I see ghosts at work. When I sold tickets at the theatre, one of the booths was stalked by an old owner. He was more a prankster than a creepy ghost, but that booth was always the darkest and coldest, and I hated going up there alone. The current owner had poured thousands of dollars in that projector alone over the years, thanks to Mister Breaks-the-bulbs-and-causes-wrap-ups.
But this Bed and Breakfast is something else. There are photos everywhere of grey women in petticoats with steel eyes staring straight at the camera. I hate when they look right at the camera. Then there are the few photos of men in beards standing up tall like they are important and impressive. I always see them as men with terrible murderous secrets, the kind that buries itself in the building structure, making it sick, making it groan.
Sometimes, I wish I didn’t believe in ghosts. It isn’t natural for anyone to linger after they die, even if it is for sentimentality. I have done the same in my life, revisiting old schools, moments, hoping that all the elements were still there, but they never are. And sure, it is reassuring to know that my great aunt is there floating along with my grandmother right behind me, making sure I don’t stray too far, but I know those guys, so it’s not creepy to get a chill every now and again. Even at the Movie theater, the ghost was part of the family, he built the place, so we had an understanding—don’t kill me, and I won’t ruin the place you built.
These ghosts though, I don’t know them. They are steeped in grey mystery, and they walk around no matter the time of day reliving who knows what kind of memories. I didn’t know they existed for a while, so explaining a creak or a flickering light was pretty simple. Now I’m not sure what level or reality is actually at play here. My mind has started conjuring up images of coiffed women on the top of the stairs, quivering with the lights. I hear skirts rustling and I smell random whiffs of flowers that are not in the Glade airspray.
I tell myself that I have been all right so far, but being alone in there has started giving me the shivers and even daylight can’t protect me. All I know is I won’t be critiquing those photos out loud.
I don’t really have a place at school to present this in any way, so I thought I would throw this raw piece over here, to drum up some content and to expose my current freak out. As if this semester wasn’t going to be stressful enough!