A Ghost of a Chance

The figure I'd seen earlier was still sitting in the same chair in the same position. He still stared blankly ahead. He almost looked like a movie frozen on the screen, a projection more than an actual shape.

I took my purchases into the kitchen and put them away, then made a pot of coffee. When it had finished brewing, I poured myself a mug full and walked back up the hall to the living room. The figure in the plush chair sat perfectly still, seemingly oblivious to me. I waved my hand in front of his eyes but he never blinked. I sat down on the sofa across from him and examined him. It was definitely Peter.

He was wearing the same dark suit that he'd worn in the photo of himself and Henry together. He even had on the same tie that he wore in the photo.

I sat watching him for a few minutes, building my nerve and then finally I said, "Peter, what are you doing here? What do you want?"

I don't know how to describe what happened next except to say that Peter seemed to gain substance. A wave passed over him, bringing him into sharper focus somehow, making him more tangible.

His head turned so that his eyes looked into mine and I thought I might pass out.

"Oh, that's much better." he said. "I couldn't speak unless you spoke to me first. Some rule or something."

I didn't know what to say.

"Is that a new sofa?" he asked.

"A different sofa, new to the house." I said.

"Henry liked the other one. I can't really see that much difference."

He looked around the room and said, "You've kept everything the same."

"I like it this way." I said. "There was nothing I wanted to change."

"Well, that's lucky for me." Peter replied. "If you had come in and cleared the place out and brought in all new stuff, I wouldn't be able to sit. I'd be walking through your furniture. Same with doorways. People block up the old doorways, then they get all upset when someone like me walks through the wall where it used to be."

"What's it like?" I asked.

"Walking through walls? I don't really know, I've never done it. But, I'm sure that I wouldn't notice. I'd still see the old doorway rather than the wall. In my situation, I can only see things as they were before. I mean, I can see new things but I can't retain them. It's like my brain got stuck on that last day and I can't absorb new information, only what was already there. Understand?"

"I think so." I said. "That must be sort of comforting."

I tried to restrain myself but finally I blurted, "Am I hallucinating you?"

"I don't think so." he said. "Maybe I'm hallucinating you. Things have gotten pretty confusing."

He stopped and looked down at himself.

"I've always hated this suit." he said. "It never was comfortable. And these shoes, they always pinched, that's why I never wore them when I was alive. Then they buried me in them. It would have made so much more sense to put me in a nice pair of pajamas."

The unreality of the situation was too much for me to ignore.

"I can't believe I'm sitting in my own living room believing that I'm talking to someone who died before I was born."

"Technically, it's my living room and as for the rest, it's your own fault."

I was speechless and I just looked at him.

"It is, you know. You're the one who kept thinking about me and mooning over the photos. You called me back, so deal with it."

"That was never my intention." I said.

"Yeah, well, tough titty. Could you do me a favor?"

"I suppose." I said.

"Go in the other room and look at the album. Especially those photos of Henry and myself on the beach. Then come back." He grinned and added, "Don't worry, I'll still be here."

I got up and walked across the hall and got the album out of the sideboard. I turned to the photos he'd mentioned and pored over them but they were just the same as always, I didn't see anything new or anything different.

I closed the album and went back across the hall. Peter was sitting in the same spot except now he was dressed in the clothing he'd worn for the photos on the beach.

"This is a much more pleasant outfit." he said. "I had to change your thoughts of me to get out of those clothes."

I picked up my mug and took a swallow and Peter then said, "Is that coffee?"

I nodded and he continued, "I haven't had a cup of coffee since the morning of the day I died. Let me taste it."

I handed him the mug, afraid that it would go right through his hand but he grasped the handle and sipped from the cup.

"I'd forgotten how good that tastes." he said. "I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to taste it."

He set the mug down and said, "When I was alive, it was the custom to offer guests refreshments. People always go on about how they want to see a ghost, and then when they do they never even think to ask them if they'd like a cup of coffee."

"You're not exactly the standard guest, now are you?" I asked. "Besides, I'm having a hard enough time processing all of this without worrying about minding my manners. How am I to know what you can or can't do?"

