Hey, we’re halfway through the month! It’s been more difficult this year for some reason. I get into odd moods that make it hard to write. Then I search for something, anything, just to keep my promise, rise to my challenge. Tonight’s story is another grim one; I’m sorry, I’m trying to find whimsical, but it’s hiding from me right now. This one was perhaps inspired by a production I watched last night of the Ibsen play Ghosts. A woman who sacrifices for all of her family, who gives her life away to others, but is somehow seen by all of them as the villain. It’s made me very thoughtful today. So tonight I give you a story about…ghosts.

GHOST HOUSE

Dawn pushed open the door with trepidation. It was the first time she’d been in the house since…since…she didn’t like to think about it. The door stuck. She pushed harder, and almost fell into the house. It was dark and smelled musty, not like she remembered at all. Mother always had the windows open, the breeze blowing through. According to her best friend, though, Mother had changed. Sitting in the dark by herself with all the windows cranked tight. When had she changed? Sheila shrugged. She hadn’t been over in some time. Mother didn’t want her to come by. Which was why the urgent call caught her so much by surprise.

The lights worked when she clicked the switch; the house was in disrepair. Everything was covered with dust. Mother hadn’t cleaned in years, it looked like. What had she been doing, all alone in the house? There were rat tracks in the dust, and Dawn shuddered. Time to bring in a cat…or maybe just burn down the house. It would be easier than sorting through this…mess.

The funeral had been…surreal. People Dawn hadn’t seen in years coming up to console her. For what? She hadn’t seen her mother since she was eighteen. Mother never called, and Dawn never called. They didn’t have anything to say to each other. They each nursed their own wounds and didn’t share their pain with anyone. Until the day Mother reached out to Sheila, her best friend that she drove away five years ago, told her never to come back. Sheila arrived at the house to find Mother hanging from a hook in the kitchen. She was too late. All she could do was be with her as the ambulance took her to the hospital where she died.

Dawn stood in the center of the living room, unsure. What should she do? The house was hers. Everything in the house was hers. Mother didn’t have anyone else to leave it to, so she left it to her only child, the daughter she hated ever since…ever since…she didn’t like to think about it. I suppose I should have it appraised, she thought. Put it on the market. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to live here. I have a life of my own.

She heard a noise on the porch. It was Brandon. “Come on in, it’s not locked.”

Brandon peeked into the living room. “It’s dark in here. It smells…wow. Did Grandma really live here?” He opened drawers and looked under the sofa cushions, never one to be shy about intruding. “This is where you grew up? No wonder you hate Grandma.”

“I…don’t…hate your grandmother. I just…I didn’t have anything to say to her.” She yanked on a window; it creaked open and sunlight poured in. “I grew up here, but it didn’t look like this then. It was…bright. Clean. It didn’t smell bad.”

Brandon picked up a picture. “Hey! It’s you!”

Dawn grabbed it. “Let me see that.” The picture was her. It was when she was in high school. She just won an FFA trophy, and she stood with her arms around the neck of her prize winning goat, a huge grin on her face. She wore the trophy on her head like a hat. She was silly back in those days.

“You did FFA? Wow. That’s so…unfeminine.”

“It’s not. Lots of girls did FFA.”

“I know. I just didn’t think…you…did.” Brandon cocked his head at his mother. “You always look so…turned out. So…perfect. You don’t…I mean…I’ve never even seen you in jeans.” He stared at her, noticing the red suffuse her cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…help me, will you? I need to…” Dawn tried to figure out something she needed to do to divert Brandon’s attention from her. “I need to…sort. Things.”

“Okay. We’ll…sort.” Brandon watched her. She wasn’t fooling him. “Where do you want me to…sort.”

“The…bedroom. I guess.”

Brandon headed upstairs while Dawn poked around in the kitchen. There were a few dishes she might find useful; the rest she would donate. She picked up the frying pan; Mother kept it? It still had the dent…the dent the size and shape of Albert’s head. She dropped it, not able to hold on as memories flooded back.

“Mom?” Brandon raced downstairs, shocked to see his mother on her knees in the dirty kitchen, tears running down her cheeks. The dented frying pan beside her seemed to have triggered some memory. He was carrying another memory. He didn’t know what memory it was, but he could tell. Grandma had kept it all these years…a pink dress…a prom dress, it looked like. It was torn and bloody. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

The tears flooded her cheeks and ran down Brandon’s shirt as he cradled her in his arms. He dropped the dress behind him; he suspected it might be more than she could handle right now. Something happened. He knew that; he’d seen it for years. The sudden catch in her throat, the look in her eyes, the way she turned away whenever he asked her about his father…“Mom?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…come here. I should have…just…signed up a realtor and sold the house. But I had to…see…I wish I hadn’t.”

The light from the doorway was blocked. Someone was in the house. Sheila knelt in the dirty kitchen and put her arms around Dawn. “It’s all right”, she crooned. “He’s not here. He’s gone. We…sent him…away.”

“He’s gone”, Dawn screamed. “I killed him! I killed him…and my mother…and…she…” She rocked and cried.

Brandon grabbed the frying pan. Whatever it was, he wanted it out of there. It was upsetting her. He took the dress with him, but Dawn stopped him.

“What is that?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me see.” She held out her hands. He shoved the dress behind his back, but she insisted. He held it out to her and turned away, not able to look. “That’s…I can’t believe…she kept this…or this.” Dawn picked up the frying pan and bashed the dress, hitting it over and over, spending her rage on inanimate objects. She couldn’t hurt them, not like she hurt…her mother. Killed her mother.

