Bargain Bread Pan

Sam walked into the kitchen and dropped her bag with a deep sigh that made Charlie’s head tilt. She had declined going out this weekend, though an outing would have been a welcome distraction, but it would only be postponing dealing with the problems she had been having. She  knew she had to meet her little ‘problem’ head-on, and she knew that it was best to face it alone. Or somewhat alone. Charlie was a given, and she was grateful for the comfort that his presence had. In response to her sigh he did his duty in comforting her and padded over, presenting himself to be a pet. She tucked into his soft black fur and nuzzled into his head press, feeling calmed. 

“ Where do we start?” She asked him, eliciting another tilt as he contemplated the question. 

Now that she had gotten over the initial decision and was preparing, she felt awkward.  What if she was wrong? What if everything she had been experiencing over the past few weeks had all been a product of stress or  maybe even a deeper neurological problem? What if she was losing her mind? She felt herself almost unraveling into the chaos of what ifs until Charlie stuck his cold nose in her ear and gave a raucous shake. He trotted into the corner of the kitchen that had the best overall view and got cozy, his face resting on his paws, waiting for her to make her next move.

“Right,” she said into the air, shaking herself too, like a runner shaking loose her nerves. She  went to the cupboard, carefully taking out  the pretty white glass loaf pan and setting it in prime view on the little makeshift island in the center of the room. She tilted it just so,  displaying the little blue cornflowers. 

The room sat quiet. She waited.

She got an idea and decided to grab the desk lamp in the hallway, forcing herself to walk slowly and calmly. She brought it over to the island and flicked the switch, creating a spotlight effect that illuminated the corn ware with a showman’s flourish.   

She waited still,  fighting the conflicting sensations of fear and embarrassment.

Then she saw Charlie’s head perk up in the same instant she felt the compression feeling, more intensely than she had before, and she felt her ears pop at the same time she heard a

“Hello,” from the kitchen doorway. 

Disoriented by the pop, She looked to the left side of the kitchen  where it lead to the hallway, only to hear the voice from directly behind, startling both her and Charlie, who gave a  little yip that sounded like it came from a much smaller dog.

“ I’m sorry that I startled you.” said the voice, which sounded to be coming from a mist-like cloud  in the doorway of the dining room that was steadily solidifying into the shape of a woman. 

She looked directly at Sam and asked, almost a bit confused, “ Did you mean to call me?”

Sam blinked at her. She looked to Charlie, who by the attentive point he was giving confirmed that he could also see it. Her. This mist-woman thing. This, for the love of all things holy- this…

Ghost.

“SHIIIIT!” She lost her nerve and gave out the most undignified squeal, causing Charlie to give a frightened bellow, and both of them tore off through the opposite door, down the hall at break-neck speed. She bolted into her room, waiting for Charlie’s tail to make it all the way into the room before she slammed the door behind them, leaping into the bed, limbs, tails and paws struggling to get under the covers together. She clung to Charlie, his butt wedged firmly  into her stomach, trembling, trying to nobly make defensive barks at the door until he grew quiet.

They waited. 

Then without warning, through the door there appeared a hand. 

A ghastly hand that was clutching onto something.  A cloth of some kind. It had something on it- oh God, was it blood?!

No, it was a pattern of some kind. She squinted at it. It was a piece of faded red plaid flannel, and the hand was waving it like a flag. It took a minute for her senses to catch up to her brain, and she registered that there was a sound-the voice- that was saying something from outside the door. She tried deciphering the words, but couldn’t quite hear them over the blood pounding in her ears. The voice seemed to be getting louder, until, with an irritated sigh, a head poked through the door to accompany the hand and being said, with clear enunciation, “I COME IN PEACE.”

There was a ringing silence in the room. The three of them faced off with one another for a minute that was as tense as a taught  rubber band.    Charlie, at first standing in a rigid point, sat, though he faced the intruder intensely.

Slowly, very slowly with the plaid square held high, the woman crept through the door until she was in full view, and, almost shyly, she flapped the fabric in a wave and gave a self conscious, “hello” again.

A storm of thoughts was welling up inside Sam, but her politeness seemed to take over and she responded with a perfunctory “hi” back.

