The Restless Ghost

Written by Tom Fowler, Published on 2/6/2009

Ernestine “Mama” McCormick was one day shy of her 100th birthday. Tomorrow, Michael, Connie and her two grandchildren would celebrate.

But, that was tomorrow. Now, she had other things on her mind. It was a few minutes before midnight and the familiar sounds coming from the downstairs den were especially loud. Ernestine was a strong, spiritual person and she felt the presence of her deceased husband’s spirit within the large house. She was convinced that it was Mike who visited the den every night after she retired to her bed.

Hidden within a false wall in their home were rare and valuable gold coins -- coins that Mike had obtained in Africa shortly after the war. Mike had cherished the coins, and Ernestine sensed, or thought she sensed, that Mike was struggling to obtain them. She feared setting the coins out for him, lest he leave with them and not return. How a ghost would do this, she did not know. But his absence was something she dreaded.

Every morning, Ernestine would survey the den. Sometimes, she could tell the room had been disturbed. Ernestine would not allow the maid to dust the den for this reason. One morning she had noticed the dust collecting on the gas cutoff feeding the fireplace. Near it, several magazines on the large coffee table had been strewn about the richly finished wood floor. Ernestine suspected the cause to be strong drafts drawn by the huge fireplace – or was it indeed Mike’s ghost thrashing about in frustration? Ernestine kept the “gas key,” which was the key to the disguised den wall safe, hanging on the wall upstairs. She learned long ago that Mike’s spirit would not come upstairs – or anywhere near her.

Ernestine took the presence of Mike’s spirit seriously. The family mansion, which had been constructed in the late 1950s, still had the old-fashioned light switches it was originally built with. She kept these because of the loud click they made when flipped on or off. As far as she could recall, she had never heard a light switch go on or off in the middle of the night. She also refused to change the arrangement of furniture or the placement of pictures on the mansion’s many walls. In her mind, if it was Mike, she wanted him to feel at home.

But nearing 100, Ernestine knew her senses could not be all that trustworthy. She asked herself often: Is Mike truly with me, or is it an old lady’s wishful thinking? All of this ran through Ernestine’s mind as she lay silently in bed.

The next day, Michael and Connie were the first to arrive in the middle of the morning. Their children, Casey and Ellen, arrived early in the afternoon. The McCormick family was not just any family. The late Mike McCormick, Sr. was the founder of McCormick Plastics and had made his fortune in the years following World War II, when the nation’s appetite for all things plastic became insatiable. McCormick Plastics was a multi-billion dollar global corporation, and had been since the early 1960s. McCormick had offices and factories all over the world. Michael, Jr. and his brothers held key posts with the corporation.

By the middle of the afternoon, Mama Ernestine, as she was called, was holding court in the dining room. A light lunch was being catered and she was up for the occasion. She was in excellent health physically and had lost none of her formidable mental faculties. As the family sat around the table, she silently took stock of those she loved dearly.

Sadly, she reflected that her 65-year-old son, Michael, appeared to be in poor health. Michael was at least 40 pounds overweight and in the early stages of emphysema, caused by many years of smoking. He was chronically nearsighted and wore glasses so thick the lenses appeared to be coke bottle bottoms. As if reading his mother’s mind, he said, “I can see OK with the glasses, but cannot see well in the dark anymore, even with them on. I don’t know what we would do without our driver.”

Ernestine smiled and kept her concerns to herself. She asked daughter-in-law, Connie, how she was doing. Connie had suffered polio in the 1950s epidemic and one leg was shorter than the other. She walked unevenly and with the help of a cane an elevated shoe. Connie replied, “I’m getting along OK, but the doc tells me to wear hard soled and heeled shoes at all times to avoid bone spurs.” Connie laughed, “This big shoe feels like a bowling ball sometimes but I’m not complaining. At least I can get around.” Ernestine nodded. Connie’s ability to laugh at herself was something she admired very much.

She turned to Casey, her 36-year-old grandson. Casey was the free spirit in the family and it showed today. Casey had arrived at the McCormick house wearing a tank top, baggy military fatigue trousers and heavy soled boots. He had a small plastic bag with a change of socks and underwear. That was all he brought with him. Ernestine teased him, “Are you a Rambo wannabe?” The good natured Casey grinned back at her and said, “I suppose so.”

Next, Ernestine surveyed Ellen. Ellen was 29 and an accomplished ballet dancer. Ernestine figured there was no way she could weigh more than 90 pounds. Ernestine considered that she would have made an excellent spy or cat burglar. She was able to appear and disappear unnoticed, so graceful and quiet were her body movements. She asked Ellen, “How is the dancing going?”

“It’s going great, Mama. I’ve been able to raise several thousand dollars for the McCormick Foundation since last time I saw you.” Ernestine was fiercely proud of her granddaughter. She motioned for her to come closer. She kissed Ellen on the cheek and said, “Dear, I’m so proud of you! Keep up the good work.”

The family had a wonderful visit over the late lunch. A light dinner and birthday cake would be enjoyed later. Before retiring for an afternoon nap, Ernestine decided it was time to tell them of her suspicions concerning their grandfather’s ghost.

“Now, all of you will think this is the rambling of an old lady. Maybe it is, but hear me out. You’ve heard me speak of your grandfather’s African coins. We even showed them to you once when you younger ones were kids. Well, they are not in a safety deposit box like we told you – they are in a hidden safe in the den. The keyhole for the fireplace gas valve in the den is really the lock to the safe. That’s where the coins are. Several times a week … most nights, really, I hear noises down there, as if your grandfather is trying to get to the safe. Everyone was polite enough not to scoff at Mama Ernestine’s story. That night, they enjoyed Mama’s party. Everyone was in bed by 11:00 p.m.

Sure enough, around 2:00 a.m., Ernestine heard noises in the night, only this time they were different. She heard the faint creaking of a door and felt the quiet and steady -- but heavy -- footsteps on the hardwood floors. She thought she heard the clicking of metal on metal downstairs. Ernestine didn’t know what to think and did not sleep the remainder of the night.

In the morning, upon inspection of the den and wall safe, her fears were confirmed. Sitting on the sofa and pondering the situation for a few minutes, she realized what had happened: Someone had stolen the gold coins.

With great agitation, she called the family together before breakfast. She held her temper long enough to explain what happened and, showing them the empty wall safe, said, “I know who did this.” Pointing to the guilty person, she said, heatedly, “Shame on you! Why did you do this?”