Phantom Farm

Norma peered out from behind the antique lace curtains, brittle and yellowed with age and nicotine residue. She suddenly wished she would have paid more attention to the upkeep on the second floor of the old farmhouse, silently fussing over the grimy windows, well-worn panels and dust covered sills. No one spent much time in those modest rooms, used primarily for storage over the past ten years or so; not since her nieces and nephew moved to the west coast and stopped spending summers and holidays on the farm. Now, the tiny space will be their safe haven, their refuge from the living, unless of course she doesn’t mind a couple of phantasmic roommates.

 “She’s here! Oh, I couldn’t be happier if I were still alive.” She watched as Mandie managed to navigate her way up the front steps of the old farmhouse, juggling two loaded cardboard boxes and an overstuffed shopping bag. “I’ve been waiting for what seems like forever for this very moment. Do you think she’ll be happy with us?” Norma turned away from the murky pane, “Curtis, are you even listening to me?” 

“Hmm, what was that you said?” Curtis took a long, slow drag from his cigar and exhaled three misshapen rings. He raised his eyes from the thirty-year-old newspaper, he’d been reading over and again. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t pluck a more recent publication from the front porch, but rather the notion of reading news from a happier and simpler time. The world was clearly spinning askew and everyone in it had gone mad with vertigo. Current events disturbed his delicate balance between a peaceful afterlife and the eternally imprinted mortal characteristics of prejudice and obstinance. “Oh, Ladybug, what makes you believe that she’ll be able to see and hear us, anyways?” 

His pessimism was a constant in their marriage of forty plus years as well as the past year of their afterlife together and Norma was certainly proficient in dismissing Curtis’s contradictions. “Oh, just hush, I am sure she will. You know, we were very close, as if she were my own daughter, and not just my friend. A connection like ours surely does not dissipate simply because we’re on different planes now.” 

Curtis folded the newspaper and placed it in his lap. “I am aware of that connection, Ladybug, but not everyone wants to share their lives with a couple of literal deadbeats. You just might have to get used to the idea of living up here with me in secret, away from Mandie and the life she will build for herself here in her home; you know, the one you gave to her when you died. Besides, she already has a mother, living and breathing.” 

“Oh, pish-tosh, don’t you think I know that? I’ve met Mandie’s mother and she’s perfectly nice, but they have little in common and she lives so far away. I, however, am right here and prepared to show myself as soon as she moves that last box into the house. Yeppers, I’m going to just show up and say hello; rip off that old bandage, quick and painless like.” Norma paced back and forth across the tiny room, wringing her hands and checking her translucent reflection in the vanity mirror. “Do these earrings go with this blouse?” 

Mandie set the last of the boxes in the hall and surveyed the familiar surroundings with a new perspective. Never in her wildest dreams did she anticipate inheriting the old farmhouse from her friend, let alone decide to fulfill her lifelong dream of opening a gallery and cafe. Tears welled in her eyes as she reminisced of a hundred or more conversations in this kitchen, at that table, over coffee with her beloved friend, Norma. 

 Grabbing a basket filled with cleaning supplies, Mandie set out to ready the kitchen for at the very least, a makeshift dinner of frozen pizza and a celebratory glass of wine; or two. All too soon, Mandie found herself more than halfway through the bottle that was meant to offer some much-needed sedation which both her body and mind desperately craved. Instead, as alcohol often does, the wine fueled her grief and lent to a vulnerability she hadn’t anticipated. Mandie clumsily swiped at her tears with the back of her hand attempting to clear her vision. “Oh, Norma,” she began aloud. “How am I going to do this without you? It just doesn’t seem fair, losing you in order to gain the means to fulfill my dreams; tell me, how in God’s name is that reasonable?” 

Norma sat at the bottom of the staircase listening to Mandie’s alcohol induced cries of despair. She took a bit of comfort from Mandie’s dog Freya lying at her feet and found humor in the confusion of her overly affectionate cat attempting over and over to climb into Norma’s lap obviously unaware of her apparitional configuration. Circumstances couldn’t be more optimal; Mandie needed her, she heard it with her own two ears, an obvious yet perfectly timed segue for their unconventional reunion.  Well, here goes nothing! 

Norma worried she’d go unnoticed in the dimly lit kitchen and the last thing she wanted was to startle Mandie unnecessarily. It took a moment for the irony to kick in, as she realized the absence of sufficient lighting was the very least of her worries. She crept from her staircase sanctuary, down the hall and stopped just before entering the kitchen. Mandie sat with her head in her hands sobbing into her wine glass. How she wished she could wrap her arms around her friend in an offering of comfort, but consoling words would have to suffice, providing they are able to be heard. What if Curtis was right? Oh, never mind, she mused, Curtis was hardly ever right. “Mandie, honey?” 

“Jesus! I cannot be that drunk! Norma, I swear I just heard your voice, and I can smell cigarette smoke and Chanel number five, what the hell?” Mandie rose and walked to the sink, turning her back to Norma as she splashed cold and sobering water over her face. “Sleep”, she declared aloud, “I need sleep.”

