Green

Green

During the drive up the mountain for my first day on a cush job, gnarly cliffs were underscored by lush shades of olive, emerald, lime, avocado, and jade. In the foreground were sloping hills, like tops of a bunch of leprechaun-green balloons. Behind them, rugose rugged mountains looked as if they’d been sprinkled with powdered sugar.

I slammed on the brakes. A small herd of mule deer crossed the road a few feet in front of my car—my kind of traffic jam. I rolled down my car windows. Whiffs of pine floating on cool air passed through my car refreshing every fiber of my being. If the place was any closer to Heaven, I’d be dead.

At work, I was on sensory overload. I paused in my car and took in the exterior of the new office located inside a former church built in 1863. Its rusty orange, oven-baked bricks had been made nearby.

When I focused on the front double doors, each with a large window, a grave feeling floated over me. I dismissed the impression. I had a new job to learn! My first real job. At last, I’ll be living on my own.

I stepped inside to a quaint lobby area, where the smell of old momentarily stalled my progress. Had I chosen the wrong job offer? To my left was a magnificent stairway. Its dark, polished, thick and hand-hewn railing led to the second story.

Further inside was the insignificant reception area surrounded by a boring collection of oddly arranged rooms. No place is perfect. I figured as long as I could gaze out the window at the mountains every day, take in bits of history and utilize fabulous health and retirement benes, everything would be fine.

The first week was. . . shocking. I want to make clear at this point, I don’t fault anyone for having any type of illness. However, the lady with which I worked seemed inconsistent in ingesting her bipolar meds and leaned a bit toward paranoia. That was okay, I prayed for her, listened to her, and did my best to treat her like I’d want treated.

I went hiking. Walks alone in the forest were refreshing and stabilized my world.

The second week I played computer solitaire for eight hours one day, and five hours each day for the rest of the week. I’ll bring a book. Reading wasn’t allowed. I’ll stream music and shop on-line. Not allowed.

I prayed for strength, for inspiration, for help.

During the next weeks, I was introduced around town and to bits of its history. “The volcano hasn’t erupted in an estimated 30 million years. She’s sealed tight.” “Every building sits on tunnels miners dug searching for gold. You’ll be fine, unless of course . . . well, you’ll be fine.” “In the cemetery, the aspens bleed. Actually, not blood, but iron from the ground.”

I prayed more often and with real intent and continued hiking. Then I adopted two kittens.

Next, I heard the tale, (a very tall tale), about The Green. A coworker explained. “During the old days when somebody died in the winter, their body was placed in that little hidden space until late spring or early summer on account nobody could dig deep enough into the frozen ground for a grave.” “If you open the door, a green mist will float out and curse you.” Oh, for Heaven’s sake. “Don’t open the door.” I didn’t believe in ghosts, especially those with colors like a mood ring.

I went out with new friends. Prayed. Played with my kittens.

Week number four. A little girl came into the office with her mother. There and then, she screamed and cried with such shrillness, I thought she was being tortured. “Look!” She pointed at the ceiling, and nobody saw anything. Nobody but the child.

I gathered books from the public library and lost my anxieties in other worlds, and in other people’s lives.

By the third month, I’d had enough. Alone, I stayed late. Upstairs, one of the toilets flushed itself. Five times. Okay, I thought. One of my coworkers has entered through the back door. I tiptoed into the foyer, then onto the first step. No squeak from rusty nails, no sounds from anywhere else in the building. Second step. On the third step, the wood squealed like a wounded rabbit.

My breathing quick and deep, I halted. Upstairs was pitch dark. Thinking pranks were being played on me by coworkers, I said, “Alright, stop fooling around. I’m leaving.”

I rushed outside, locked the door, and sat in my car. Certain I’d see a fellow worker, I scrutinized each window, the roofline, and the front door. Hmmm. I drove to the back of the building. No cars. No colleagues. Chills raced over the skin on my arms and neck, and if possible, through my entire body. My breathing quickened as though air was being sucked from my lungs. I put my car in reverse, and as quick as a bodiless person, I was home behind locked doors, locked windows, closed drapes and barricaded closet entrances.

