Amelia still isn’t sure what it was she saw that day exactly, but whatever it was it called her by her first name.
She froze. It seemed the most prudent thing to do. She was
standing on a ten-foot ladder close to a wall in the old farmhouse. She
couldn’t admit to herself that as she looked up at the plaster ceiling
something was looking back. Amelia scuttled down the ladder and on her
bottom scooted back against the parlor wall. Her hands were covered with
the “Bayberry Blue” paint she had been rolling on the wall. They
covered her face speckled with “Holiday Pink.”
She opened her eyes and looked again at the head and shoulders
that appeared mysteriously through the loose plaster around where the
gas lighting fixture should have been. Where was her husband, Jonathon
when she needed him? He would never believe this. She lowered her hands
and continued to stare at the shoulders, neck and head of a figure
thrust upside down through the ceiling.
The figure was a dusty white. The hair was curly but wispy white
and the face was barely discernible.
She did the only thing she could
think of. She covered her eyes again and shouted, “OH, JONATHON, WHERE
ARE YOU WHEN I NEED YOU?”
“Amelia” – the chalky apparition repeated and then coughed a few times.
The voice was scratchy, and constrained. But, it was oddly familiar.
This must be some left over specter from her husband’s illustrious
family. It had the same New England accent. Funny, you never think of
ghosts as having accents. Amelia mustered a little courage, “WHAT DO YOU
WANT?” she asked still leaning hard against the wall.
“STOP!” she yelled at the figure, “THIS is MY house! Now GO TO THE
LIGHT! Or whatever it is that you tortured phantoms are supposed to do
to leave this earthly plane.”
“FOR GOD’S SAKE, Amelia, I am in the light. I was wiring up here in the attic and I fell through the plaster!”
“Jonathon?” she looked a little closer.
“Yes, dear,” Jonathon coughed a few more times emitting small clouds of
dry plaster, “Will you please come up here and help me out of this
Amelia stood up and then she could see that it WAS Jonathon sticking
through a hole in the ceiling. She felt sheepish. Perhaps she should
stop watching all the “Ghost Hunting” shows that seemed to be the rage
in recent years. Of course she immediately assumed that she was having a
“How do I get to where you are, Jonathon?” It didn’t appear that there
was a second floor in this area of the house. How did he get there?
“I’ll show you,” said a little transparent boy, shimmering by the
“There’s a pull down ladder to this attic, right in this
closet,” she heard and then watched the little apparition disappear
through the closet door.
“Are you coming, Amelia?” echoed a disembodied voice.