Well, last week, I told you a story about how a ghost haunted my apartment. This week, I’ll tell you about a ghost that visited me and gave me a message. It was a really bad message and I didn’t even know it was bad until it slipped past my lips and into the phone receiver…but first.
Let’s talk some more about ghosts, man.
Did you know that when ghosts return to haunt, that they haunt the place they knew? Not the place as it is now. For example, let’s say you purchase a lovely Victorian house and add a wall where there was none before. The ghost will now seem like it’s walking through the wall, but it’s not! It’s walking where it remembers. That’s some freaky shit.
Not as freaky as when my great grandfather died and we got a lot of his stuff. One weird thing we got were some lamps that were his and an alarm clock. (This is not the ghost story, by the way). So, we had this landing and we had an awesome dog that would sleep on the landing. I miss that dog, he was one of the good ones. But, I’d hear him get up and sneak back down the stairs at some strange hour.
Then, you will not believe it, my great grandfather’s lights came on AND his alarm went off. It was some ungodly hour, like four fifteen in the morning. My mother yelled at me the next day, because she just knew I set the alarms, but I didn’t. I was too afraid to get up because I heard something rustling in my room, along the floor. Turns out, it was a mouse.
Next night, after swearing I didn’t do it and showing her the alarm clock was off and unplugged, the same thing happened. All his lamps came on and the alarm clock went off. There was some discussion in my parent’s bedroom-they were pissed-and I think my mother said something like, “Throw that shit out, Raymond.” Whenever she addressed my dad by his full government name, my sister and I hid under the blankets because that meant she was pissed.
“Nothing wrong with this, it’s just Tracy messing around.” Dad said.
“It’s not Tracy.” Mom said.
“It’s not me. There’s a mouse in my room.” I squealed.
Long silence then, “Fine, we’ll get rid of it tomorrow.”
Freaky shit happened because those lamps stayed in the house, along with the alarm clock. My great grandfather was not going anywhere. And those lights still came on and the alarm clock came on, even when it was unplugged.
But let’s get to the crust of the biscuit.
When I lived with my ex husband, in an old apartment building, I felt like I was more clairvoyant than normal. I felt like there was some block that was lifted from my mind after I had my daughter and weird things would happen to me in dreams.
So, one night, I have this dream about my grandma’s sister. I’m in her kitchen and she’s baking. I asked her why was I there and what was I doing there. She told me that she couldn’t get in touch with my grandma. I’m like, “Oh, so you just thought to reach out to me?”
“Well, you have the gift like her, so it was easy.” She said.
Are you freaked out yet? Hold on…
“Looks like you’re cooking. What are you making?” I asked her.
She bent over and put something in the oven, then, she sat at a table and looked at me, “I have a message for your grandmother. Tell her I’m baking an apple pie and I’m going home. Just like that. Tell her that I’m going home.”
I said it back to her. She smiled and then everything kinda disappeared.
The next day, I was cooking in the kitchen, when I remembered the dream. I called my grandmother and told her exactly what happened in my dream.
She dropped the phone. Then, she started crying.
My grandfather picked up the phone and snapped at me, “What did you say?”
I told him, “Her sister said to tell her that she was baking an apple pie and she was going home.”
Boy was I dumb.
“Well, Tracy.” He sighed a long time before he said something else.
“What?” I’m thinking I’ve killed my grandma or something.
“In the South, there’s a saying. When someone says they’re ‘going home’ that means they are going to die. And your grandma’s sister died this morning. She was in the hospital and your grandma didn’t get to see her.”
I felt lower than a bow legged toad.
“Jeez, Grandad. I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He was nice, but I was waiting for him to say something else. He didn’t. He just hung up the phone and comforted my grandma.
I know that when I lived in two specific old buildings in Pittsburgh, the dead would speak to me all the time. Now, in Washington, DC, I’ve had my dead grandfather (my maternal step grandfather) visit me once and tell me to tell my grandma (maternal) where to find something. When I told her, she found whatever it was and was like, “Well, tell him I said thank you.”
My paternal grandma visited me a few times. She got mad at me because I kept hugging her and told her I wouldn’t let her go. I really miss both my grandmas.
I wonder if they can’t find me or if they can and that’s why they visit. Like lately, I had some dreams that I was stuck at my grandma (maternal)’s house. I went outside the house and couldn’t go anywhere because I’d be right back inside the house. My mother said that it was my family trying to protect me from something. Hell, even my aunt appeared in the dream and made me go back in the house.
October brings out something strange in me. I think the veil is thinner between the living and the dead this month. The problem is the veil is thin between me and the dead all year round. Maybe that’s why I try not to sleep too deep. I’m actually afraid of being visited because let’s face it, after last year, I’m done with talking to the dead.
Give me some peace.