Baby Ghosts & Barn Owls

Precious children can see things we can’t and we can understand things they can’t tell us. What’s the use of being a storyteller if not to share the stories that ghosts pass along to children who can’t quite yet talk. Every being deserves to have their story told so here I am writing on behalf of a ghost.

I currently have the pleasure of hosting family friends for the next few weeks who are in the process of a move to Houston. Among the house guests are a two year old (Tyson), an eight year old (Trinity) and a one year old (Savannah). My fiance and I have lived in our home for about 9 months now and I’ve always felt there was something else here. I just couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Every now and again, when I walked upstairs, there would be a pair of eyes made out of the light reflecting from the pool and outdoor string lights.

There it was, every time I turned the corner of the stairs, a pair of eyes plastered against the wall, right above the mirror. Of course, the logical, sensible, Taurus head ass in me explained this away like I did above.

However, the Louisiana girl in me knew better.

Growing up, my family was considered a family of “see-ers” which simply means, folks who can see things. My grandmother was born with “a veil over her eyes” which is what we voodoo ridden folks in the bayou state call cauldron babies. These are babies born with a thin layer of film/mucus over their entire bodies. This “veil” is believed to belong to babies who have special powers to see beyond our dimension. If you are a fellow Taurus or logic fiend like me, the technical term is a child who is born with a piece of the amniotic sac still attached to the baby’s body or head. This is also known as a mermaid birth.

Let’s not even get into the fact my name is inspired by Disney’s The Little Mermaid. We have enough time to get creepy later in the story.

We believe in Louisiana that babies who are cauldron babies can see the un-dead. Their marvelous ability to see ghosts allows them to pass along messages that the dearly departed wish to leave for those still living above ground.

My grandmother remembers being terrified of rainstorms as a kid. When it rained, she couldn’t look out the window because what she saw in the cemetery adjacent to her row house shack in Alexandria, Louisiana was men crawling out of the grave.

Their stark-still stares would send my grandmother shrieking through the house. Running the halls, she’d see muddy footprints that match the grave crawlers. She knew that no one had come into the house because back in her day, after you mop the floor for the evening, there are no more house guests.

Her mother couldn’t understand her daughter’s affliction. My grandmother was explained away by folks in the 1930’s Alexandria, Louisiana scene with, “that girl got the devil in her.” I asked her years later, what that meant. She said, “it means I can see ghosts.”

That she would. She would be standing in the kitchen decades later washing dishes after my father was born and look up out the window to see dead men standing outside her window there. Every window she encountered served as a front row seat to folks trying to send messages. Now, in her old age, we tailor the amount of funerals she attends because at every one, she sees the star of the show standing outside the casket.

Of course, the ability as it was passed down became more and more watered down. Whereas my grandmother was a go-to for ghosts, my father is more of a passerby. Me? Well, I get my stories second hand. I know my history and I know the other side is real.

When baby Tyson came along and told me that in the guest bedroom upstairs there was a baby ghost. I didn’t question him. It checks out with the strange phenomenon I’d already started seeing signs and signals that we weren’t alone with the creepy eyes I mentioned earlier.

On several occasions, Tyson would break out from the group in a way that only me, a fellow middle kid would understand. You see, middle children learn to live in the pockets of silence that no one notices. While his parents, brother and sister are busy yapping away the evening like most American families do, Tyson slips off.

It started with me noticing him talking to no one in particular in the dark of his bedroom. To then he explained to me that there was someone there. A ghost. A baby ghost in particular. I said, “Tyson, did they tell you where the money is?”

I believe in asking for what I want. This house was built in 1973. There’s no way there isn’t cash stashed some damn where. I believe the baby, let’s just work to run up a check right quick as long as we stay in baby ghost’s good graces. I thought we would be in good standing until baby ghost decided to turn the volume up on his silent dominion.

One day last week, I sat downstairs folding clothes and as usual, baby Tyson did his disappearing act. This time, while he was upstairs, I heard his mother scream aloud real fast, “Tyson, no--DON’T!” Before I knew it, the blanket hit the floor from the second story balcony upstairs. In the 5 milliseconds that it took me to realize the falling ball of mass was a blanket and not a boy, I knew instantly how baby ghost came to live here.

In the same way, the toddlers like to hang around the balcony, slip their legs through the railings and throw toys and blankets over the top now. I imagine so did baby ghost in his life. Watching that blanket fall from two stories high made me know instantly that there was a child that lost his life in this place. That was exactly how. He fell from the top floor, not knowing the laws of gravity.

Watching this 2 second scene play out scared me enough to call my father. Until I understand this strange power that exists in my family, I am going to need my dad’s guidance to make sense of all the spooky things.

My father assured me he didn’t feel anything evil in the house when he visited. He encouraged me to use my own intuition and determine if baby ghost was bad or was it just Tyson. Apparently Tyson and baby ghost have been clique tight for a while. One day, his mother hid his bouncy balls because he’d bounced them incessantly to the point we all had headaches. Baby ghost went and told Tyson exactly where to find them. His mother’s reaction, “I hid these from you.” My reaction, “Well, you know he has his little friend up here that can walk through walls, right.”

His dad, during one of those quiet pockets, searched the crawl space that leads to the inner walls of the house. “Yea, we discovered that Tyson knows how to go into the crawl space in the wall now.” I knew then that only a fellow mischievous baby ghost would have shown him that.

I explained all this to my father, whom I know interacts with ghosts regularly. His advice, “Oreo, keep watching him and listen to what he’s saying this ghost is telling him. Be sure to have him let you know if the ghost asks him to leave.”

In that moment, I saw the blanket fall again. I sure in the lord’s name hope that the baby ghost doesn’t ask Tyson to leave with him. Leaving with him would mean next time it won’t be the blanket. It would be another baby.

So, baby ghost, here’s my plea to you. Rather than make these babies join your world, how about I bring the whole world to you?

Let’s not ask the children to leave with you.

I’m here before you as a descendant of ancient goddesses who protect little children and animals in the form of a nighttime barn owl. So, baby ghost, you can’t have these. I am the voice of the voiceless. These babies in my house have great things to do, so they can’t be your forever playmates. However, you’ll have more fun than you ever imagined in the world we can create together.

I understand you may feel trapped here. However, if you want to be freed, we can arrange that. I can call on the help of the goddess tribes to free you. I’ll pass along your messages through my writing to have you memorialized for as long as you wish to be remembered.

You have revealed to me what’s happened that left your precious life tragically cut short. You slipped away when no one was watching. Most likely, you were a middle kid too. Like most of us middle kids, we run right into unrestricted play when everyone is busy.

Here’s an arrangement. Tell me what you wish to tell them and I’ll show the world your beautiful power. Together, we can all help to free you.