Ghosts and Agatha

I: A Dead Sister and a Dead Cat

My grandfather was a grumpy old man.

He wore steel-rimmed glasses and his mouth was cluttered with pale brown teeth. When he smiled, he reminded me of a grinning skull, and the reason for that must have been because he rarely did smile, making the sight seem foreign and therefore rather alarming.

Grandfather was clasping a hot cup of coffee with one of his decrepit hands. Plumes of steam were billowing out of the mug and had clouded his glasses until his eyes were obscured by thick condensation. Grandfather grumbled, abandoning the steering wheel completely and pulling out a handkerchief from his pants' pocket before scrubbing the layer of misty water off of his lenses.

His beaten-down truck that I was miserably sitting inside lurched because of Grandfather neglecting the steering wheel, and he instinctively released his grip on the handkerchief and turned the controls in front of him sharply, causing one of the tires to skid and nearly making the truck spin off the road in the process.

Satisfied by how the vehicle hadn't yet crumbled into tiny fragments, Grandfather rolled down his window, decorated in cobwebs, and poured the rest of the coffee onto the road. Clearing his throat, he situated the empty coffee mug into the cup holder underneath the stereo and unsealed the glove compartment so he could retract a lighter.

Grandfather withdrew a cigarette from his charcoal coat pocket and slid it between his index and middle finger. Slotting his cigarette into his crinkled lips, he rolled his thumb over the crest of the lighter and a pinprick of fire burned at the end of the cigarette. Grandfather inhaled, resulting in a wheeze to emit from his throat.

Grandfather stared at the grey ash trickling out of the end of his cigarette and watched as it landed in his lap. He coughed throatily as wisps of smoke snaked through his teeth in thick tendrils, and swelled into large clouds until the air felt dense and drained of oxygen. As Grandfather tossed the cigarette butt carelessly out the window, the truck we were situated inside took a sharp turn and came to a halt.

Grandfather opened his car door, grumbling to himself again as he pocketed his car keys and fished out another cigarette. Grandfather's thin arm leaned against his ash walking stick and he trundled to my side of the truck. Tugging open the door, he stubbed his cigarette against the concrete wall enclosing the driveway and flicked the remains of it onto the ground. Grandfather coughed again, and raised one of his bushy eyebrows.

"Well come on, then," he said impatiently, motioning with his lanky arm for me to exit the truck. "Today would be good."

I was casting a glare at him as I hopped out of the car, but Grandfather didn't notice my expression. He was already shuffling away, relying on his walking stick to keep him upright. After a few minutes of that he eventually ascended the deck, where my grandmother was sitting on her favourite wicker rocking chair.

Grandmother had curls of salt-and-pepper hair tossed upon her forehead. Her skin was wrinkled, as if she had submerged underneath a pool of chlorine for decades, and she had a large amount of tissue encased beneath her pale arms. Grandmother's irises were a shiny doe-brown, and she wore a dress embroidered with intricate patterns, which were made of infinitely coloured cotton.

Grandmother had two cats coiled upon her lap: Cheshire and Chester. Cheshire had been named after a crumbly cheese that was originally made in Cheshire, England - where my grandparents lived. Cheshire's county town was Chester; hence the name of Grandmother's other cat. Chester's cream fur contrasted Cheshire's sleek black one.

I didn't know what Grandmother was thinking when she named them, choosing those names most likely because she loved the town she lived in, or enjoyed reading Alice in Wonderland so much that the fact that Cheshire's name was the same as her town's was merely a coincidence.