Ghost jobs

I am careful not to jinx anything but it’s looking like Girl Wonder and her Handsome Husband have found a house — old with amazing character and “good bones.” The house is also exactly what you would expect of any child of mine: It’s a rescue. Accordingly, the first question she gets when showing photos of the looming 150-year-old manse is “Is it haunted?”

To this we say, “Gosh we hope so!” Friendly ghosts only, of course; see also: orbs, spirits or just a general vibe of happiness. From the moment we set foot in the house she is trying to purchase, it felt “happy.” I felt the same way about our old house in 1996, and it hasn’t proven wrong. I think homes have a sense of “being” for lack of a better word. I’ve been in some that felt dark and heavy. I wouldn’t stay there if they were free. Others are happy houses.

Haunted

I’ve been told for almost three decades that my house is haunted. Prior occupants have visited just to tell me about their own experiences here. Nothing overtly scary, really, just funny little anecdotes. We’ve had some instances of toddlers talking to “that man over there” while pointing in the direction of an empty corner. One former resident explained that our “ghost” doesn’t like alcohol or gambling. This was evident when their card parties were regularly interrupted with beer bottles spilled and cards sent flying. There was no word if heavy alcohol use may have something to do with that “haunting.” I’m just saying. As someone who doesn’t gamble at home — or anywhere, actually — I’ve had no issues. Of course, as much as I’m not necessarily bothered by the idea of ghosts, if they exist, I’m also not really open to hauntings. I like myself just fine. I tend to think I’m a delight. I don’t need anyone trying to contact or redeem me from the afterlife.

Honestly, I’d like to think that if spirits are real, they’ve earned the right to be left alone. I hope if I’m a ghost I don’t get roped into one of those ghost jobs. I don’t wanna spend my afterlife teaching some modern-day Scrooge the error of his ways. I feel like I spent a big chunk of my adult life being a role model for people. I’m done trying to shape people’s souls and psyches.

I just wanna float around, maybe walk through walls and catch up with my people and pets. I’m not willing to wait for the afterlife to hang around and moan about my existence. I’d rather do that now. What’s the point of waiting until the end? Furthermore, I don’t want to have to haunt an old private school or an abandoned asylum or whatever is trending among hauntings. I would just spend my days reading, visiting my old haunts — like what I did there? — maybe wafting around a thrift store. When someone shows up, I might just rattle a chain or something so they aren’t disappointed, but I’m not going all out.

Finally, I don’t want to have to work as a poltergeist either — that seems like hard work. All the time spent possessing stuff, waiting for a new family to move in, random noise-making. Then you have to cater your otherworldly antics to their specific fears. Frankly, it sounds exhausting.

I also want credit for having completely avoided using the pun “ghost writer” in this essay. Although, I was sorely tempted.

If I have to hang around in the afterlife, I want to be a ghost that naps. People will make their bed all smooth, I take a ghost nap, then people come back to their room and bed is all of a kerfuffle. That seems like harmless fun.

The most otherworldly effort I’m interested in would be that if I’m a ghost, I’m willing to knock objects off of tables and mantels, perhaps try to gently trip people going down the stairs.

On the other hand, that position is already filled. We already have an entity that does that. He’s very much alive and willing to bedevil anyone. He is a cat.