Ghost Gunhild and the Intruders

My name is Gunhild, but I am called Hilda. At least, that is what I was called when I was alive. My name means "battle maid" or "fighter" in Old Norse (my ancestry), and I lived true to my name. When I died, I did not desire a fluffy, light at the end of the tunnel death. I wasn't eager to meet any Angels. I was a fighter. I still am, and my home is still my home.

I was born and raised in this house. I was the last to die in it. My family line ended with my death at the age of eighty-five. After I died, I never left. I didn't know if I even could. I never tried. I reminisce about my life, and I flutter here and there. I flutter all around my quiet home, which never gets messy. That changed when the first intruders moved in.

Time is altered for the dead, so I never know if it is months or even years that pass, according to the ways of the living. I do know that the people who just look and gawk at my home love what they call the historic, infamous, eighteenth-century stone house.

Once, I stood looking out the large front window in my parlor and watched a huge moving van stop in front of my house. Two minivans stopped behind it, and a whole passel of kids piled out of them, along with two Great Danes. Intruders, you are most definitely intruders, I scowled. The Marshall family was my first intruder.

A gangly tall boy, about fifteen, yanked up the FOR SALE sign from my front yard and tossed it like a lance. How dare he? Annoyed and irritated, I vowed retribution. A polite young woman had put the sign in my front yard after I died, and that kid had no right to yank it up and spear it across my yard.

Before the movers could even unload furniture or any boxes, the kids and dogs ran up and down the stairs and throughout my entire house. Those loud, irritating kids did not leave one corner undiscovered. The brats even discovered my Secret Closet under my staircase. The Secret Closet was my favorite hideaway. I would scare those imps away from my private space. Glaring at the parents, I asked, how many kids do you people have, anyway?

Since they couldn't hear me, I counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, EIGHT KIDS? My, you've been busy, haven't you?

I quickly created a plan. I would make those parents regret they thought they could ever move into my home. My eyes glowed, and I scowled at the movers as they put furniture and boxes into every room in my house. The obnoxious kids argued over who would get which bedroom. I cheered - fight, fight, fight - as I listened to their dad yell at his kids to shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, I chimed in. Oh, this will be easy. You are already at each other's throats. I will wait for the right time to add more chaos to your family dynamics. I was pleased with myself.

The dogs looked straight at me. As did the toddler, sobby little Sally. I started with the innocent ones. I was being a bit wicked, but I really wanted them out of my home. I chased the dogs around the house, up and down the stairs, and back into the kitchen, encouraging them to bark the entire time. I only had to make a face at little Sally, and she started crying. Mom yelled at the kids to get the dogs outside while she comforted the wee one. "O' wady, o' wady," Sally sobbed.

"Sweetheart," her mama tried to soothe her child, "There's no old lady here in our house."

"Uh-huh, o' wady, o' wady," Sally sniveled. Her mama wiped away Sally's tears with her own thumbs and gave her a big hug.

Mr. and Mrs. Marshall had grown immune to their kids' noise. The kids ran and yelled around the house, and little Sally's crying, provoked by the slightest thing, was largely ignored. The parents were not fazed by the upheaval. It wasn't chaos for them, only for me.

It was time for a different plan. I mustered up my unpracticed electrical powers. After the mom turned off her children's bedroom lights at bedtime, I zapped the lightbulbs on again.

"For the third time, I said leave the lights off," Mom demanded, losing her patience.

"We didn't turn them on. The lights came on by themselves," the kids argued and cried.

"Rubbish, total rubbish." Their mother rolled her eyes and huffed.

"No, really," the children pleaded. "This house is haunted. We don't like it here anymore. We want to leave."

"The house is not haunted. Dad will call the electrician tomorrow to check the wiring of the lights. Now, go to sleep. Their saintly mother had finally noticed her annoying offspring.

The electrician found nothing wrong with the wiring. He just forgot to tell that fact to the Marshalls. He left with a pocket full of money for a job he did not do. I disapproved of the electrician's ethics, but it did work in my favor.

The lights continued to turn on by themselves. The enormous dogs bounded around the house, barking at nothing, while Sally screamed at the invisible 'O wady.'

My FOR SALE sign was put back in the yard where it had been. The moving van was loaded, and the passel of kids and dogs were loaded back into the minivans. The family left. My house was quiet, and I was alone again to flutter at my will. Having no concept of time, I was unprepared for the second intruder.

I stood looking out the large picture window in my parlor again, as I often did. Another moving truck stopped in front of my house. This time, a red Ferrari pulled up behind it. At least this car can't hold eight kids, I sighed with relief.

A sophisticated-looking man with a smug expression emerged from the flashy sports car. Mr. Hunk opened the passenger door for a sexy blonde-haired woman wearing a tight, short skirt and spiked heels. Ms. Sexy stretched her long legs and elegantly got out of the car. She carried a handbag that was home to her miniature toy poodle, Lulu. I assumed two adults and one little dog would be less annoying.

