Ghost in the Pantry

   Ghost in the Pantry

Suzanne Marsh

High on a knoll was my dream home, Harper’s Cove; it was all I had wished for in my adult life. A small grayish-green cottage. I watched The Ghost and Mrs. Muir with Hope Lange and Edward Mulhare as the ghost. Harper’s Cove overlooked the Atlantic Ocean whose blue-green waters fascinated me. Now this gorgeous old home was ours. I drove into the driveway and began to unload the car with boxes we had loaded in the car, not far behind me was my husband Alex with the UHAUL truck. I could not wait for him, I had the key in hand, opened the door, and began to unload dishes and whatever else I could fit into the back seat and trunk of the BMW. I could smell the salt air, as I took in the panoramic view of this estate.

The house had a very colorful history, which attracted me to it in the first place. It had been owned by Captain Horace Harper and his third wife Frances Booth. The house had a widow’s walk which undoubtedly Frances used to watch for Horace’s ship The Mrianda, named after his second wife. I lugged in a huge box of pots and pans and began putting them in the cupboards, just as I was finishing the first box, my husband arrived with the UHAUL and five of his friends from work. The first thing to be moved in was the parlor piano which fit well into the front parlor. Then they began bringing in the furniture, couches, and chairs. The formal dining room was almost complete when something strange occurred; a sudden gush of ice-cold air.

My husband and I thought it must have come off the ocean, we continued to unpack and then went into town for a bite to eat. We returned to our new home and continued to unpack and make this our own. It was just past midnight, exhausted we went upstairs to the master bedroom, and we both went to sleep almost immediately. Two o’clock in the morning there was a loud bang, we both sat bolt upright in bed we looked at each other and exclaimed:

“What in the hell was that?” We got up turned on the lights and padded silently down the creaking staircase. We made a note to have a carpenter look at the stairs. We entered the kitchen and switched on a light in there. A few of the pans I had put into one of the cupboards had fallen out and hit the floor with a bang. All was well in our world, or so we thought as we staggered back to bed. I laid awake in the early morning thinking about the research I had done before we bought Harper’s Cottage. The story was stranger than fiction, Horace Harper’s ship the Miranda was a three-square rigged clipper ship, one of the fastest ships ever built. He sailed the Miranda out of Long Island Sound and into the calm Atlantic waters. He was underway to England to trade molasses and tobacco for tea, muslin, and silk. He also had a “side” business, he sailed around Africa, loaded fifty to one hundred men, women, and children bound for Georgia and a life of slavery.

Horace was on his way to Georgia when a violent hurricane sunk the Miranada. His last thoughts were of Frances as the ship went down. He envisioned her on the widow’s walk; pacing back and forth watching for his return, which was not to be. Horace went down with his ship, and months later a small clipper spotted debris from the Miranda. The Master of the ship; had a few crew members pull some of the items on board. He and Horace were friends, he knew he would have to take the itmes to Frances. He was in port for a few days and finally made his planned visit to Frances. He knocked on the door of Harper’s Cottage, Frances opened the door:

“Mike? Is that you? I haven’t seen you in quite some time what brings you here?”

Mike Knight, handed her a piece of the Miranda. Frances took it, and hugged it to her bosom as if it were Horace or a child. Mike stayed for dinner, and just as he was leaving, Frances ran out of the room, and up the small staircase to the widow’s walk. She jumped into Long Island Sound never to be seen again.

So much for ghostly ideals, or so we thought; Alex, after hearing the story thought it might be a good idea to move out of there. I protested vehemently; this was my dream house, we were staying in, end of discussion. Alex was never good at arguing, he gave in. We unpacked more items, especially in the kitchen, I found a hidden pantry and thought that was fantastic. I put a great many canned foods in there.

Bedtime at the end of day two in our new home. We headed upstairs to the master bedroom and promptly fell asleep; not for long. There was a loud bang and a blast of arctic air; once again; we snuggled closer hoping all was well. Another bang! This one was louder than the last; my husband grabbed a flashlight; we went down the stairs, the bang sounded as if someone was slamming something in the kitchen. The light from the flashlight showed several cans on the floor of the pantry, I knew I had put them on the shelves earlier that night. We ventured into the pantry, not only were there cans on the floor but a draft of cold air was in the pantry; the problem was there were no windows; in the pantry. We returned to bed when I heard the stairs beginning to creak, headed for the widow’s walk. Could it be the house and pantry were haunted? My normal rational self said there is no such thing as a ghost. I was about to learn differently, the following morning I called an old friend of mine Father Matt Malone, and I told him about the house, the noises, the cans being pulled off the shelves, and two sleepless nights. He told me he did not think an exorcism would help, that was my main reason for calling him. He said it was not a devil but a bedeviled, tortured soul who no doubt had done some harm to themselves or others and been condemned to roam the earth. I told him the story of Horace and Frances; he quickly pointed out the ghost was Frances since she had jumped off the widow’s walk, then said that was what went bump in the night.