Norma responded, “Yes, my friend, you do.” 

“Damn it! Norma, if that’s really you, please show yourself before I make an appointment with a freakin’ shrink first thing in the morning, because I am losing my ever-loving mind.” Mandie ranted as she walked into the living room. Not entirely convinced her state of delusion was indeed wine induced, Mandie swore she felt Norma’s presence. “What a cliche.” she whispered.

Norma moved apprehensively from the shadows continuing further into the living room as Mandie rummaged through a plastic trash bag in search of her pillows and a blanket. Her image becoming increasingly apparent, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the bay window. “Mandie, I’m here.” 

The sight of Norma’s likeness sent Mandie stumbling backward into a stack of cardboard boxes. “Holy Shit, you are here, aren’t you?” Her response wasn’t nearly as distressed or panicked as Norma anticipated, easing her eidolic apprehensions. 

“I never left. Curtis is here too, upstairs, brooding just as he did in life.” Norma paused awaiting some form of response, but Mandie remained silent. “Are you in shock?” she asked with great concern for her friend. She wanted to go to her, hold her hand, comfort and steady her. Instead, she offered a soothing inflection and a weak but genuine smile. 

“I’m fine, but admittedly, a bit astounded. You know better than anyone I have always believed in spirits, but having you here, right in front of me is surreal at best.” 

“I’m so relieved, to know we can in fact communicate, but more importantly, I get to let Curtis know I was right, and he was wrong.” she quipped. “Now, we both realize this is your home, but if you’ll agree to have us, we promise to keep to ourselves.” Norma proposed nervously. 

Mandie righted the tipped box and sat down. “Wait just a minute, let’s take a breath…” She giggled, “Sorry, poor choice of words. You’re telling me, I have the option to live here and have more holidays, more birthdays, more meaningful and life changing conversations at your kitchen table? I can open the cafe and gallery with your help, your approval, your perfectly impeccable touch? I get to live here with you and Curtis, like a real family?” 

“Well, what’s left of us, but yes. We have been waiting for you, impatiently, might I add. This past year was torturous, and I could not for the life, ummm, death of me figure out why it took so long for you to come. Curtis was convinced you were going to sell the place and stay in the city, but I knew better, and I had faith we would easily co-exist if given the chance.”

“Norma, your niece contested your will. We were able to strike an agreement after eight months, but it took her several more to get here and take whatever she wanted from the house. Weren’t you able to see her when she came?” 

“We did. Truly, I am sorry she made things difficult.” Norma lowered her eyes, embarrassed for her niece’s greed. “I never thought she’d come to pillage; she certainly has been graced with her own abundance.” 

“Oh, as long as she’s appeased, I am fine. As I see it, I got the better end of the deal; I have you! Now, please tell me how this is possible, won’t you?” Mandie asked curiously while fetching the rest of the wine from the table.

“It isn’t as complex as one might assume. You see, there are literally hundreds of thousands of separate planes of existence, all functioning simultaneously. They are only divided by a membrane of sorts, thin and flexible, yet vulnerable and easily infiltrated. When we die, we leave the plane of the living and move through to another, of our own creation. Curtis, that old curmudgeon refused to leave our home, so his afterlife kept him here apart, yet tethered to this house, to me. When I died, I wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Our life together may not have been perfect to some, but to me it was everything.” 

“So, there isn't Heaven and Hell?” 

“Yes, but not in a definitive sense as most believe. They exist in our hearts, our memories, our very unique ideas of perfection, and punishment. My Heaven is here in this house, with Curtis and with you; watching your dreams build into your reality. I am in Heaven, my Heaven. Had I believed I was deserving of Hell, my plane would reflect an afterlife of regret and despair, understand?” 

“How do our planes connect, allowing us to sit here talking to one another?” Mandie asked, tipping her empty wine bottle upside down with great disappointment. “I think there’s another in one of these boxes.” 

“The veil as some have come to know the divide is very thin and as I mentioned, very sensitive. The purpose of that divisional membrane is to keep the living from disturbing spirits and spirits from affecting the living. However, it can be done, the rules of the afterlife are but suggestions and are not readily enforced nor do they carry consequence.”

“Oh, can you make the floorboards creak, and the windows rattle?” Mandie teased with a bit of an agenda. 

“I suppose, but why on this literal Earth would we want to do such things?”

“Well, it’s possible, no, probable that this is the wine talking, but how fun would it be to run a haunted gallery and cafe? Ha, we could call it Phantom Farm Cafe!” Mandie chuckled at her own attempted humor. 

“Lord above, you know Curtis is going to jump right on that and love every minute of it.” 

“I’ve been struggling with branding, but the whole haunted angle is certainly something to consider, if you’re in agreement, that is.” 

Norma let out a raspy laugh, “Mandie, I can imagine you’re quite overwhelmed. Perhaps we reconvene in the morning?” 

“Yes, over coffee just like old times. Tell Curtis I’d love it if he’d join us.”