I was naïve when I was living. Being dead opened my eyes to different lifestyles. Some lifestyles were more to my liking than others. Mr. Hunk and Ms. Sexy (i.e.), Damian and Mina, not only had moving men bring their belongings into my home, but they also had a team who put away their belongings and decorated my home with nude pictures (they called Artwork) and mirrors. Mina merely walked around holding Lulu while barking orders in her high-pitched, squeaky, annoying voice that sounded like Lulu. I preferred the passel of kids.

The doorbell repeatedly rang. Guests arrived for the Open House party. I had never seen an Open House party like that one when I was alive or dead. If dead people could blush, I blushed bright red. One by one, the guests removed their coats without a stitch of clothing underneath them. Indiscriminately, each couple mingled with whomever. I hid inside my Secret Closet.

I added a few additions to my spirit skills. Damian, Mina, and Lulu had to leave sooner rather than later. All the lights turned on at night when they were asleep. Mr. Hunk and Ms. Sexy blamed each other for playing tricks on the other. They argued and screamed, pointing fingers, while I laughed.

Faucets turned on when they were away from home, and sinks overflowed. Once again, they blamed each other, and I giggled.

I chased little Lulu around while she whined and hid under the sofa, under the bed, or behind the drapes. Mina blamed Damian for scaring her baby. Damian cursed at Mina for treating Lulu like a real baby.

Mina screamed at Damian, "Why you, you, you…," she then burst into tears. My plan had worked.

The FOR SALE sign was back in my front yard. A moving truck and their team arrived. The Artwork and mirrors were carefully packed away. Damian's and Mina's boxes were individually labeled with their names in large, bold print. Finally, the moving truck was loaded and gone. Damien got in his red Ferrari and drove away. Mina and Lulu left in a taxicab. I did not know where they went. I did not care. They were gone from my home.

Third intruders, would they never stop coming? A white Subaru Mom Car stopped in front of my house. Two little girls carrying cat carriers jumped out. An attractive young mom slowly approached my house and paused. She held out her hands to catch any vibes emanating from my home. The pretty young mother wore a long-tie-dyed skirt, a tank top, and a string of crystal beads. Her long hair was braided in a single braid and draped over her left shoulder. She pulled the FOR SALE sign out of the ground, dusted it off carefully, and gently laid it against the old oak tree in the front yard.

"Lily and Rose, come here, please," she called to her children. "There has been much talk from previous owners that the house is haunted. I researched the history of this old house. The last person who died in this house was Gunhild. She was called Hilda. She died one hundred years ago today. We will look for her tombstone if the old family burial plot is on this property. You know what to do with a haunted house, right?" she asked her girls.

"Yes, mama. We know what to do. If Hilda is a friendly ghost, we welcome her and let her stay. If she is not, we will banish her from our home." The girls responded with little emotions like this was an everyday occurrence. The thought of a ghost didn't faze them.

Banish me from my own home? I don't think so. This will be a battle of wits. I challenged them.

The first thing the family did when they entered my home was introduce themselves to me. "Hilda, are you here? I am Stella, and these are my daughters, Lily and Rose."

They each set their cat carriers down. Stella opened her cat's carrier first. "Rebel, would you like to explore?" she asked her sleek black cat. "This is your new home, Rebel. How do you like it?" she asked her cat. Did she expect her cat to answer her? Rebel roamed around the floor, stretched, and rolled onto his back. "I agree Rebel. This house will fit us very well."

Lily and Rose copied their mother. Lily took Nellie out of her carrier, and Rose took her cat, Sugar, out of hers. The girls let their cats roam the house and waited to see how they responded. Both cats rubbed against door frames and kitchen cabinets, then rolled around the floor. They stretched and lay down on the floor with their bellies up. "They love our new home," the girls were ecstatic.

Finally, the cats noticed me. The truth will now be revealed, I smirked. All three cats slowly crept closer until they almost walked right through me. They snuggled near my feet and purred. Do you really like me? Well, aren't you all the sweetest little kitties? I am glad to meet you, Rebel, Sugar, and Nellie. Yep, I was talking to the cats just like Stella had.

"It looks like Hilda is a friendly ghost. The cats would surely have hissed and arched their backs if we needed to banish her," Stella concluded.

"Before our furniture is moved into the house, we must cleanse it first," Stella instructed her daughters and tossed her long braid over her right shoulder.

"Rose, bring me my magic box."

Cleanse my home? My home is already clean. I did not like that Stella insinuated that I had a dirty house.

Stella retrieved her incense, a bell, and a feather from her magic box. She waved around the lit incense from room to room. Lily jangled the bell, and Rose waved the feather. All three chanted a little cleansing ditty of a tune.

"Hilda," Stella called to me. "You may join us. This is your home too, you know."

I smiled and joined Stella, Lily, and Rose. Finally, I had a family again, a quirky but happy family.