything but bitchy. Bitch, you don’t need an excuse. You enjoy that attitude!” I took a sip of my sixth coffee of the day. There was even a nap between cups two and three. I subconsciously patted my pocket, where the fresh sleeve of caffeine tablets sat. Warming before, I would put them on my tongue at Ramnes bedtime. I had to catch this guy.
Zombie Kiona wouldn’t cut it. I needed more energy than that for tonight.
And that wasn’t a man’s voice- my subconsciousness reminds me. It was a soft voice with a surgery sweet venomous sliver. You keep a friend close, so she doesn’t become your enemy, type of voice. As the day had gone on, the hard edges of my fear had dissipated, and I had left the unnatural awareness that it had to be a ghost. Punks wouldn’t crack a joke, not without jumping out with baseball bats or rotten eggs.
She needs a name to move past the garage. So, I don’t tell Ramnes, only that I’d heard a voice and want to be the ghost investigator. He laughed and patted my head when I glared. Then, he winked at me and said, have good, honey.
She’s stuck between the two-door garage and the woodshop. The ghost wanted freedom, and I knew what I wanted. A baby. An infant in my belly to share with my husband, Ramnes. Then our son will carry the family name of Adrien. My heart warmed at the idea. Could it be so easy as that? What a blessing, this ghost that came to me. I mean, many nights weren’t considered a gift when I couldn’t sleep because of Xena’s barking. But I sat beaming after Ramnes left for work. Our son’s first names flooded my mind as the warmth of butterflies anticipating that pregnancy test filled my belly.
##
The ghost needs a name, and I often rolled the idea through my mind of just picking one. Would she know if it wasn’t’ her name? Would the magic still work? She had no memory further than the woodshop. She couldn’t tell me how old she was or where she died. We both concluded that she must have died there, but only the wilds knew how long ago!
I checked the library, which lost several precious hours and still found nothing. Then City Hall staff laughed at me when I asked for the warrant. So finally, I visited some old ma and pa stores around town, asking them questions. They had parents that’d been around town for long years. I’d hoped they would learn something but still nothing.
I ended up back home, fifty bucks poorer (from buying so many old-timers’ coffees and newspapers) and no richer information. I did, however, manage to stop at the pharmacy to buy a pregnancy test. The boxes were cheaper to buy a pack of three rather than one. Plus, they recommend trying the test twice before seeing your doctor.
That recommendation is meant to happen five days after your missed period. Was I going off the word of a ghost?
My life suddenly felt like that god damn flower in Beauty and the Beast. Unfortunately, this magic had a time restriction. I often touched my belly absentmindedly but reminded myself I did indeed have to learn her name before I could take the test. Otherwise, it would possibly mean useless.
The ghost told me 24 hours. When I learned the truth, I found the ghost woman her name and told her name. Then, I picked up a small stone from our alleyway. It was an impossibly smooth and soft amber colour. As if a fire had printed its colour but not a char. For a second, I thought maybe the strange colouring of the stone signified that it was lucky. But that made me laugh out loud.
Such as when someone hands you a loonie, stating its good luck. (why because you said it was?) And yet you keep the goddamn thing because success isn’t something you can afford to risk. It’s not a gift you can be granted, and bestowing it is not the way to go.
I stood in the kitchen, looked over at Xena, and she winked at me. I think anyways. I would be that mom that thinks their child said Astrophysicist before they said potty (although I’m a dog mom, so they don’t have many words at all.) I followed Loki and Roxi as they barreled into the house via the doggie door and straight to my room. Xena didn’t hesitate to run after them. They were barking at each other in the playful puppy way but fighting nonetheless. They jumped on the bed, not bothering to step around where I lay.
I was exhausted. No amount of coffee would help me get through the stack of old information from the library.
The dogs jumped off the bed, the two old bitches first, then Xena like a happy puppy following the pack for the reason that’s very primal. And before she knew why she was barking to copy Loki and Roxi’s bark. Which gave me an idea.
I threw on a sweater and walked out of my front door. Down the street and knocked on old MJ’s door. Her name was Jean-Louise, but no one could say how she chose to be called MJ. She was also older than the town itself, and I would never forget our first meeting.
I got the last one in the newspaper box, and she came running down the street screaming at me. When I offered it back, with a smile, she offered her name (Jean-Louise) but then yelled when I said good day, Jean-Louise. I then had to walk next to her the rest of the block and be sure to say MJ often enough that I wouldn’t forget for our next meeting.
