Ghosted

Terrance watched the two women enter and tour his house. They didn’t notice him. He’d called it home his whole life. He built it. He only occupied it now. Terrance was a ghost.

He’d seen the rental agent, Peyton, over the years. She came on the scene after he vacated the premises. Being an absentee landlord, his son deferred to Peyton.

The prospective tenant was a young woman, smartly dressed.

Terrance chided himself. “Everyone looks young to you, old fool…”

He sensed she was high strung despite her professional, relaxed demeanor with Peyton.

The house, with a small acreage, fruit trees and a garden, came up for rent every few years through no fault of Terence’s. People move for reasons of their own. He minded his own business. Terrance liked it quiet.

Peyton said, “There’s plenty of space, Juno. And very quiet. Some think ‘too quiet.’”

Juno said, “I love it. That’s the most important thing.” She clapped her hands and listened. “Ooh, good acoustics. The piano will fit perfectly here.” She pointed to the wall between the fireplace and the bright, front windows.

“You play? Professionally…?”

“Yes, and I write.” She named a hit TV show she’d composed the theme for.

Peyton gushed, “I loved that show. Wow! That was years ago. You wrote that? You’re young… The people you meet…” Peyton shifted. “So, you asked for roomy. It won’t be too…?”

“No. Not at all. I love the classic feel. The woodwork… When was it built?”

“The owner’s father built it… Something like… a hundred years ago?”

“It’s in great shape. Love the hardwood floors.”

“I hoped you’d like it. Kind of a jewel… Pretty much all original.”

“It feels like home. By any chance could it ready by the first?”

“Or before, if you wish. The owner prefers it not sitting empty.”

They set terms and filled out paperwork. Juno wrote a check, and Peyton handed her the keys.

“That was easy…” They laughed.

Peyton hummed Juno’s TV theme song as she locked up.

Juno laughed, “Oh stop…!”

Some think spirits remain on the earthly plane to learn the patience they lacked in life.

Terrance had always been patient. After passing, he’d spent decades in this house, lacking purpose, yet never feeling bored. Occupants and seasons passed like clouds in the sky. He noted them and greeted each in turn.

Terrence waited. For what he had no idea.

He spent time in quiet and alone. In the still air, his presence filled the house. He seeped into the woodwork. As gently as the dust settling onto every surface, Terrence became one with the house in which he’d spent his life.

Juno’s arrival brought him out of the woodwork.

She busied herself to making her new abode a home. Terrance watched her take on each room and make it her own. She dusted, painted, hung drapes and pictures, and arranged furniture. Mementos adorned shelves and tables. A mahogany grand piano dominated the living room. You’d think she’d lived there for years.

It was all for herself. No one visited. The pictures revealed little of ties to anyone outside her living quarters. Her personal items were oddly impersonal.

Most days, Juno spent hours at her piano playing a lively repertoire. Though not inspired, she played well and remained loyal to the original melodies.

Terrance enjoyed her musical taste. His house had never been so full of music. He kept to himself. Juno knew nothing of her housemate.

Occasionally, Juno tried writing a song. She’d play a phrase and transcribe it onto musical scale lined sheets. But something always stopped her. Each time she’d leave the floor beneath the piano littered with crumpled, discarded notes.

One day, after an hour of playing favorites, she began a song unfamiliar to Terrance.

‘Had she written it?’

Rusty, struggling through the intro, she gained momentum. But at the bridge she faltered. Slowly repeating the sequence, she paused and began again. And again, always stopping at the same chord. She gave up, unable to move forward.

‘Due to a lyric, forgotten? Remembered?’

Steadily building force and volume, she repeated the last chord in a percussive assault.

Then, cradling her hands to her breast, she rested her head onto the piano casement and wept. Terrance had never heard such a lament.

Days passed without respite. She paced about the house like a prisoner who couldn’t leave. She stopped eating. Canceled all deliveries. Any room she entered sank beneath her gloom.

An inconsolable Juno wailed and complained into the night. Resuming at dawn she’d carry on, screaming and howling over some tragic past event. Collapsing into her chair, exhausted, Juno would cry herself to sleep. Then, a few hours later, she’d burst up with a shout and lashing out, begin again. Once, she threw things.

Juno became a specter who Terrance dreaded encountering. The mere sight of her unsettled him.

He thought, ‘Life’s for the living. Has she thought of that?’

Since he built this house, Terrance had never lived anywhere else. After a week of Juno’s caterwauling, he considered relocating.