"Basically, I can do whatever you anticipate. Your belief of what I can do dictates my ability. Do you have any cookies?"

"I certainly didn't anticipate serving lunch to a dead person today, I can tell you that."

"I like my coffee black." Peter said and then sat looking at me expectantly.

I went back to the kitchen. There was a tray that I'd noticed on one of the cupboard shelves, I got it down and wiped it and then placed a mug and a plate on it. I filled the mug and had just filled the plate with cookies when someone knocked at the front door.

I picked up the tray and proceeded down the hallway. In the front room. Peter was nowhere to be seen. He'd simply vanished.

Balancing the tray on one hand, I opened the door.

On the porch stood a young man. I was struck dumb, he was so handsome. He resembled a young Hugh Jackman with curly hair. He had twinkling blue eyes with fine lines radiating from the ends. You could see that his beard was a problem, even this early in the day he'd already developed 5 o'clock shadow. With wide shoulders and a small waist, his body resembled Hugh Jackman's, too.

He opened the screen door and took the tray from my hand.

"How nice." he said. "How did you know I hadn't eaten any lunch?"

He carried the tray over to the porch swing, set it on the porch floor and his bottom on the swing, and then picked up the mug and a couple of cookies.

"Was I expecting you?" I asked, stepping outside.

"My Auntie Ida said you were. I'm the local handyman. No job too big or too small. She sent me over to check your locks and such; she said you're nervous about being out here all alone."

"I'd totally forgotten." I replied.

He was looking me over with a slight smile while I twisted in the wind. I was still tongue tied gazing at him. He seemed to know the effect he was having.

He patted the swing seat and said, "Why don't you sit down here beside me and tell me what you'd like me to do?" He said it so innocently but with such a smirking grin, I was sure that he was playing with me.

"I'd have to think about it." I said as I sat down. "What are you good at?"

He gave me an appraising cool stare and replied, "I guess I'm sort of a jack-of-all-trades. I like to think I can fill any need that arises and I always make sure that I do an excellent job."

He sat staring at me with a self satisfied smile and I suddenly remembered Casey. I hadn't flirted with anyone since our early days and I felt like I was betraying him.

I stood up and said, "I'll be inside if you want to finish your coffee and cookies. Just come in whenever you're ready." I went to the door and slipped inside while he watched me with a confused look.

I walked through each of the downstairs room but Peter was still nowhere to be seen. Now, I really was questioning my sanity. Back in the front room, I picked up my mug and drained it of the remaining cold coffee.

I heard the screen door open so I went into the hallway just as he stepped inside.

"My name is Gene, by the way." he said, extending his hand to shake.

"Ed." I replied. "Ed Bunce."

He looked around and said, "My aunt said that you hadn't changed anything here. This place looks like a trip back in time."

I glanced around, seeing the house as he must be seeing it.

"Maybe I'm trying to make time stand still." I said.

"Well, that'll never do. A good looking man like you ought to be out ripping and roaring and grabbing life by the balls."

I had to laugh. "It's been a long time since I was even tempted." I said.

He gave me one of those long cool stares again, and then began to move around the house. After entering the living room, he stood in front of the photos of Peter and Henry on the wall.

"And who are these handsome men?" he asked.

"They're the previous owners. I kept the photos where they've always been, I couldn't bear to take them down."

He gave me that stare again and asked, "You like looking at handsome men, then?"

I was suddenly so tired that I felt like I might collapse. Playing cat and mouse with a conceited asshole was too much to put up with.

"Look," I said, "I'm really not up to this today. Can you come back some other time; I need to lay down for awhile."

I was shooing him toward the door the way one would a flock of chickens and when we reached the door, I reached around him and opened it.

"I'll let your aunt know a good time for you to come by again." I said, closing the screen door and then the interior one. Gene stood for a few moments looking at the closed door before finally turning and walking away.

I stood in the hallway until I heard his truck start up and then pull away before going back into the living room. Peter was once again sitting in the plush armchair.

"Who was that?" he asked.

"Ida's nephew." I replied, distracted.