I recalled when she insisted on telling Ramnes and me the history of our block. The Mayor’s house was at the end of the neighbourhood (next to the mailbox coincidentally). The most considerable lot on the block was the grocery store, and our house came from that.
I hobbled down to MJ’s door, knocked and entered without waiting as instructed.
She went on to tell me that, yes, a girl had died there. It was a tragic accident and one that wasn’t reported in the local papers. It was a suicide. Bethany Raleigh thought it was a more natural way to go than to divorce.
“Come to think of it. She somewhat looked like you. Kiona.” I shied my eyes away from MJ. “She was my teacher.” Her eyes glazed over, she pulled pictures up through Facebook quickly, and I nearly fell over from how similar she looked to me.
Her short brown hair had natural (or dishcloth-tied curls) pulled back slightly from her square, cream tone face. The pink blush kissed her cheekbones, and the red lipstick made her look smart. A hairband made of crystals adorned the sleek of her hair above her left temple.
MJ handed me a cup of warm tea; two tiny white rosebuds floated in the aromatic brew. “She had a book, and it had lists of ‘the birds we should know the first name of.” I had the sudden strange thought of Children of the Corn, “one of us,” type of comments.
“Mrs.…uh,” the wrinkles on her hands held lines of dust. Her movements were slow, and my lip was turning blue, waiting for the potential ghost’s name.
“What was her name?”
MJ stirred the sugar she had dumped into her teacup, “she couldn’t have a baby. Her husband grew mad, and it was the town’s embarrassment.”
I attempted the tea, but the dragon of heat’s bite jumped at me. The cup tipped past my lips anyway, something to keep my mouth preoccupied from the annoyance of MJ trying to recall the teacher’s name. The ghost. Her name was all I needed now.
“She couldn’t stand the challenge of being barren and her husband’s demands of an heir. She took her own life, and the village didn’t speak of it again. I remembered her. She used to bring sweets for us. If we read from the book without a single hiccup, we would receive a sweet.” Her smile widened, “I even used to draw the native symbols as secret code to my friends.”
“Mrs.…” she set her spoon down and lifted the cup to her lips. She gulped. I cringed, thinking how hot that mouthful of tea would have been, with not even a drop of cream.
“Mrs. Collins. Bethany Collins was the youngest teacher I had ever seen. Back then, our classes were twenty children with ages varied from diaper to doper.”
“Thank you!” I replied and turned to duck from the conversation before MJ started to talk about any other doper-type topics.
##
I inhaled, then exhaled. Two minutes is a long time when you’re waiting for a pregnancy test to complete.
Ramnes is pacing outside the bathroom door. “How long do those damn tests take?” he wasn’t asking me, muttering to himself, wearing the carpet thin. I parted my lips in anticipation of a positive as the first line began to bloom. Such a small window into your future, I stared harder as the second line darkened. I smile as they race each other to the top of the square-looking glass. Two lines. Pregnant. I’m pregnant!
I smile and place a hand on my belly. The pregnancy glow is accurate, and I feel it instantly as the truth washes over me. My cheeks flushed with warmth as I formed the words on my lips, but a thump outside the bathroom door interrupted.
“Babe, my Ramnes. Love?” I picture him bowing outside the door, hands folded to pray, waiting for me to tell him the good news. Charcoal hair pressed against the cherry wood, waiting for my response, is where I pictured him. I clear my throat, ready to announce that I’m pregnant. I had the ghost’s name, willing to offer and a baby growing in my belly.
All I had to do was wait until midnight, give the spirit her name, and tell my Ramnes the fantastic news.
The door handle felt too cold. It turned on its own accord, and Ramnes’ lifeless body collapsed to my feet. I screamed. It echoed and died in my ears. I had wanted to whip it open and jump into my husband’s arms to tell him the big news. Instead, tears flood my ears and fall to his hair, dampening the lifeless body. His cheek pushed tight against the bathroom door, caught my tears.
The apparent cause of the thump I heard only several seconds before. I don’t know much about ghost magic, but I knew this much. ‘Life for a Life’ is a law that cannot be broken. So, my heart broke that it was my love’s life.
I swallowed hard, but the lump in my throat didn’t want to move. The ghost had tricked me. Anxiety crushed my chest; tears blinded me as I stepped over my husband’s body and went to bed. Pregnant and crying.
But not before I locked Xena in her kennel to prevent the barking at the spirit. As she waited for her empty end of the bargain.
Norma Rrae 
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