‘Where would I go…?’

He noticed the house had become unusually quiet. ‘Has she left? I would have noticed.’

He found Juno dozing in her chair. She startled awake and saw him watching her.

He said, “Sorry to disturb you... What’s wrong?”

She shrank into her chair. Since passing, he’d never engaged with a living soul.

‘How does this work?’

Terrance tried again. “I’m worried about you.”

Her eyes were wild. “Who are you?”

“I… I don’t live here exactly. I guess you’d say I haunt the place.”

She recoiled.

“Don’t be afraid. I won’t harm you. I’m concerned about your distress.”

“But you’re dead. A ghost…”

“Whatever. That’s beside the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I was minding my own business when you moved in and stirred things up.”

“Oh… I’m sorry…”

“I’m not finished.”

“Sorry…”

“Let me talk… Your arrival… Whatever haunts you has disrupted my peaceful existence.”

Juno contemplated what he said.

“Should I leave?”

‘That would simplify things…’

“You can. But that won’t solve your upset. It’ll follow you.”

No longer feeling in danger, she relaxed.

“I know. This is my third place… It always does.”

“You must face it.”

Juno felt ridiculous debating with a ghost. Frustrated, she stood up. Leaning toward him, she thrust her hand out testing for solid matter. It met with no resistance.

Terrance made a face. “Really?”

Juno snapped, “But how? It follows me. How do I face it?”

“Turn and stand your ground.” 

She pirouetted on her heel and, stomping her foot, defiantly faced Terrance.

He was about to give up. “Cute…”

Juno walked to the piano and tapped a key a few times.

Terrance tried again. “Tell me what you’d say to your tormentors.”

Resigned, she shook her head. “I couldn’t tell them. How can I tell you?”

“Because I’m here. I’ll listen. Not leaving.”

She struggled to understand.

He said, “I’m not invested in the outcome. I can listen without reacting. I have nothing to defend. Nothing to prove.”

She scoffed. “I’ll sound crazy. You kidding? Talking… taking advice from a ghost?”

“Who will know? You might discover something. You live like a ghost yourself, drifting from room to room without purpose… Carrying a burden you can’t slough off.

She asked, “Is that your story?”

“We’re not talking about me. And anyway, Juno, I’m at peace. Or was.”

“I’m sorry…”

“You’re dissembling…”

She went silent.

Terrance understood why some ghosts act out toward the living. ‘They’re so resistant…’

“…Or tell your piano.”

Looking at it, she shook her head. “No. It’s already heard too much.”

She looked at him, tears streaming. Terrance wanted to hold her but didn’t reach out.

He said, “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Juno sighed. Entering her story, she paced the room searching for words. Pausing frequently, she described her betrayals, and humiliations of so many others.

Terrance heard piano strings resonate behind her shouts.

She had deeply wounded friends and family who’d loved and trusted her. Eventually, she’d carelessly ruined their lives and then, her own. Afraid of hurting others, she withdrew from society. Now alone, she could neither undo nor heal the chaos she’d wreaked on so many.

“…And now they’re all dead. I can’t even apologize. What will they do to me when I join them?”

Looking down, in abject sorrow, she sank into a chair and began keening shrilly. Her wailing trailed off and Juno lay motionless except for her shallow breathing.

Wind buffeted the house causing an eerie sense of being aboard a creaking ship. Terrance thought, ‘Need to do something about that loose shutter.’ But he remembered, ‘Oh, right. No longer an option.’

“Juno,” he said. “I don’t know if this helps, but don’t fear those people you hurt… their options for vengeance are severely limited.”

Realizing what he said, Juno began giggling. This encouraged him until her giggling lasted a full minute.

She finally came to herself and, wrung out and despairing, she looked imploring to Terrance.

‘Why must this be so hard?’ he wondered.

He said, “How could you honor them?”

Juno reacted as if he were mad. But gradually her face softened, and he saw her tension drain.

Nodding rhythmically, Juno rose, walked with purpose to the piano and sat. After placing a pen and blank music sheets beside her on the bench, she began to play.

After each phrase, she’d write her notes and beginning again, play through what she had written. After making adjustments, she’d continue, gaining confidence as she progressed.

Juno continued for hours. Over the following weeks she joyfully pursued her grand opus. She was back to herself. Juno had regained peace. And she had regular conversations with her agent.

Terrance also relaxed. No longer waiting, he had found his purpose. No one ever saw him again.