Patricia Rockwell - Essie Cobb 04 - Ghosted

by Patricia Rockwell

  “Tell me about it,” added Claudia. “No swimming suits for me! Why do you think Pru and I aren’t wearing sleeveless blouses?” She rolled Essie’s walker back to the center of the room from the corner where it had remained folded up during the exam.

  “Okay, girls!” said Pru to the other two. “Since Mom has been given a clean bill of health—well, at least a fairly clean bill of health—I say the three of us go celebrate by having dinner out! It’s after four! That’s dinner time for you, Mom!”

  “Oh, girls,” replied Essie, “I don’t know if—”

  “No arguing, Mom!” said Claudia firmly. “Girls’ night out it is! Husbands at home!”

  “Yay!” added Pru. “Where they belong!”

  “How about Chicken Charlie’s?” suggested Claudia.

  “That place is too cold!” retorted Essie.

  “That’s what you get for wearing a sleeveless top in October!” chided Claudia. “I know, Pru, let’s go shopping first and get her a nice sweater!”

  “Excellent plan,” agreed Pru as they escorted their mother out of the doctor’s office, Essie harrumphing the entire way.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Ghost stories really scare me. I have such a big imagination that after I watch a horror movie…I look in the corners of my room for the next two days.”

  ––Vanessa Hudgens

  Later that night, Essie and her three pals were seated in a large circle of chairs in the dining hall of Happy Haven. The entire area had been transformed into a Halloween delight, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and jack-o-lanterns atop surrounding tables providing the only light in the darkened room.

  “Essie,” whispered Marjorie, giving Essie a nudge in her side. “I’m so glad you made it back in time for Fright Night!”

  “Yes, Essie,” added Opal, seated on Essie’s other side, “I was getting worried when you didn’t show up for dinner.”

  “You never miss dinner, Essie!” chided Marjorie.

  “I told you, my daughters insisted on going to Chicken Charlie’s!” said Essie with a gesture of exasperation. “Fay! Tell them not to worry about me so much!” She leaned across Opal and addressed the typically silent member of their foursome who was seated in her wheelchair looking around the room at the various decorations.

  “She’s not paying attention to us,” said Opal, tapping Essie’s shoulder. “I just wish you’d let us know when you’re going to miss a meal, Essie. You know how we worry about you.”

  “We worry about all of us,” added Marjorie. “Remember when Opal was at that open house where she used to work and she stayed there way past—”

  “I remember,” interrupted Essie. “Marjorie, you thought she’d been kidnapped. You almost had me convinced.”

  “I’m sorry, but I got so involved in the festivities at Palmer and Branch that I lost track of time. It’s not like I planned to cause anyone any concern,” Opal argued. “And I also remember apologizing profusely and promising to always call if I ever had to miss a meal again.”

  “Yes!” added Marjorie. “We all count on getting together at meal time. You know that, Essie!”

  “All right! All right!” said Essie. “I just got so involved with my daughters and their…demands and concerns that I forgot about…and besides, how would I call you anyway? Oh, dazzling dipsticks, it’s so dark I can’t see my own nose!”

  The heated discussion among the women was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of a young, energetic woman carrying a large book and a flashlight which she held to her face. Smiling, she seated herself on a chair in the center of the circle.

  “Good evening, residents,” she said. “I’m Sue Barber, Activities Director, for those of you who are new to our community. Welcome to Fright Night. This is Happy Haven’s version of telling ghost stories around a campfire. I’m going to start off by reading one of my favorite scary tales. Then, I want all of you to share any of your favorite scary stories. The scarier, the better!” She opened her eyes wide and made an “ooo” sound. All of a sudden a corresponding ghostly wail sounded from a distance. The residents all jumped, seemingly together.

  “Mike’s yikes!” cried Essie. “What was that?” She looked around her.

  “Oh, my heart!” added Marjorie, breathing heavily. Opal froze and clenched Fay’s hand as they stared at each other in fear.

