entirely alone, if the one that you love doesn't love you.
— Tennessee Williams
I’m living in a haunted house and in a berg that chooses me, rather than the other way around, at least that’s what Ella James claims and she’s the local spiritist.
Don’t I get a say in the matter and why are my needs never met? I mean, Melody my agent picked out this town and this house…and maybe me.
I sometimes wonder if there’s something more between us. I hate to admit it, but I’m hoping there is a spark
Melody has a meeting back in the city. I regretfully watch her drive down the dusty road in the direction of the highway.
The house always feels so empty after she leaves.
Thankfully, I’m not totally marooned in the sticks. I have satellite TV and the Internet—except, of course, when the power goes off—which happens quite often because the power lines are above ground, susceptible to falling tree branches and wind.
I make supper and eat it on a folding tray while watching the TV news—not the local one, but the network newscast from Toronto. I then sit down at my desk and begin working on the latest installment of The James Talbot Murder mysteries.
I write until late despite flickering lights and the occasional brownouts. Outside, lightning illumines dark racing clouds.
At 3 am as if on cue, the power goes completely off. Damn! Why didn’t I buy a portable generator?
I use the flashlight function on my iPhone to locate the candles and matches, and before long I’m back again somewhere in the 19th century.
Although it’s late, I try phoning Melody, but to no avail. The storm must have knocked out the local relay tower.
Great—just great! I can’t call anywhere, but Winslow can call me. Hmm…do souls ever escape from Limbo?
The gas fireplace works despite the power outage, so I turn it on, pour a glass of Shiraz and lie back on the couch feeling mellow.
I’m feeling the glow from the wine and getting sleepy from the heat of the fire and am about to drift off when I detect a bluish flare from the corner of my eye.
I turn to the left and see the screen glowing on my iPhone. Curious, I reach over and pick it up.
I’m happy you’re here.
I sit bolt upright, the hair on my arms standing on end and a tingling sensation at the back of my neck.
In the lightning flash by the window I see her—outlined as if in moonlight.
She’s slender and graceful—about the same height as Melody and with hair about her length.
She’s peering out the window at the storm.
And the strange thing is, I no longer feel threatened, but reassured. Somehow I know having someone near comforts her.
A few orange lights glow in the distance like fireflies and she begins to fade. When she completely disappears, the lights come back on.
The next day I tell Melody—she isn’t surprised.
“I kind of figured Loretta was the Presence you felt in the house. You okay with that?”
“I think so. It’s a bit different when a spirit needs your presence rather than scaring you with theirs.”
“That’s a novel way of looking at it,” she smiles.
“Yeah…well, it’s nice to be needed.”
Her eyes grow huge and dark. “I know.”
I think I saw that spark in her eye and understand her unspoken need. It’s the same as mine.