Summer Stories: Tips for Sharing a Home with a Ghost

By Sharma Shields

“I don’t want to tell you what happened. I want to tell you how it felt.” From “The Furrows” by Namwali Serpell

1.

When you first notice your ghost’s presence – the jagged crying, the whirl of a lace skirt in the corner of a room, the sudden, overwhelming smell of rosewater and blood – remain openminded. Offer your ghost a gift, a piece of costume jewelry, a polished stone, a sprig of dried lavender, even a pretty red ribbon to tie in her hair; watch her flickering face when she accepts it. It’s been a long time since someone has honored her. Tell your ghost how glad you are to see her, even as you sense her malevolence. Tell her you understand that this house is her own, no matter what your husband, Carl, says.

2.

Avoid speaking of your ghost to non-believers like Carl. Carl, as you know, will say ghosts are dumb, that anyone who believes in them is also dumb. Carl says lots of things are dumb: social media, women journalists, indie bookstores, group yoga. You know he thinks you’re dumb, too. Just blink your way through his many comments and opinions as you always do. Feel confident in your ghost’s presence: You no longer need Carl’s confirmation.

3.

If you walk into a room like your den and see a name scrawled in blood across the spines of the books, this is likely the name of your ghost. (Yes, her name is Edna.) Carl will be pissed that the bloodied books are all his own, that your own books remain unscathed. He is sure you’ve done this to undermine him. You and your snide opinions about books, he will say. When he takes down one of your favorite tomes and tears out its pages one by one, withdraw to the backyard until he calms down. The faint squeeze you feel on your shoulder is Edna telling you how sorry she is for getting you into trouble.

4.

As the weeks pass, avoid scolding your ghost. Edna was here first, after all. Once you’re more accustomed to her noisy ways, you may, to your surprise, even find yourself thanking her. When she opens and slams a door in the attic over and over again, put aside your book and say, OK, Edna, I’ll come find you. When her bloody footprints appear on the grand staircase, follow them. She’s showing you all the intricacies of your new home: Hidden passageways, secret corridors, sliding compartments that allow you to flee from Carl when he rages. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt safe. Thank your ghost for sharing her secrets with you.

5.

Your husband hates when you daydream or wish for time alone, but your ghost loves it. Start wandering the gardens barefoot, even in the rain. Hide behind the heavy damask curtains and stay dead silent when he enters the room. Laugh silently into the back of your wrist as he curses your name. He’ll never find you. Spend an hour in the bath with the door locked from the inside, and ignore Carl when he bangs and yells for you to pay attention to him. One day, he says, he will kick down the door, how dare you shut him out, what do you have, borderline-bipolar-narcissistic personality disorder? You’ve always been selfish, you’ve always put yourself first. Something is wrong with you, he says. Mental health issues. You need help, you really need–Your ghost interrupts him by extinguishing all the lights in the house, so it’s just you and your candles enjoying the lukewarm bathwater, the shadows dancing as Carl crashes down the hallway, cursing this old house and it’s faulty wiring, screaming that he can’t find the flashlight, which Edna has hurled outdoors into the arborvitae.

6.

When your ghost haunts the plumbing so that only blood pours from the faucets, remember the porcelain sink Edna showed you in the cellar, where the water courses clean and cold. You can brush your teeth here or get a drink, and even wash your hair. Despite Carl’s disgust, you’ve grown increasingly unconcerned with your looks. Carl, meanwhile, takes on a reddish hue.

7.

Research your ghost. The library in the nearby village has all of the relevant resources. Sit at the desk in the nonfiction section and switch on the green glass banker’s lamp. The librarian will bring you old articles about Edna’s violent end. You’ll learn about her death in the very house you now share with her, the final fight between her and her husband, the fatal shove down the grand staircase, the court dates that came and went without consequence. You’ll read until your eyes ache. Despite the testimonies of the household staff, the husband went free. Take a minute to gather yourself. Prepare for your return to the house, where Carl waits for you, angry that you took the car without his permission.

8.

Embrace the similarities between you and your ghost. She, like you, enjoyed chamomile tea. She, like you, loved exploring the large house, its many rooms, its surrounding gardens and fields and forests. You even laugh like she did, however rare laughter is. You enjoy curling up in the window-seat of the observatory, watching the fields pelted by rain – this was also her favorite perch. When Edna materializes next to you, blood pouring from her mouth, don’t shrink away: Lean forward. She’ll put her cold hands on your shoulders and you’ll put your warm hands on hers. She doesn’t want to shove you, but she longs to show you how the shove began, her eyes wide and desperate. Like you, she wants to be believed. How many attacks did your ghost endure before her life’s denouement? How many will you endure? Somewhere in the large house you hear Carl calling your name, his voice tender, cheerful. Edna will look at you with her stern black eyes. She will shake her head, No.

9.

You may hear your ghost’s laughter curling into the smaller tendrils of your own. Don’t be alarmed. You are experiencing a new levity, supported in ways you’ve only ever imagined. You found no advocate in the living world, but here, from the realm of the dead, is a powerful ally. If you start to feel as if you are floating, well, yes, you are. Take up Edna’s hand and float over the parapet, the balustrade, above the octagonal tower and the Mansard roof. You can see the entire countryside of your estate, where Carl has tried to isolate you, and the air is bright and wholesome. Float and laugh and revel.

10.

If, one morning, you awake to find yourself wearing a gown made of mirrors, understand that this is the final step. Carl will be his most loving self today. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are. He’ll say that you’re the only one who understands him. He’ll cry to you about how sad and unwell he’s been, a victim of the world, and he’ll seem contrite. It doesn’t matter. Your ghost has taught you: It will never stop. His contempt of you waits in all corners. Wherever you turn in your gown reflects a thousand of him, a thousand harms that keep spilling into everything else, and your ghost is urging you, Never again. You accept his kiss on your cheek, you wait for him to shut himself in his office. Then in your reflective gown you spin from room to room, Edna gripping your hand, her face laughing and spiteful, and yours in a panic. Suitcase in tow, you’re terrified he’ll see you or hear you and come after you. But you know this house as well as Edna does, you’ve charted the safest route through the estate’s catacombs. You run through the underworld corridors, mirrors clanking, and there is no light for you, only spiderwebs that catch in your mouth, the flutter of startled bats, the seeping smell of mold, a gaping, gasping grief. When you stumble at the final exit, the cellar doors thrown open to a bleak and tired world – the mirrors in your bodice breaking like a thousand shattered hearts – keep pressing forward. Edna is somewhere behind you, still battling with Carl. Let her go, too. She’s done all she can. Now it’s you alone who can save your life.