  “Did that scare you?” asked Sue Barber from her central position. “Well, don’t be! It was just our favorite head waiter Santos, providing a little Halloween sound effect for you!” She motioned towards the kitchen, and a young Hispanic man stepped out, holding a large megaphone. He bowed smartly, lifted the megaphone to his mouth and repeated the strange call. The residents, now calmer, all laughed and sighed.

  As the waiter returned to the kitchen, Sue Barber picked up her book and opened it to the first page and began to read. Within a few seconds, Essie was engrossed in the story. Her brain was telling her that Sue Barber was a gifted reader and that Happy Haven’s activities director was weaving a mystical spell around all the residents in the audience and she had no reason to be scared. Even so, Essie became engaged in the frightening tale and when Sue finished reading, Essie was feeling very scared and even her brain was having a hard time convincing her not to be.

  “That was horrifying,” whispered Marjorie to her pals.

  “I’m still shaking,” added Opal, sitting rigid in her chair.

  “I’m not sure it’s a wise thing to scare people as old as we are like that,” suggested Marjorie. “I mean, some of the people here—not me, of course—have heart conditions.”

  “Then, they shouldn’t come to Fright Night,” said Essie. “I mean, what do you expect? To see photographs of bunny rabbits?”

  “Maybe bunny rabbits with their heads cut off,” said Marjorie with a shiver.

  “Yuck, Marjorie,” said Opal with disgust.

  “Now, residents!” announced Sue Barber, standing and clutching her book and flashlight. “Let’s hear your frightening stories!” She pointed to the chair in the center of the room. “Who has a good tale to tell?” She looked around the circle as the residents mumbled. Some nudged each other in encouragement to tell their tales. Finally, Sue’s patience was rewarded when a tall, robust gentleman with a full head of thick white hair and a bushy mustache rose and strode over to the chair and took the flashlight from Sue. Essie didn’t know who the man was but imagined that he looked a lot like Mark Twain. On this basis alone, she assumed his story would be fascinating. And indeed, it was. Luckily, thought Essie, it was not nearly as scary as Sue’s book, but the big man was a superb story teller and his rendition of a frightening occurrence that had happened to him and his buddies in World War II was every bit as scary as a typical ghost story, plus it made for an emotional telling that Essie found totally engrossing.

  “I loved that,” said Marjorie when the man had finished. “My heart is racing. But in a good way.”

  “I know what you mean,” added Opal, leaning over Essie. “Mine too. That was quite a dramatic story.”

  “Actually,” countered Marjorie. “I was thinking of the storyteller, not the story.” She gave a little flounce. “Who is that man, anyway?”

  “He must be new,” replied Opal.

  “He’s very attractive,” continued Marjorie. “I’m going to have to find out who he is.”

  “I thought Essie was the sleuth in our group,” said Opal, leaning back to include Essie in the conversation.

  “I have no idea who he is either, but I do agree that he’s a wonderful story teller. And he did get my heart beating, but I think more the way Opal is describing. I guess it’s good I saw my internist today,” agreed Essie. “He said my heart was doing well too. I just need a few extra vitamins.”

  The women continued to discuss the attractive storyteller until Sue Barber was able to entice another resident to come to the center of the group and tell a ghost story. By the end of the evening, five residents had shared scary tales of their own wi
th the group for Fright Night. Essie returned to her apartment feeling satisfied. She had enjoyed some wonderful tales, and had come to a new appreciation of the talents of not only their activities director, Sue Barber, but also of a number of other Happy Haven residents. And, of course, like her pals, she was curious as to the identity of the new resident—the Mark Twain lookalike—and what his story was.

  Essie arrived in her small apartment to find her evening aide Lorena there to help her get ready for bed and give her night time medications.

  “There you are, Miss Essie,” pronounced Lorena as Essie rolled through the door. “You gettin’ home pretty late, Missy! Where you been at this time of night?” Lorena stood with her hands on her hips in mock indignation by Essie’s sink in her small kitchen.

  “Oh, Lorena,” replied Essie, “I was at Fright Night in the dining hall. Sue read scary stories and some of the residents told their own personal tales of horror.” Essie ignored Lorena’s air of skepticism and wheeled into her bedroom with the large, ample-breasted woman following along.

