Blood, Water, and Property Rights

To My Dearest Great-Great-Great Granny Fanny,

Over these past five days, I have greatly enjoyed living in your old house while I recuperated from my recent separation.

Though the plumbing is shoddy and the walls are thin, it is a beautiful piece of architecture, and something about residing in a home that has been in my family for generations has inspired me to explore all the branches and twigs of my family tree.

So thank you. From the depths of my gratitude, I grant you my appreciation for welcoming me in with all the signs of your...lingering spirit.

Yes, I have seen you shuffling down the halls--wearing the nightgown you died in. I would recommend a wash, but I’m not sure how laundry works in the afterlife.

As someone who was a bit nervous to be alone for the first time since Alfonso and I began courting twenty-something years ago, all the signals of your presence were, at first, charming and somewhat comforting.

Leaving the water running in the guest bathroom.

Sending knives flying across the room.

Writing “Leave Now” in what appeared to be blood on the bedroom mirror.

Where did you get that blood, by the way?

It’s not like you could have used your own.

No matter.

Since you’ve taken the time to write to me, I must now write to you and ask that you remove yourself from your house and my life for the time being.

After all those years with Alfonso, I have gotten very good at identifying toxicity, and unfortunately, I believe your presence here is, in fact, damaging to me and my mental well-being.

I know you think these little pranks are merely humorous, most likely well-intentioned, as I’m sure you’re simply trying to make me laugh.

Turning the burners on when I’m in bed resulting in the kitchen nearly catching fire.

Pouring some sort of ectoplasmic liquid on the stairs causing me to (almost) fall to my death.

Filling the bathroom with wasps as I was taking a shower.

This might be you wanting to assert yourself. To show that you still have agency. And while I understand that urge, I have to tell you what my Wednesday therapist has told me on numerous occasions--

You will not make yourself whole by taking someone else’s calzone.

I should mention that my Wednesday therapist has an office above Nino’s Pizzeria and I think that may be affecting the treatment he offers, but the point is a good one.

Trying to make yourself known by cutting a whole in the living room floor sending me plummeting into the basement does far more damage to your beloved house than it does to me since I had steel ankles put in years ago as part of a scientific study I was paid handsomely for by a lovely doctor who’s still under investigation.

Your Home Alone-ing me has now reached unacceptable heights, and so, I must sever any relation to you, my relative.

I know that blood is thicker than dysfunction, but self-interest is easier to clean off a mirror than blood, and the messages have gotten worse and worse--grammatically speaking.

“U R DEAD!!!”

Really, Granny Fanny?

That’s the best you could do?

And three exclamation points?

Excessive.

The English professor in me was appalled and the great-great-great granddaughter in me was hurt that you would try to intimidate a dearly-loved ancestor you never met in such a way.

So while this may have been your residence at one time, I am now here, and I must plant my feet firmly and request that you vacate the premises immediately.

Though I am not a believer in Heaven or Hell, I will happily write you a recommendation for wherever you’re headed. I once got a C+ student into Vassar, so I’m sure I can give you whatever character elevation is needed to ensure you a happy and successful eternity.

Perhaps your grumbling attitude is the result of spending too long stuck in one place. I know in the final days with Alfonso, I refused to leave my sunroom. A place that may have been filled with light, but was also drenched in my self-pity.

Granny Fanny, you have turned this house into your sunroom, and you must now be evicted from it, the same way Alfonso evicted me from our life together, mutually, in accordance with me, because it was mutual, and we both agreed upon it.

I wish him well.

And I wish you well.

It’s never easy to cut ties with a family member, especially one you’ve heard stories about all your life.

Grandmother used to regale me with tales of you hypnotizing rattlesnakes and placing curses on all your male lovers. You sound like a real woman of faith, and I admire that.

Perhaps had we been alive at the same time, we could’ve grown close. I could’ve used your guidance in handling a man with a drifting eye and a penchant for microwaving fish sandwiches first thing in the morning.

But like so many things in life, getting to know your great-grandmother’s mother is all about the timing, and this time, it wasn’t the time.

I’m not sure what kind of packing is involved when a spirit moves on from its sticking place, but if you need any assistance, I am known for my ability to shove five days worth of clothing into an NPR tote bag. It was a skill that came in handy when Alfonso informed me that his new girlfriend had already moved into our renovated basement and I should vamoose sooner rather than later.

Now, Granny Fanny, I could do things the hard way.

Purchase a Ouija board.

Summon a priest.

Adopt one of those cats that can suck ghosts into their tails.

But I’d rather we end things on a positive note, which is why I’m writing this to you in the most courteous way possible, but using a method I know you’ll understand.

You wouldn’t believe how much chicken blood I had to purchase from the man who sits behind the deli in order to fully express my feelings to you, and I cringe thinking about how long it’s going to take me to wipe this off your bay window, but I wanted you to know I take how seriously I take this matter.

It’s a shame we could never see eye-to-eye, partly because your eyes were pecked out by the parakeets you let fly around your house in your final days.

You have my word that I will take care of this house the same way I took care of the dollhouse that was handed down to me. The one you played with as a child and cherished.

Yes, it was destroyed during an argument with Alfonso where, in a fit of rage, I tried to flush it down the toilet after my then-husband tried to tell me that all men get tattoos of other women’s names on their necks.

But until that moment of moral chaos, that dollhouse was my pride and joy.

And now, your former home will be.

So go with confidence that, though we may never haunt the same halls again, you will always have a special place in one of my many, many expensive journals.

Your Loving Great-Great-Great Granddaughter,

Professor Sheridan