Of Ghosts and Monsters

Ire Kelly believed in ghosts and monsters.

She was sixty now, and of this she was certain: her mother was haunting her. She could see her old frame walking through the hallways of her home out of the corner of her eye. In the mornings her coffee disappeared from its mug without her drinking it, once, twice, three times now. She felt anxious and jittery throughout the day, as if she were being watched by judging eyes.

If Ire had known her mother would haunt her, she might’ve tried to keep her in better spirits (ha!) toward the end. But by then the cancer had enveloped her body so completely there was little to do but keep her moderately comfortable. Still, it occurred to Ire that her mother was the type of woman to hold grudges, and it was entirely possible that she would’ve ended up haunted one way or the other.

Ire lived—except for her mother and her parakeet—alone. She had never married, and had no family left to speak of. If she had any friends they might have told her she spent too much time by herself. Ire called herself an introvert, but really she was just accustomed to the silence and solitude of working from home. But it wasn’t quiet anymore—no. Not since Margery Kelly had moved in uninvited.

It started with the coffee, and her mother running through the halls after sundown, but soon it escalated. When Ire found all the kitchen knives in the wall of her bedroom, she decided it was time to call an expert.

Madame Lowery was listed in the yellow pages (yes, the yellow pages, Ire had long been a Luddite). She offered to help by visiting the house and communicating with the deceased for a small, non-refundable deposit of $150. She arrived in full psychic-garb, with a scarf wrapped around her white hair and a long, patterned skirt she had to lift when she walked up the stairs.

“Ah, yes, there is a presence here,” she said, running a wrinkled hand over the patched wall where the knives had been lodged. “An angry spirit wishes to tell you something.”

“What is it?” Ire asked. “What does she have to say?”

“I’m getting a… P. Is one of your children or grandchildren named Piper? Or Peter?”

Ire frowned, her heart sinking. “I haven’t had any children.”

“Perhaps someone who is like a child to you?” Madame Lowery fumbled.

“No… I haven’t got anyone like that in my life.”

Madame Lowery’s fingers danced along her temple as she concentrated. “Ah, yes, now I see it—it’s someone you have yet to meet.” She looked at Ire apologetically. “It’s so difficult to focus on the present, dear.”

Ire nodded in understanding, once again convinced of Madame Lowery’s legitimacy. She followed the medium through the rest of her house as she spun tales about all the spirits residing within her walls.

“But I’ve only seen the one.” Ire told her. Madame Lowery brought a finger to her lips then, hushing her, and pointed over Ire’s shoulder.

“It’s standing there, oh, such a dark force which possesses this place.” Ire looked, but didn’t see anything.

Madame Lowery left after Ire had paid her hourly rate, fully $500. She shut the door behind her and surveyed her parlor. It was six o’clock, and it was usually around this time that the activity flared up. Ire wished she could’ve kept Madame Lowery around to see it, but she could hardly afford what she had already spent.

Harold—her parakeet—screeched from his cage in the next room over, and Ire heard a shrill “Shut up!” sound out across the house. She clutched her heart. It was her mother’s voice.

It occurred to her that Madame Lowery had not told her what to do about all the ghosts she had sensed, and Ire was beginning to suspect that she would have to call her again. She sighed, resolving to look over her finances once more.

She slept uneasily that night, listening to her mother’s voice speak gibberish through the walls for hours. In the morning she left the house for a while to run errands, taking her time and stretching the chores as long as she could. When she returned, she found her kitchen flooded from a burst pipe (her mother’s doing, she suspected). It was six-thirty in the evening already, and though she was nervous about involving another person in her troubles, she needed someone to turn the water to her house off until she could call a plumber.

She crossed the lawn to her neighbor’s house and knocked on his door.

A small girl answered the door, pigtails crooked from playtime with her sisters. “Hi!” she said a little too loudly.

Ire was ill at ease around children, so she just waved awkwardly.

“I’m Penny. You’re the old lady from next door. What’s your name?” The little girl stood in the doorway, head cocked to the side.

Ire heard her mother’s voice speak again, calling Penny a little brat and demanding that she fetch her father. Penny frowned, her eyes welling up with tears. She had heard Margery, too. She left and called her daddy.

Dan came to the door with a heavy frown on his face, and was very curt with Ire as he asked what she needed. Ire explained and he agreed to go to the basement and shut off the waterline. Ire thanked him and showed him the way.

As they talked, Dan looked at her strangely, his brow furrowed and his eyes lit with suspicion and concern. After he turned off the water, he offered to help mop up the water.

“You know, Ire,” he said as he wiped up the water with towels. “My father passed recently. He was 85 years old.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ire said. “My mother passed a few months ago. It’s so hard losing a parent, isn’t it? How did it happen?”

Dan’s lips pursed, as if he were thinking very hard about how he was going to answer. “Heart attack. But before that, he had Alzheimer’s. You know, dementia.”

Ire held a hand to her mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry. That must have been so difficult.” She laughed nervously. “I’m glad I have a ways to go before I’m at risk for that.”

Dan’s mouth tilted downward on one side. “When he was diagnosed, I did a lot of research—trying to understand, I guess.” He leaned against the island counter. “Did you know onset is usually around 65 years old?” he looked at her meaningfully.

She shook her head slightly, taken back a bit by the implication. “I… I didn’t know that. But I’m not crazy. I’m getting on in years, but I’m not crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said. “I know. But Alzheimer’s doesn’t make you crazy. It just makes things…confusing. Have you been confused lately?”

“I… think you should leave. Thank you very much for your help.”

Dan nodded forlornly. “If you change your mind and decide to go get checked out—give me a call and I’ll go with you—for moral support.”

After he left, Ire stared down the hallway into her mother’s blind eyes. She must have stood for hours, just gazing into the faint orbs.

The next morning she made an appointment with her doctor and called Dan for a ride—she shouldn’t be driving, if it was true, at least.

They rode quietly to the medical center. When they got there, Dan sat silently in the back as Ire performed a series of tasks. When it was over her doctor re-entered the room with a folder. Ire reached out and held Dan’s hand tightly, and he squeezed back.

“We’ll need an MRI to confirm, but…” the doctor pulled her test results from the folder. He handed her a piece of paper with a mess of scribbles and numbers on it. “I think this speaks volumes.”

Ire looked at the sheet. “I don’t understand, what is this?”

“It’s the clock I asked you to draw. Do you remember?”

“Yes,” Ire said, feeling frustrated suddenly. “But this isn’t the one I drew. Where’s the one I drew?”

Dan put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. “That’s it, Ire.”

Ire shook her head. “No. No it isn’t. I drew a normal clock. Where’s that one at?”

“It may have looked right to you,” her doctor said, “But this is it. Alzheimer’s effects coordination, processing information, memory, and motor skills. I’m very sorry, Miss Kelly.”

“Well, hold on now,” Dan spoke. “Let’s just get that MRI before we start with all that.” But Ire had a feeling he was only saying it for her benefit.

On the way home, Dan offered to drive her to her MRI appointment. Ire thanked him. That night, and many nights after, she had dinner with Dan and his family. When things became difficult, Dan helped her hire a nurse. Ire rewrote her will to include Dan and his children. When she passed, two years later, he cried.

At her funeral, he spoke, calling her his aunt. “Goodbye, Ire,” he said, placing a hand on her casket. “We’ll miss you, all of us.”