  “That Miss Sue is makin’ a big mistake if you ask me!” she snorted. “Life’s scary enough for Happy Haven residents without trying to make it even scarier!” Essie plopped herself on her bed and Lorena bent down and removed her shoes. Then she grabbed Essie’s nightgown and robe from a nearby chair and within seconds she had easily slipped off Essie’s daytime outfit and replaced it with her bedtime outfit. “Come on, Missy. Let’s get your meds. And how about some juice? Or did they feed you some treats at that Fright Night?”

  “No treats,” said Essie with a scowl. “After all those scary tales, you’d think they’d at least give us some pumpkin pie or something!” Essie trailed after her aide and rolled herself over to her recliner and plopped down exhausted.

  Lorena unlocked a medication box that she extracted from one of the high kitchen cabinets. She removed five or six pills from various containers and brought them over to Essie along with a glass of juice.

  “Here you go!”

  Essie quickly downed the handful of pills and continued to sip the juice.

  “Do you know any scary stories, Lorena?” she asked.

  “Oh, do I!” said Lorena. “I’d tell you, but I’m afraid you’d just pass right out on the floor!”

  “Your stories are that scary?”

  “I got one story I use when I want to scare the daylights out of my kids!” replied the large woman, arms crossed, and chewing on her lip as she looked down at Essie with a knowing glance. “You know, when they’s acting like monsters, which is most of the time! But I keep this one story for special occasions. Once I use it, it sort of loses its power—if you know what I mean. I’ve told this one story to all my kids at one time or other when they was little—and it always creeps ‘em out. Gets ‘em to behave though. That’s why I use it.”

  “You want to tell me, Lorena?”

  “Oh, no, Miss Essie!” said Lorena, shaking her head. “I’m no dummy. I ain’t telling any of the residents any of my ghost stories! I’d get accused if they started having heart attacks—or worse!” Essie finished her juice and handed the glass back to Lorena.

  “Lorena, do you know a new resident—a man—he looks a lot like what I think Mark Twain might look like. He told a wonderful story tonight at Fright Night. He has beautiful white hair. A lot of it.”

  “Hmm,” said Lorena, scowling. “New man. I should. We usually get more new women than men. After all, the women—”

  “Outnumber the men eight to one here at Happy Haven,” said Essie completing her thought. “Yes, I know.”

  “So, I was just saying,” continued Lorena, putting away the medicine box and then rinsing out the glass and placing it in a drainer in the sink to dry. “I usually learn the new men much more quickly than the women. But, can’t say as if I’ve heard of this new fellow. Must have just come in today.”

  “He seemed right at home at Fright Night,” said Essie. “I wish Sue Barber had had everyone give their names when they told their stories. I like to know who all the residents are.”

  “If anyone knows all the residents,” said Lorena, “or can ever know all the residents, it’s you, Miss Essie. You just too snoopy—I mean, you just very curious.”

  “Thank you, Lorena,” replied Essie. “But if you do hear anything about the new gentleman, I’d really like to know who he is.”

  “Miss Essie,” said Lorena, suddenly coming closer to Essie’s chair, “you ain’t developed a crush on this fellow, have you?” She nudged Essie’s recliner with her knee.

  “Oh, no!” cried Essie, laughing. “Not me! Maybe Marjorie! I mean, if anyone would develop a crush on him, it would be my friend Marjorie. I just like to know who people are.”

  “That’s good,” said Lorena. “Now, you want me to help you get into bed?”

  “Oh, no, Lorena!” replied Essie. “I’m quite comfortable here. I think maybe I’ll just watch a little television before I turn in.” She smiled sheepishly at the aide.

  “Okay, Missy,” said Lorena, heading towards the door. “You behave yourself! Fright Night! New men! My goodness, you ladies here at Happy Haven just keep this joint jumpin’!”

  She pulled the door shut.

  Jumpin,’ thought Essie. She liked jumpin,’ but as long as it was a jumpin’ joint and not a jumpin’ heart.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Fear is nature’s warning signal to get busy.”