"He's a real looker, isn't he?" Peter said. "I like Ida. She used to come and spend time here and think about me and Henry. She never did it enough that she made me show up; I used to just be in the same room with her and watch her. She's a nice lady. Her nephew drank my coffee and ate my cookies, though."

"I can get you more." I said.

I opened the door and went out to retrieve the tray from the porch. When I did, I saw Gene's truck parked a bit down the road and watched him pull away.

After pouring more coffee and adding more cookies, I carried the tray into the front room and set it down in front of Peter. He picked up the coffee and took a long drink, then nibbled on a cookie while I sat watching.

Finally he said, "What? Why are you staring at me?"

"If you are a figment of my imagination, I don't suppose you'd be having cookies and coffee." I said.

"Maybe I'm not really having them." he said. "In which case, there's going to be a terrible stain on this chair."

I sat across from him, trying not to stare, and something occurred to me.

"Where do you go, when you're not here?" I asked.

"I couldn't really say. It's sort of like going to sleep, I'm not aware of anything until I get called back."

"Is Henry here, too?"

"No, no way. He went on when he died. He's somewhere else."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Probably because I'm an idiot." he said, looking upset. "When you die, something happens and you leave. I wasn't even aware that I'd died. I was so busy stacking wood; I was oblivious to everything around me. It finally dawned on me that I'd been stacking the same logs over and over forever and none of them seemed to have even been lifted. When I turned around, the sheriff was already there and Henry was crying his eyes out. I saw myself lying on the ground, surrounded by blood and I guessed what had happened. Apparently, I missed my big chance to go elsewhere."

"That's terrible." I said. "Don't you get a second chance?"

"I haven't so far. I've got nobody to blame but myself. Watching Henry grow old and sad and weak should be enough punishment, if that's what I'm getting. He wasted the rest of his life because he felt so guilty."

"Did he ever see you, afterward I mean?"

"He was too frightened. He couldn't bear to consciously think of me and when he would do so by accident, he always tried to think of something else. He was afraid that I was mad at him and I'd appear as some evil spirit or something. Sometimes, he couldn't resist, though, so I got to visit him once in awhile."

He seemed to look at me more intently.

"Henry was a very loving man." he said. "I hate to think that he wasted his life over something neither of us could control. I wanted him to be happy, not locked away from the world in this house."

He stared at me for a few moments more and then said, "You remind me of Henry."

That was a bit much.

"Oh, wonderful." I said. "Now I'm getting advice-to-the-lovelorn from a figment of my imagination. For a ghost, you're really annoying."

I got up from my chair and walked out into the hallway.

"I'm going for a drive." I said. "Try to dematerialize while I'm gone."

Once on the road, I had an idea. I drove into town and parked in front of the library. Thankfully, they were open.

I explained to the librarian that I was looking for books on the paranormal, specifically ghosts. She gave me an odd look but showed me how to use the computer card catalogue. They didn't have an extensive collection but I found some books that I thought might be helpful in dealing with my situation. After applying for and receiving my library card, I had to make two trips to the car to load every thing up. On my second trip in, the librarian said, "There are also several websites dealing with your interest. We have terminals that you can use for free, so keep that in mind."

I thanked her and left. I didn't feel like going home so I stopped in Betty's Bargain Barn.

"How do you like your sofa?" she asked as soon as she saw it was me.

"I love it. I love everything I bought from you. May I look around some more?"

"Let me know if there's anything that interests you." she replied.

I wandered through the maze of the shop and I spotted several items that looked worth further investigation. In the back of the shop, though, the wall was covered with shelves of books. I skimmed through the titles and found three volumes of ghost stories.

I carried them to the front of the store to pay for them and when Betty saw what they were, she actually shivered.

"You wouldn't catch me out there all alone in that house and reading ghost stories of a night." she said.

"So you believe in ghosts?"

"I've heard stories, made my blood run cold. I'd be afraid I'd look up some night and see that fellow who died staring in the window at me, his head awash with blood."

"Ida sent her nephew over to check my door and window locks, she must fear the same thing." I told Betty.

Her expression changed to almost a smug look.