“You didn’t kill her.” Sheila helped her to her feet and took her outside. “Here, you need air.”

“I killed her. If I stayed…if I…faced it…if I…”

“She wasn’t well. Even before.” Sheila hesitated; should she tell secrets? She needed to. Dawn was on the verge of collapse. “She…she had been in and out of the hospital a lot when she was a teen. She was…barely holding on…when you left. She would have…her demons…would have escaped anyway, even if you stayed. I’m surprised she lasted so long. None of us thought she’d be around for another 30 years after you left.”

Brandon hovered. The women seemed to understand each other; he had no idea what they were talking about. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he wanted to help his mother. He urged her to the porch swing, a swing that looked precarious. It hadn’t been used in a long time. They sat gingerly.

“I…” Dawn stammered. “You…you have…a right…to…know. I…I…killed…your…father.”

This was not what he expected. He jumped up and sat back down; jumped up again. “What?”

“That…frying pan. I…killed him. Hit him…I did it.”

“Don’t.” Sheila tried to stop her.

“No, I have to. There are too many ghosts. I must…exorcise them.” She gulped; she was frightened. “I…it was…my prom night. I…went to the prom…I…when I came home, he was home. He wasn’t usually home on Saturday night, but he was home. He was…drunk. He…lunged. I…tried to run…he…caught me. He…ripped…my dress. He…” She stopped. She couldn’t continue.

“He…raped you?” Brandon finished. “Who was he?”

“He was her step-father”, Sheila said. “Your grandmother’s second husband. And she did not kill him.”

“I did. I hit him…with the frying pan. I…hit him…it was too late…I was already…pregnant. I…I had found out…that morning. I…hated him. But Mother…needed him. She couldn’t live by herself. And I killed him. I killed her.”

“He was still alive.” Sheila decided it was time to tell the whole story. “After you left, he came around. He was angry. His head was bloody, but it wasn’t a fatal wound, just enough to knock him out. He…we came in…I…we saw you…run out. It was the first time she was able to admit…what was happening. He…came out of the kitchen. He was…he was…he started hitting her…hitting me…he kicked her and yelled at her, accused her of driving you away. I…I can’t forget the look on her face, the terror, the anger, the hatred. She…picked up the frying pan and hit him…once. Twice. Three times. He fell. She kept hitting him. She…she couldn’t stop. He…he died on the way to the hospital. I…I told the police what happened. They didn’t arrest her. They called it self-defense. They never knew she didn’t kill him because he hit her. Every man she ever knew hit her. She killed him because of you.”

“Because of me? But…I thought…she hated me. Because…he…he…” Dawn couldn’t continue. She broke down again. Brandon put his arms around her and glared at Sheila.

“Why’d you have to call? Why couldn’t you just…I don’t know, ignore us? Let her alone? Why’d you have to bring her back here?”

Because she needed release.” Sheila brushed off the dust from her slacks. “She couldn’t continue thinking she killed him. That’s why her mother…killed herself. She heard…through a friend…about Dawn’s break down, about her hospitalization.”

“Wait. What hospitalization?” Brandon was startled.

“He…didn’t know.” Dawn gasped. “I…told him…I was away…on business. I often go away…on business…so he didn’t have to know.” She glared at Sheila. “I didn’t want him to know.”

“I’m sorry.” Sheila was genuine. “But…you have to…let go of the ghosts.” She turned to Brandon. “So many women have ghosts…and the men don’t even know. We hide our ghosts so well…but they are there.”

“Do you have ghosts?” Brandon wanted to put her on the spot. He held her responsible for his mother’s tears.

“Yes. They are very similar ghosts to Dawn’s.” Sheila sat next to Dawn. “He was…he was a very…busy…man.”

Dawn put her arms around Sheila. “I didn’t know. I suspected…but Mother…wouldn’t…she couldn’t…be honest. She needed him too badly.”

“Your mother believed a woman wasn’t a woman without a man. She never saw herself as a full woman again.” Sheila looked sad. “She never understood that she could be a woman in herself. You figured that out. I’m glad for you.”

“I…” Dawn wiped her eyes and sat up. “I…can’t stay here. I need to…get back to the light. Back to the city where things are…different. Not here.”

“I understand. I can clean up the house if you like, send you anything you want. I suppose you’ll want to sell it?”

“I…don’t want anyone to have to live with those ghosts. I…feel them. Just walking in the door. They surround me.”

“No one else will feel the ghosts. They are your ghosts…you will never have to come here again if you don’t want to.” Sheila put on her most gentle voice. Too many women had been destroyed by one man. She almost was, but managed to pick herself up before she slipped into the blackness that swallowed her best friend…and her best friend’s daughter.

Brandon held onto Dawn as they walked to the car, leaving behind the house of pain. His world was shattered, but he realized, watching his mother, not as shattered as hers. He only had to hear about it; she had to live it. He thought about his wife, the wonderful woman who shared his home, and the ghosts she carried with her, ghosts so much like his mother’s. He never told his mother about Nicole’s experiences; he didn’t think she would understand. Now maybe it was time for the two women to…get to know each other. Maybe they could…hold each other up…or something.

“Mom?” He helped her into the car. “Let’s go get an ice cream soda.” He was rewarded by a faint smile as he tried to soothe her with the same method she had used with him so many times. The only thing is, ice cream sodas, while good for skinned knees and bashed noses were not enough for the bigger things. She would need a lot more healing.

“Let’s go.” Dawn faced front, not looking at the broken shell of a house rising beside her. “Let’s go…leave the ghosts behind.”