A - Adoption

Late 1979 found me comfortably ensconced in my own apartment (with two roommates), a twenty-two year old with a cool job as an assistant manager at a fast food restaurant.  We'd buried my father earlier that year, and my mother had become a partner in a woman's clothing business.

One evening I had stumbled in from a long day of flipping burgers (when the customer weren't flipping me off) to answer the ringing phone.

"You've got to come over here and stop her," my eighteen year-old sister yelled.

"Stop who from what?"

"Mom!"

"What's she doing?"

"Adopting a ghost."

"Do what?"

I took several minutes to pry the story from Deborah's hysterics.  My dear mother, who polite society would have referred to as "eccentric," (if we'd lived in polite society) had watched a television show featuring a medium who, for a fee, would perform a séance in people's homes inviting a restless spirit to reside there as well.

The medium claimed several advantages in the adoption.  The benefit for the ghost was obvious, a home of his or her own to haunt rather than the cold, dreary graveyard.  The advantages to the homeowner included the fact that even when you were alone, you weren't alone.  Second, no one would dare rob a haunted home.  The ghost would make sure of that.  And, if none of those reasons made sense, just think of the sheer novelty of having a ghost join the party.

"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked.

"Stop her!"

"How?"

"Any way you can." 

"You're going to have to do better than that, Deborah?"

She dramatically cleared her throat.  "You may not have heard me, but our dear mother is about to blow two thousand dollars on a bunch of mumbo jumbo."

"It's her money.  If she wants to burn it, she can."

"You come over here tomorrow night for the séance then."

"I'm working tomorrow night."

"Then you come over Sunday.  And you'd better be here."  She abruptly hung up.

I still don't know what to expect that Sunday evening, a happy mother and wretched sister maybe.  I certainly didn't expect to see Trina our collie, barking around a circle of air in the living room.

"Trina," I said.  "What are you doing girl?  Come over here and say hello."

She cried out, tucked her tail between her legs and retreated to the back of the house.

"Trina?  What-the-hell's wrong with you?"

"It's Mr. Scott," my sister said, arms folded, emerging from the kitchen.

"Mr. Scott?"

"The ghost."

Hmmm?  What?  "You believe in him?"

"Oh, he's real all right, and he loves harassing Trina.  You're going to believe in him too."

I laughed.  "Oh, I doubt that."

The glass chandelier became wind chimes ... chiming like hell, but with no wind.
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And Mega thanks to Arlee Bird!!!