Halloween came early this year.

Halloween came early this year.

For the history on Miss Abigail Forrest and Captain Jonah Heisson, please see "The house with five doors" Contest 251.

Behind the old Victorian house I bought last year is a small one-room church with a Civil War era cemetery. There are twenty-eight gravestones in the yard. Three of the graves are empty.

It didn’t taken long before I met Abigail Forrest, a lady, or more precise, a lady of the evening who had lived in the house soon after the Civil War. She had allowed me to read her diary and the letters to the son who had been taken from her mere minutes after his birth. I then met her son, Captain “Jonah” Heisson. He reluctantly allowed me to read his diary as well and the story of how he had searched for his birth mother. On occasion Abigail’s brother Timothy, who had died during the Civil War, would join us as well. The three ghosts taught me how to play whist. I taught them how to play Scrabble.

Recently our town council approved the conversion of the little church into an events center. It’s a mystery to me what type of events will be held there. The building is, of course, not licensed for alcohol and not big enough to accommodate anything more than the tiniest wedding reception, a poetry reading or a book signing by unknown but hopeful authors. That sort of thing.

For the past several months, since late winter, the four of us have kept a wary eye on the progress. Restrooms, and a catering room were added to the back of the church. Laying the sewer pipe and connecting it to the main has taken most of the summer. I am not really looking forward to the simultaneous occurrence of an event and a downpour since my sewer connects a tad further downstream from the new addition.

Mid-September, many of the old oak trees in the cemetery were cut down. A week later, a Bobcat bulldozer came and dug up all the graves. That evening fourteen disoriented and disgruntled Civil War veterans, five couples, who had hoped never to see each other again and one angelic four-year-old girl wandered through my yard and peeked in the windows asking for shelter.

Captain Jonah’s many years at sea, managing rough whaling crew was quite helpful since he hadn’t lost any of his authority, which was quite sexy, really. His brother-in-law Sergeant Timothy Forrest was still a very capable drill instructor.

Since none of the ladies were looking to spend any quality time with their husbands’ spirits, they moved into my attic. Abby and the little girl, Elsa, found a home the small bedroom next to the study. Captain Jonah assured everyone that his place was in his study. I have wondered, though, why my bedroom was always so much colder at night.

I quickly placed a large order with Amazon for sweaters, hoodies, socks, and slippers. Eight ghosts in residence make for astronomical heating bills and I now wear more clothes in the house than outside.

The rest of the small militia, the fourteen veterans, five discarded husbands plus Sergeant Forrest, moved into what used to be the church. Since all veterans had been buried with their weapons, they entertained themselves with sword fights. I scrounged around on eBay and found five reasonable replicas of pre-Civil War era swords.

According to Sergeant Timothy, even the husbands were rapidly gaining dexterity, agility, and accuracy. He did advise me that the men were getting restless and were voicing a need to avenge their uprooting and the demolition of their resting places.

I petitioned the town council to refrain from putting up a parking lot where the graveyard had been and begged them to restore the headstones. I even invited the council to meet some of the veterans. Abigail, little Elsa, and my dog Sam, who had grown quite fond of the tiny ghost, accompanied me, but their efforts were pooh-poohed as cheap party tricks.

I was told, however, that the first event in the converted church, the October town council meeting, was scheduled for October 17, two weeks before Halloween. Since the council meetings are open to the public, I informed them that I planned to attend, but I did not tell them that I would bring some friends

Even though the weather was still quite comfortable for the middle of October, I came prepared wearing boots, a hoodie, gloves, and a parka. The dozen or so members of the town council and a few other guests complained about the frightfully inadequate heating in the old church. Voices were raised, questions shouted. Didn’t the council consider installing a furnace? How are year-round events to be managed under these conditions? How much more money would be spent on this project? Noses were not only out of joint, but they were also sniffling and running, fingers were turning blue, teeth, either natural, implanted or dentures, rattled.

Sergeant Timothy had stationed his men all around the room. Each, though eager for the show to begin, were holding their weapon hidden among their clothes. Abby and Elsa and my dog Sam had climbed up on the pulpit and were ready for the show. The ladies from the attic had taken over the catering room and were poised to “serve” the lemonade. Captain Jonah, leaning against the wall behind me, gave the impression of lazily surveying the room, but assured me he was ready to pull me out of harm’s way, should it come to that.