I prayed. Hiked. Cuddled with kitties. Spent time with friends. Read more books. At last, I purchased a six pack of beer. Then a case of Coors. And a bottle of wine. I laughed, and laughed at the ridiculous situation I’d gotten myself into, as if I was a pubescent adolescent. I laughed myself into a drunk stupor.

*

One evening on my way home, reflections of the past six months haunted every mile. Did every twenty-one-year-old have a wearisome first job? Was it just small towns, or did big cities have this many bizarre people? I was told at my interview that I’d be busy all day. Surely, boredom would kill me if I stayed here. I laughed aloud. Unless the ghosts do. Then the seriousness of my situation hit me like a diving crow. How could I return home to the big city unemployed?

*

Diary entry: Saturday October 2, 2001. 10PM. Investigating specters at the office tonight. If I return mad, I’ve been driven so by The Green. If I don’t return, then I am dead, beaten down to Hell by ancient spirits. If I live, I will start my own business—Apparition Detective Agency. That or counseling is in my future.

Adorned in black and armed with camera, fishing net, cell phone and BB gun, I snuck through the darkness of alleyways and parking lots until I arrived at the front doors.

In the lobby area at the office, I remained still. Listened. No toilets flushed, no footsteps, no chains rattled, and no moaning from disembodied voices. I turned on my flashlight ap, and tiptoed into the reception area. After a hard swallow, I headed to the closet, toward the nearly hidden space where bodies had been stored over 100 years earlier. The door. I stared at the tiny round handle. Don’t open. Do. Don’t. Do! Yes. No. Yes!

Hand on the knob, I twisted it to the right. I waited for haunted fury to attack. In one abrupt millisecond, the air turned stuffy. A musty smell irritated my nose and eyes. With vigilance, I inched open the door, and jammed my shoe against its bottom. The air was . . . leathery, earthy. A putrid stench pushed against the door. My foot was forced to move. The door opened. Wide.

As if Satan himself pushed against my lungs, I coughed and choked. My hands on my chest, I gasped. I’d no brainpower, and was unable to summon common sense. The foulness of decaying flesh clawed at me, clung to my clothes, my hair, my tongue.

Stumbling backward, I tripped and fell to the cheap carpet floor. I felt a hundred pairs of hands clutching my body. Bawling and screeching pierced my eardrums. Hands over my ears, I struggled to stand.

What was happening? What was happening to me? Was something—or many things— attempting to possess my body? What should I do? What could I do? Run. I had to run. My body moved slow, as if the bodies of the deceased were strapped to me.

Darting toward the doors, I flipped on the office lights. I kicked the lobby door open and found myself outside. In the night’s coolness, my lungs expanded. I shook my head and ran my hands through my hair. I needed a shower. Sprinting in circles, I realized the screaming had stopped. I slowed and looked at the main entrance.

As if clouds had formed inside the building, a storm gathered at the doors. Vapors billowed at the windows.

Not blinking, I stared at the building and swallowed hard. Green? Was I seeing surges of green gases? Clouds? Specters? Poltergeists? Spirits of the dead? I stepped forward. Another step. And another. I stood outside the double doors.

Lock them? Open them? Drive away! No. I had to complete my self-imposed mission.

Desperation and sadness called to me. My hand on one handle, I opened a door. Green mists hovered around me, then glided a distance from me. You all may as well go. Nothing left for you here.

The Green, or Greens left that night, never again to be seen nor felt. The only conclusion I came to was those citizens of old had sprinkled something on the deceased bodies to keep their stench to a minimum. Confused and believing they were trapped, spirits mingled with the gases that had escaped their bodies as they decayed, as well as whatever was put on them when they were stuck inside the hidden closet.

After much pondering, I supposed I was put in that job by fate, or time—or God to free The Greens. A week later, I gave my notice, ecstatic to leave. Not exist elsewhere, not put up with, but truly live. I owed that to The Greens.