Mrs. Cundieff's Ghost Story

"I was unpacking books upstairs,” she began. “Everything was still in boxes. I was so involved in the project, I distinctly remember, not coming down for lunch. Don was hanging a chandelier in the foyer which required multiple trips to the hardware store.”

I was at the Hotel Fairmont to spend time with my godchild and her mother but Mrs. Cundieff was in a mood.

“At dinner I asked Don how his day was and he said fine except Fanny kept getting out. See, Fanny’s quarters are limited to the old wing of the house. But Don kept coming home to the cat on the storm porch.”

Don, also in the room, mhmmed. “Swears every time he put her back in the master and locked the door. Then he’d get back from the store and she’d be on the porch once more. Swooning. That’s when I knew.” Mrs. Cundieff had been lying down on the bed but she sat up now and crossed her legs. I was sitting on the floor.

“The worst thing I can say about having a ghost in the house is that it’s inconvenient. Plugs coming out of sockets, lamps on that shouldn’t be. I’m just glad she hasn’t discovered the disposal.” “So you think it’s a girl,” I asked, now curious.

“Oh, I know it’s a girl," she answered. "She wears this distinct perfume. A real pungent eau d’toilette that makes your nose burn. Like flowers on fire.”

“Besides, Don swears he saw her once. Says that he was in the kitchen and saw a young and slender thing glide by out of the corner of his eye. He thought it was me at first, because he’s sweet, but I was in the garden.”

I shivered. Don smiled.

“I never felt threatened except for once. Don was out and it was late. I was walking through the dining room and heard an echo from the floorboards. I’d take a step then hear a step, a little softer. I got as far as the kitchen door and said, ‘We need an agreement. You can stay. But you can’t be scary. I won’t stand for scary in my own house.’ And it pretty much stopped, except for once.”

“I was in the shower and I smelled her. Loud and clear over my shampoo. And I shouted over the water, ‘What do you think of my azaleas?’”

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My friend has a picture of his wife's C-section on his camera phone.