“Please, folks. Please. Shall we get started? We can figure out the budget and what needs to be done later. Please, may I have order? Folks!”

In an effort to gain control of the meeting, Mayor Pickings tried shouting over the mayhem and banged the gavel repeatedly but wasn’t making much headway.

Then Sergeant Timothy gave the signal. All swords were raised. The men had been busy polishing their old weapons. Nineteen swords gleamed and sparkled in the lamplight. Each man took a step forward and then another, tightening the circle. The good members of the town council were now surrounded by floating, recently honed swords.

Dead silence followed. Everybody froze. Granted, they were half frozen already, but fear has slowed the last of their blood, lungs seized, words failed. Except for a whimper from old man Caruthers and a swoon from Mrs. Partridge, nobody blinked.

The nineteen ghosts circled the frightened citizens, bopping and weaving, twisting, and turning in a slow-motion Danse Macabre that strangely resembles a Native American rain dance. They brandished their swords, swirling the shiny metal overhead and with a resounding clang smashing their weapons into its neighbor. Though the veterans were laughing, they managed to boo, wail and keen as well.

The five women step forward, tittering and cackling. Two pitchers with lemonade, one tray with cups, two plates with cookies floated through the air. Mrs. Pickens, the mayor’s wife, had thoughtfully ordered Halloween-themed cookies. Half the snacks were shaped and colored to resemble pumpkins, the others were, of course, ghosts.

Elsa giggled and clapped her hand, “Me too!” she yelled, begging for a cookie. The first one that was tossed up to the pulpit was snapped up by Sam. Elsa got her little hands on the second one.

The women ignored the town council and served the small army of spirits first. Each ghost took a cup and drank the lemonade. Exaggerating the dramatic effect by letting the liquid dribble to the floor, some splatters on poor Mrs. Partridge. Each man ate a cookie and let the crumbs, like the lemonade, fall to the floor.

My poor fellow townsmen were huddling closer and closer. Eyes bulging, gripping a hand, a thigh, or an arm of whoever was nearest, no matter their political affiliation.

“Tell them.” Captain Jonah, suppressing laughter, whispered in my ear. “Go ahead. I’m sure they’ll listen now.”

“Mr. Mayor, members of the town council.” I started, “By disturbing the graves of fourteen honorable Civil War veterans, five married couples and one young child, you have released their spirits among us. They ask to be given the respect they deserve and to be left in peace. Do not build that parking lot. Restore the markers and allow your ancestors to rest.”

I didn’t promise that all spirits would return to their grave. I didn’t bother explaining that since the earthly remains have been destroyed, the spirits no longer had a home to return to. Besides, most were having too much fun and would have lingered anyway. I didn’t mind having some of them around, I’m sure that, given time, the rest of the town would get used to them as well. They may come to see that in summer, having one in residence will be quite refreshing.

The home team waited, swords quivering overhead, a low, ominous moan floating through the room. We waited for the council to regain at least some of its wits. I saw a nod here, a blink there, a hesitant hand raised yonder. Someone tried to crawl over Mrs. Partridge. “Um, yes.” Mr. Tilson, the town secretary, started. He looked at all the raised swords, the puddles with soggy cookie crumbs, the shallow puffs of rapidly cooling breath from his fellow council members.

“I, um, I move that, um, that we restore and maintain the cemetery.”

“Second” whispered the mayor. A soft chorus of ayes follows.

Behind me, Captain Jonah chuffed with amusement. Sergeant Timothy gave another signal. All swords met over the heads of the cowering council members. With an arctic blast of frigid air, the cheer “Hurrah!” was clearly audible.

Whimpering, crying, and screaming like little girls, the council members fled the small building, dragging Mrs. Partridge with them.

When Captain Jonah produced a bottle of rum to share, we sat down to plan a celebration. It was quickly decided that two weeks would be plenty of time to stage a wonderful Halloween show.

Author’s note:

I really do have a small one-room, Civil War-era church behind my back yard. It truly is being converted into an events center. I honestly have watched the construction all spring and summer. However, I am happy to report that all graves are intact and well cared for. The three that would have been in the way of sewer and utility lines, were carefully moved, and re-interred before construction started.

Only myself and my (alive) neighbors were disturbed by the noise and inconvenienced by trucks and large equipment frequently blocking the road.