"So Gene was out there already, huh? I wondered how long that would take. He's used to being the best looking man in town so I'm sure he doesn't like the competition."

"Competition from whom?" I asked.

Then, it dawned on me what she meant and I burst out laughing.

"Surely you don't mean from me." I said. "Little children don't run out of the room screaming when they see me, but I'm hardly in his league for looks."

"The first few days after you came to town, the gossip was that you were some famous actor hiding out here. Don't sell yourself short." she said.

"Betty, I'm just your basic Georgia white trash. Up until I inherited money, I didn't have two pennies of my own to rub together. Next time you hear someone say something like that about me, tell them they need to raise their standards."

That conversation kept me giggling all of the way back to the house. I carried all of my books inside and then stopped to look at myself in the hall mirror. I looked the same as always, maybe a little more worn. I wasn't ever going to win any beauty prizes, in my opinion.

"Staring at yourself in the mirror is a sign of vanity." someone said.

I looked over to see Peter standing in the living room doorway.

"Aren't you supposed to moan or rattle chains or something to announce yourself?" I asked.

"You have to pay extra for that, I'm the new economy model ghost."

"And I want a refund." I said.

He turned and I followed him into the room where he took his usual seat in the armchair. I sat down on the sofa and said, "Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away."

"When you're not here, where do you go?"

"Nowhere, really. It's sort of like being asleep. Sometimes I have a sort of dream when I'm being thought of, it can wake me up a bit, but most of the time there's just nothing. It's like 'Brigadoon'."

He suddenly became more animated.

"I saw that on Broadway." he said. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"I saw the movie. Gene Kelly and Van Johnson."

"I would have liked to have seen the movie." he said. "Van Johnson is queer, you know."

"I've heard. Do you only wake up and appear if people are thinking of you? Is that the trigger?"

"Let's not talk about that. Do they still give plays on Broadway?"

"Yes..." I said. Before I could say more, he cut me off.

"The last Broadway play I saw was 'A Streetcar Named Desire". Henry and I went to it. There was an actor in it named Marlon Brando, we both thought he was really hot stuff. Did he do anything else?"

"He went to Hollywood and became a big star. But let me ask you..."

He cut me off again. "We had friends who went to see that play every night for a month." he said, smiling. "Marlon Brando knew the boys were all in love with him. On nights when he thought there might be a lot of queer boys in the audience, he'd come out on stage with no underwear on under his costumes. You could see his big fat dick bouncing around all the way from the balcony. The leading lady finally complained to the director and said she'd walk out unless they started making him wear jockey shorts. It gave you a certain cachet in the city if you could say that you were at one of his "unfettered" performances."

"That's very interesting, Peter, but I want to ask you about something. If you aren't really around unless someone is thinking of you, consciously or unconsciously, what happens if there is no one. What if this house burns down and all of the pictures are destroyed? What if Ida and I both die? If there's no one left to remember you, do you just disappear?"

"I guess that's how it works, I don't know." He looked uncomfortable.

"But that hardly seems fair. Don't you want to see Henry again? Doesn't he deserve to see you again?"

"I told you I don't want to talk about this." he said in a loud voice, then jumped up and walked out into the hallway. When I followed him, he wasn't there and when I made a circuit of the first floor, he'd vanished.

It somehow seemed appropriate that I'd have to get a temperamental ghost.

The rest of the afternoon I waited but he didn't make an appearance. I ate a light supper and then decided to tackle the books I'd brought home. Sitting on the sofa in the circle of lamplight with the music on the radio, I never gave Peter another thought.

The books were little or no help. It seems that there is very little legitimate research on ghosts, mostly just folklore. Studying the books did start a train of thought, though. There had to be some way, I told myself, that I could reunite Peter and Henry. I just didn't know how.

It wasn't until someone knocked on the front door that I looked up and saw that it was 10PM.

Ida was the only one I could think who might be calling this late but when I switched on the porch light, Gene stood outside. He raised a wine bottle in one hand and two stemmed glasses in the other.

I opened the door a crack and said, "What do you want?"

"Can I come in?" he asked. "I brought some really good wine."