When Nick’s Away the Ghosts Will Play
I don’t believe in ghosts. This is 50% a faith thing – I think we are incapable of comprehending God’s forgiveness. He wants nothing more than to pull all of us into Heaven. And I think that when you finally make it to Heaven with Him, you kind of just stay there. There’s no going back and forth. Case and point, no ghosts. The other 50% of my paranormal denial is out of necessity. I was raised in an Upstate New York farmhouse built in 1863 (give or take a year. I’m sure mom will correct me when she reads this). The home was anecdotally linked to a handful of dark events in its history, and if I gave ghouls even a passing chance of existence I would have never been able to close my eyes in that house.
As it stands, “ghosts” weren’t even the scariest thing that lived there. The house also gave a home to bats, racoons, mice, and the largest wolf spiders you’ve ever seen. They didn’t just hang out in the walls, either. These things liked to show up on your bed at night. Or stick their tails out of the radiator. Or just sit there and vibe on the washing machine while it shook (Literally. I found a squirrel this way once. He was such a chill little guy that he even let us hold him). Dad kept a salmon-fishing net in the office to catch all the wild animals that wound up in our living quarters.
I can’t think of the house on Braim Road without remembering the worst shower I have ever taken. Rushing through the motions [because the hot water heater would spontaneously ice you out if you bathed for more than five minutes], I leaned down to pick up the conditioner bottle. Through soapy eyes I saw a big black bulge on the shower floor. It had been the summer of the Spider Apocalypse, with arachnids so big they could wrap their legs around a Q-Tip box. I figured this was another one and started to freak… until I saw it move. Just a little wiggle, and it definitely didn’t have eight legs. Second thought, frog! Cute! (And yes, this would have ALSO made sense to be inside our house). As I reached to pick it up and get him out of the soap, his wings opened up. BAT!
My scream summoned our 120-pound German Shepherd, Fenway, who busted down the door and joined the flying rat and I in the shower. All three of us stuck inside behind the curtain. Rub a dub dub, three things all screaming in a tub.
After the chaos, mom and I brought the water-logged bat to animal control to have it tested for rabies. Filling out the paperwork, the officer tilted her head and asked me inquisitively, “now can you please elaborate why you chose to shower with a bat?”
Nick knows that I will never ever ever ever ever ever live in an old home again. Bats, spiders, ghosts. It ain’t for me. Fifteen years max on a house and it’s no longer a candidate for us. But that doesn’t mean our current home hasn’t thrown surprises my way. The last time Nick traveled for work, the lights and fan in our bathroom spontaneously turned on and off at 11 PM. One electrician’s visit later and it seems like we’ve just accumulated enough dust in the walls to cross some wires. Not ghosts. Yay! Nick’s off to Kentucky for work again this week so I’m manning the fort by myself. I just got everyone down for nap upstairs. Right as I shut the doors, I heard a Fisher Price train start singing from the basement. No one has been down there in four hours. BEST case is I walk down and find a mouse playing with the baby toys. Unlikely, given that a major reason I bought this home is because it is lock-tight against pests. Any brave friends want to come SWAT-Style sweep my house for phantoms and stowaways? Cue me sleeping with holy water and a hunting knife by the bed tonight.