  ––Henry C. Link

  Essie’s heart had calmed and her sleep had been restful. She was sitting comfortably in her recliner the next morning shortly after breakfast as DeeDee Pritoni, her morning aide, prepared her pills. Just as Lorena had done the previous evening, DeeDee removed the locked metal box from the cupboard above the sink and took out the pills Essie required each day. Essie was working on one of her more difficult puzzles on her clipboard.

  “DeeDee,” she said, pencil poised, “what’s a six letter word for ‘meek’?”

  “Meat?” asked DeeDee, her back turned. “Like roast beef? Or like meet your neighbors?” She filled a glass with juice from Essie’s small refrigerator and brought it to her along with a handful of pills. “Here you go!”

  “No, ‘meek’ like ‘shy,’” replied Essie.

  “Oh, meek like a lamb!” said the young woman, her sprightly pony tail bouncing as she spoke. “Hmm, can’t think of any, Essie.” Essie downed the pills and juice in a few gulps and returned the glass to her aide.

  “I’ve got this one empty part in my puzzle and it’s just driving me crazy!”

  “Oh, I doubt that!” replied the young woman as she turned to Essie, hand on hip. “You’re sly like a fox, Essie. Not crazy.”

  “I don’t know, after last night…” Essie mumbled to herself.

  “What happened last night?”

  “Fright Night!”

  “Oh, the big Halloween tall tales!” said DeeDee, nodding. “I heard about that. Mrs. Gravanti told Sharon she thought she was going to pass out during one story. I heard Santos pulled a prank too.”

  “He did. I almost peed my pants!”

  DeeDee laughed warmly.

  “There was one man who told a story—a true story, I believe—about a horrifying event that happened to him during the war. He was a pilot. He’s this tall, muscular gentleman with a full head of white hair and a mustache. He looks a bit like Mark Twain.”

  “Who?”

  “Mark Twain, you know, Samuel Clemens. The author who wrote Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.”

  “No, I mean, who is this gentleman?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you’d know. He must be a new resident. I pride myself on knowing everyone here at Happy Haven, but I don’t know this man.”

  “You must be right; he’s probably new because I can’t think of anyone who fits that description.”

  “Believe me; if you’d met him you’d remember him.”

  “Essie, are you smitten?” DeeDee bent down beside the recliner so she could
speak to Essie face to face.

  “What?” Essie twisted around in her recliner and glared at her aide. “What? Oh, DeeDee, of course not! Lorena said the same thing! He’s just very attractive—and intriguing. He had everyone just glued to their seats during his story.”

  “I guess it’s good if they’re glued to their seats,” said DeeDee with a giggle, “then if they get a little light headed, they won’t fall on the floor.”

  Essie huffed and motioned with her index finger for DeeDee to come closer.

  “DeeDee,” she whispered, “I may have to go on that haunted house field trip and I was wondering—”

  “Oh, Essie! How wonderful! It would be so nice for you to get out with your friends and do something. I mean, I know your children take you places, but I really think you’d enjoy going with the residents on some of the field trips.”

  “I don’t know, DeeDee,” Essie said, cringing. “When you’re on that bus, you just can never tell when you can get to a bathroom…”

  “Just wear one of those adult diapers!” said DeeDee, patting her hand. “You have boxes of them in your bathroom!”

  “That’s just it,” whispered Essie. “I don’t want to. The very idea of having to use those things just makes me sick!”

  “I’d wear them,” said DeeDee with a casual shrug. “Who cares about a little drip or two if it means you can get out and have some fun!”

  “I’ll think about it,” replied Essie, looking back down at her puzzle. She certainly admired her aide’s cavalier attitude about bladder control, but Essie came from a different generation that valued self—and body—control. The very thought of wearing what amounted to diapers out in public simply did not sit well with her.

  “What’s to think about?” said DeeDee, giving Essie a little hug and a smile as she stood and sauntered back to the sink to rinse out the glass.

  Suddenly, the door to Essie’s apartment opened and Claudia and Pru entered, followed by three young men.