Ghosts

Part 1- The Shattered Lamp

I wake up to the sound of my parents fighting again. This time it ends with shattering glass. I begin to cry.

I am so tired and I just want it to stop. It has been nearly impossible to sleep through the night.

I consider rolling over and crying myself back to sleep, but now I can see the downstairs light flickering off and on from the doorway.

When will they stop annoying me? What did I do to deserve this anyway?

I know by now that it will not stop until I get up and go downstairs. Cursing, I throw off the covers, get up and make my way to the staircase. That part is relatively easy.

Navigating the steep Edwardian staircase is even more treacherous than usual with that light flickering and the hall light suddenly not working. I find myself going down one step at a time. Right foot down, left foot to the same stair- repeat seventeen times, just like when I was little. This was my habit for years, even after we moved away to a somewhat newer house which had a similarly steep, narrow staircase with no handrail. I often wonder if I actually fell down part of these stairs when I was little or was only afraid that I would. I guess I will never know. Now that my parents are both gone, who would I ask anyway?

The flickering light is in the living room so I turn left at the bottom of the stairs. As soon as I enter, every light downstairs plus the front porch light comes on. Ouch. I guess they want to make absolutely sure that I see the shattered glass lamp on the floor. 

Logically speaking, I don't understand how this could have happened. The remains of the lamp are lying across the room from the side table where it sat just a few hours ago, as if someone threw it there. I stand there staring at it dumbfounded for a few moments, sigh, go turn out the porch light, get the broom and dustpan, and begin sweeping up the mess. Bending closer, I see that the plug was apparently yanked out of the socket, its prongs splayed out at odd angles.

Why are you doing this to me? I ask aloud.

Of course, I get no answer. I'm half angry, mostly annoyed, and very perplexed.

Why break my lamp? I didn't even like it all that much.

The nightly torment from my early childhood memories halfway makes sense. They were traumatic and they did happen in this house. The lamp makes no sense- I don't remember any broken lamp. Maybe they just want to break things or watch me clean stuff up.

What? Did I leave my room a mess one too many times?

I know one thing for sure. I wasn't capable of throwing a lamp this heavy at that age so it wasn't something my parents would have been angry at me for. We moved out when I was five and a half.

My cat comes sauntering in, stretches, and sits at a safe distance, watching me sweep up the jagged glass. She seems to sleep through whatever I hear and whatever I see, even flickering lights. I thought cats were sensitive to ghosts, or poltergeists, or whatever these are, but apparently Chelsea isn't.

I am sure she couldn't have done this either. She could have knocked it off the table, of course, but no way would it have landed six feet away.

Did you do this? I ask her jokingly as I put the rest of the glass in the garbage can. Chelsea just follows me and says nothing.

In case you're wondering, I've never sleepwalked either. Logical explanations just don't apply to this situation- unless I'm starting to see and hear things only at night, while being completely normal and functional for work each day. Perplexing.

I sit the bent lamp shade back on the side table, turn the downstairs lights out and the hall light on. It works now.

Chelsea, come on, let's go back to sleep.

She follows with a quiet chirpy meow.

The house is completely quiet now, and the lights stay off. The only thing I hear is Chelsea purring softly and a police siren in the distance. Why break the lamp? I wonder, as I begin to sink into sleep.

"Get behind the couch NOW!" I clearly hear my mother shout. "I'm gonna throw this lamp at your father!"

I reflexively jump out of sleep, sitting upright, my heart pounding in my head and my body trembling, just as it did then. I remember now. They had been shouting at each other again. I was afraid my father would get hurt.

She missed him with the lamp. I didn't understand why the police came and told my dad he had to leave for the night. Why? She was the one who threw the lamp, not him.

I had been angry at her, despite the hot chocolate she made for us after. I didn't like her having my daddy sent away.

Later, I understood the abuse my mother took, physically and emotionally. I understood that she was trying to keep him at a safe distance and to protect me. I heard them fight plenty of times, but they were very careful that I not see any physical fighting (or physical affection) between them. 

I spent a lot of time in my room.

I also came to understand just how terrible they were to each other most of the time. The emotional abuse was not one-sided.

I pet Chelsea which helps me calm down and I finally fall asleep till morning. 

I wake up very relieved that today is Saturday. I need a day off work, even if it's only working from home during this pandemic.