They let the space safely separate them as they openly observed each other.  A bundle of questions fought for dominance inside Sam’s head. Who, what, when, and why’s made a cyclone that pressed outward inside her skull. Some she could very easily deduce herself. What are you, for example, was pretty straight-forward. A ghost. Sam was very obviously dealing- looking straight at- a ghost. A ghost, who to Sam’s confusion was wearing a worn out baggy billabong t-shirt with flannel plaid pajama bottoms, from which the makeshift ‘flag’ had been ripped from. With a casual gesture, while maintaining eye contact, the apparition put the piece of fabric to the hem of her bottoms and with a shivering motion it  rejoined the fabric seamlessly as if never separated.  Well, that added to the mounting cyclone of questions; weren’t ghosts mainly from bygone eras with flowing white night gowns or dark high collared dresses that made them look perfect for horror films?  The ‘when’ of things was clearly not as big of one as she had imagined- but the who and the why were still unanswered.

“Who are you ? Why are you here?” The sound of her voice was a whisper that sounded amplified in the quiet. 

“Well, I’m happy to tell ya, but first can I pet your dog?”

She hadn’t expected that. Protectively, Sam tried to curl into Charlie, but to her surprise he had tentatively crept to the edge of the bed, sniffing at the woman. His tail padded lightly and he looked to Sam for the go ahead.

Nonplussed, she gave the ‘go-ahead’ nod. Charlie jumped down, smelling the hand that the being had extended, and then, as if he hadn’t been a yipping mess moments before, his body wriggled with excitement as he nudged up- and sometimes through- the woman, joyfully spinning. 

Well, if Charlie approved then she could at least trust that this woman- this bodiless being of questionable alive-ness, meant them no harm. That didn’t mean she wasn’t still terrified, but a dog's instincts were pretty spot on. Cautiously, she slid out of the covers to the end of the bed. Not too close, and opposite of the door in case things changed and she needed to grab Charlie and run. She watched the sight before her for a minute until Charlie settled and the woman  began to speak.

“Oh I needed that. Thank you.” She sat contentedly, now stroking the dogs back softly. “ My name is  Jessica.” She gave a big friendly smile, and continued. “ Why, well,  other than you calling me, it’s a bit… complicated.”

Sam blinked.

“You, uh, you know you are…” Sam began, before Jessica jumped in response.

“Dead? A ghost? Yeah, it’s pretty obvious, “ She said, and with a bit of   sarcasm, she put her hand straight through the floor and pulled it up again. “ As for why I didn’t go up- I’m working on that one.”

“How long have you been- well, uh- like this?” Sam asked, more curious now, leaning in toward the gho-Jessica.

“Dead? Well I kicked the bucket  on October 12, 1999- shame it wasn’t on Halloween. That would have made it at least interesting. But, no, it was a Tuesday night. It was quick, and painless. Died in my sleep,” She gestured to her attire. “I guess I had a heart- defect that they didn’t know about. Nothing fancy.” She looked down. “ Sounds pretty dull when I hear it out loud, but it beats going in a gory-painful way.”

Sam took it in. Jessica looked to be about her age, maybe a little older.  It was unnerving to know that technically, though she looked to be about 26, she had been dead for almost 20 years and would be middle aged by now. 

“So you just never left? Did you die in this house?” 

“Oh no,” Jessica shook her head, “Never been to this house before. I died, and for a time I sort of went to what I thought was heaven, but it wasn’t really heaven.” Her brows creased as she thought back. “It was more like an ‘orientation’ place. Got to know a bit about what comes after death. I must have been there for a while, but it really didn’t feel like that long. Months, not years. Instead of leaving that place, though, I just started to show up back here- earth or whatever you wanna call it. Sometimes it would be like I was daydreaming, but I'd be daydreaming of people and places I didn’t recognize. Then, I would just observe, like I was an audience member at a play. Except, the cast would occasionally be aware of me.  They weren’t very friendly.” She shook her head.

“How’d you come here?” Sam asked, confused.

“You called me. With the pan.” Jessica looked at me, as if it was obvious.

Sam had deduced that whenever she had been using the pan- the pan she had picked up from goodwill- she had started to feel the presence. She didn’t know what she had been expecting; a cold spot, a light-flicker or something, but never had she thought she’d get a full on being sitting in her bedroom.

“The pan.” Sam repeated. “You are attached to the pan.”

Jessica gave a nod.

“But, why?”  She didn’t know if it was a rude question, but confusion trumped niceties at the moment. Jessica smiled, and before Sam was aware of actively choosing to move, she was following Jessica down the hallway, stoically ignoring the fact that she was gliding, not walking, back into the kitchen where she stood, facing the spot-lighted dish on the opposite side of the island, the light having zero affect on her.

“It was my mothers. My Dad bought it for her when they moved into their first apartment.    She loved it. She loved baking. I never got to meet him- he was a part of the last draft and never made it back before I was born.” 

