Ghosts V
Posted on April 4, 2008 at 10:35 PM
When I last left you I had introduced you to the first of three spirits that haunted the house in Oakland, Mrs. Operhall. This chapter is dedicated to Mr. Jones.
I only ever think that I saw him once, but I'm not sure of that, either. I was coming in late after drinking one night, so I'm not a good witness. There was an entryway between the double doors of the porch and the front door. The front door had a window with a sheer curtain overlay; that's when I saw him, through the sheer, standing at the top of the steps, enshrouded in shadow.
I call him Mr. Jones, because I was cleaning out the fireplace on the third floor and found labels from old prescription bottles and a half burned postcard from Kennywood, 1937, addressed to the Jones Family. I sing and dance around often, and if I would be playing this Talking Heads song, Mr. Jones, spheres, like smokey little bubbles of light would dance around the top of the entryway of the first floor bedroom, what would have been the dining room back in the days. You could feel a stir in the room too, like you weren't alone.
Mr. Jones was often on the stairs, you would feel someone behind you on the steps, turn around, and nobody there. He did not like the man of the house, of this, I'm certain. The man had admitted to feeling someone behind him on the steps. He caught himself on the steps, fell down and broke his arm. I was fighting with the man, one rainy evening, and the closet door of the old dining room came down on the man and broke a glass table; the glass continued to crackle and dance across the wooden floor as we stared in amazement, thereafter. That closet door was secure upon it's hinges. It was not even used, being so shallow as to hold teacups. There was an old, sealed dumbwaiter next to it.
One night I was in bed on the first floor. MacDuff jumped up barking and snarling. I felt a presence come into the room and walk right into the bed, actually moved the bed, which was huge and heavy as hell, across the floor. I was terrified. This was also the same place where the closet was.
MacDuff did not like him. I told you. And, it might very well have been Mr. Jones who had hugged me too. My best friend and I were using the OUIJA board in the living room, which would have been the old parlor, off of the dining room, which I have spoken. The air of the room was astir. MacDuff did not want us using the board. He would sit on my feet, put his snout down on the board. My fingers felt prickly. It only repeated KILLED NINE TIMES over and over. It was scaring me. At first I was angry with my friend, because I thought she was only scaring me. But, on second thought, I think that Mr. Jones was an old army vet from one of the World Wars. I think he feels unable to pass on due to guilt holding him back. It is all very sad. There was another sad spirit in that house that I'll tell you about next time.