What with one thing and another, moving—both in budget and in planning—didn’t happen on our original schedule. This means we signed another lease (we can wiggle out of it… I think) but more importantly, we still live with the damned Meth Ghosts.
Who, by the way, have stepped up their game.
ME: (on the phone) Right, so let’s just—oh for fucking out loud!
HIM: (looks up)
ME: (hangs up angrily, fires off text) Stupid screeching… it did that thing again!
ME: That thing, where I’m talking and all of a sudden my phone just makes this screeching noise and I can’t hear anything?
HIM: … do you need a new phone?
ME: No, I don’t “need a new phone.” (glares)
It kept happening, at odd intervals, but it wasn’t until I was traveling to Colorado frequently that I noticed the pattern…
HIM: Everybody’s being good. Ham misses you but—HELLO? HELLO!
ME: Hi? What—
HIM: I CAN’T HEAR YOU! IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, CALL ME BACK! (hangs up)
ME: What the… (calls back)
HIM: Hey, what was that?
ME: I don’t know. You suddenly started shouting that you couldn’t hear me.
HIM: My phone started screeching at me—
ME: Oh, now your phone does it? (refrains from making “need a new phone joke, because he totally does)
HIM: This was the first time. What—
ME: That’s interesting. Because it hasn’t happened to me since I’ve been away.
HIM: Huh. Well anyway—
ME: And you know what else? It only ever happens to me inside the house.
HIM: So what, you think it’s the Meth Ghosts?
ME: If you have another explanation…
HIM: (sighs) So why would they do it to my phone?
ME: (grumbles) Asshole.
Yeah, interfering with our phone calls is a new low. I was particularly unimpressed when they did it while I was on with the funeral home—the funeral director, by the way, thinks I’m crazy rather than haunted. I sort of don’t care, since I’m never going to see her or speak with her again, but it did handicap my argument that Kenny had no right to be making decisions for “the family.”
Husband, of course, insists that the phone thing is “an interesting coincidence of technology and architecture,” and not obvious evidence of paranormal retribution for the door thing.
Oh riiiiight… I haven’t told you about the door thing! Remember how the Meth Ghosts seem to mostly enjoy the second smallest bedroom, and since that’s the one we use for storage we just sort of… let them keep it? Well they must be living their best afterlives in there or something, because sometimes you can’t get in right away—like they’re naked or whatever and need a moment to pull themselves together, you know? So you have to knock, wait a moment, and try again. It doesn’t always work—you might have to go away and try again in fifteen or so—but usually you can get in after a polite pause. The knock-and-immediately-enter does not work; you will find the door practically welded shut, whereas if you wait a few seconds it will open as easily as any other door in the house.
Husband, who neither decorates for holidays nor obsessively tries on old clothes to see if they fit now that he lost three and a quarter pounds, has very little occasion to enter this room and always mocked my hallway arguments with the Meth Ghosts. (“Come on, I don’t have time for this! Look, I was nice about it before but I did say I was going to be in and out today and I need to get in now! My arms are full, dammit!”)
HIM: So I went to go charge the batteries (gestures at storage room) after I did the front lawn…
HIM: And the door wouldn’t open.
ME: (smug) Did you do the thing?
HIM: I did the thing.
ME: You knocked politely, waited a moment, then tried again?
HIM: And it worked.
ME: So now you believe me.
HIM: I just said I did the thing—
ME: You know, other people hear that—that we’ve got a door that sometimes won’t open and you have to knock and wait, or ask nicely to be let in—and they get all freaked out and tell us to get the fuck out of this house.
ME: And you just laugh at it!
HIM: You know I don’t believe in that stuff!
ME: But you did the thing.
HIM: I did the thing.
ME: And it worked.
HIM: They painted these doors weird—
ME: You think the paint sometimes won’t let you in?
HIM: I think it gets stuck sometimes—
ME: And will only open if you knock and wait?
HIM: Maybe the gentle vibration—
ME: And how ‘bout the times even that doesn’t work? Or the times I have to call out? Or all the other weird-ass things that have happened?
HIM: I’m just… I don’t know. But I don’t believe—
ME: You’re going to get me murdered by meth ghosts, talking like that right in front of their door.