She said this simply, but in an odd little way, her hand stroking the top of the dish; it was like when you were trying to convince someone that you are unbothered by something, but there is a little note at the end of what you're saying that says otherwise. Sam remained silent, listening to Jessica tell her story.

“ I was raised by my mom, and later my Aunt when my mom died.  Heart failure. They didn’t even think about heart problems being passed to me. Aunt’s still alive though.” With this she looked up with a soft smile, “ she’s in her 80’s now. Can’t really pick up when I’m there so I leave her pretty much alone, though I do pop in from time to time.”   She stepped back from the dish and leaned back on one leg and rested her arms on the counter, facing Sam. “ It’s harder to visit people unless they can sense you. People I knew in life who have- had” she corrected herself, “ connections with me. Those that are attuned- mediums and sensitive types, or those that have something I owned, “ she nodded toward the dish, “ and was attached to. Not like my old underwear or something.”

They gave each other scrunched up faces that made them both chuckle lightly. It made the conversation seem companionable, like having a friend over for a chat and not a ghostly manifestation.

“ So…. forgive me for asking, but again…why?” 

Jessica looked down for a second in a weary kind of way.

“Well, I don’t have many things left that I’m attached to. They’ve either been tossed and forgotten, or, for a lack of a better way of describing it, my attachment has  been rubbed off by someone forming their own bond with the item. Like this one stuffy I had,” her eyes lit up as she described it. “ It was SO old- I had it since I was like 5. It had overalls that were falling apart and the velvet on the bear’s nose was just about gone. It was hideous, but I loved it.” 

Sam smiled at this. She too had some pretty peaked looking stuffies, that although looked like they had seen better days, she loved dearly.

“Then, one day he was picked up at a yard sale by this old lady. She took him home and pretty much dismantled him.” Her eyes bulged at that memory, then softened. “ Then, bit by bit she restuffed him, fixed patches in his fur where it had been worn down. She replaced his little nose, though she kept his eyes. I was happy about that.   Then, when she was done, she gave him a big hug and set him on her shelf where she had lots of other toys, and suddenly…” she halted, “ I felt the tether fade. He wasn’t mine anymore. I might have been part of his history, but I wasn’t part of his present.”

Sam felt the urge to grab her hand, or comfort her in some way, though she didn’t know if that would be exactly possible.  Would she be able to? 

Before she could make a decision, Charlie took the initiative and padded over and licked her hand. He was so intune to people and always comforted them when they were sick, upset, or sad.  

Wait a second, she thought.

“How come he can touch you and you can touch him?” Sam asked.

“Oh, that’s because dogs, or most animals really, are already attuned to  the layers of existence.   They can tell when it’s going to storm, or sense someone’s mood. They already exist with the understanding and the knowledge- NOT belief, but concrete knowledge that there is more than the eyes can see. Cats can too, they are better at knowing, but they choose to act oblivious because, well, cats.” She shrugged.

“ That checks out,” Sam laughed. 

“ Really, if I put my full energy into it, I can touch most things, but other than my objects, it's only a fleeting thing because it takes a lot of energy. 

She turned her thoughts back to what Jessica had said. “ So, how many objects do you have left?”

This elicited a side look from her ghostly companion, and she had a feeling she already knew the answer.  Jessica’s eyes flicked to the glass pan and back to Sam’s.

“That’s the last one, isn’t it?”

Jessica nodded. 

“So….” Sam began tentatively, “what happens if I, well, ‘untether you’ or whatever from it?”

Jessica took a deep breath- imitated what a living person would do if they were trying to steady themself into saying something incredibly hard.

“ I am no longer bound to this existence and must choose to either ascend or reincarnate, and frankly I’m not down for either. So, ideally I’m here to keep anyone from tossing or getting their attachment cooties on it.  By any means possible.”

The serious look she gave her made the hair stand up on the back of Sam’s neck. She had been lulled into thinking that this was just an ordinary guest in her home, petting her dog and making conversation, but actually this was a lot more serious than she had thought, and this woman meant business.

Well, this had all been a fun little turn of events. Initially, when she picked up the little dish, she intended to sell it- she had been seeing Corning ware in good condition going for a pretty penny and thought she’d give it a try. She now just prayed that this being didn’t know that information. When the lights started to flicker the moment she brought it into the house, or the radio randomly turning on, or seeing things out of the corner of her eye, she thought she’d been losing it. Her ‘little problem’ she only thought was going to be eerie inconveniences that she might banish away by burning her seasonings in a  dish. When she decided to meet this head on, she did not anticipate this. She wondered, dully, if instead of this she would have been better off having lost her mind.