Month: November 2014

They were all in the car, and ready to hit the road.

“Seat belts everyone?” said Charlotte’s mom.

“Check,” said Charlotte’s dad.

“Check,” said Charlotte.

“I don’t think I need a seat belt,” said Sheldon.

“Now Sheldon,” Charlotte’s mom said disapprovingly. “In this family we believe in safety first.”

“Mom’s very strict about those things,” Charlotte explained.

Sheldon looked at Charlotte for a long moment. “Is your mother worried that I’m going to die in an accident or something? Because I think that ship has sailed.”

“Oh, right. Mom, maybe we can skip the seat belt this one time.”

After they had gotten that sorted out, they were on their way.

“I can’t believe we’re going to New York City,” said Charlotte, regarding the dust jacket. “They even give the author’s address.”

Sheldon looked over at Charlotte, then at the volume she was studying. “Hey, is that the book we’re supposed to be in?”

“No, of course not.” She rolled her eyes. “You can’t read the book that you are in.”

“Why not?”

“Because that would be absurd.”

Charlotte suddenly had an insight. “I think I know why Sheldon is getting so upset.”

They all turned to look at her, curious what she would say next. With everyone watching her, Charlotte was starting to feel very self-conscious, but she decided to soldier on.

“It’s because he came here for a reason.”

“Well of course I came here for a reason.” Sheldon said.

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it?” Charlotte continued. “You don’t know what it is.”

“Well of course I…” his voice trailed off. “Actually, I can’t remember why I came here.” He peered at her. “How did you know that?”

“Because you’re a ghost, silly. You’re not going to suddenly show up at somebody’s house without a reason. But if you already knew the reason, you wouldn’t need to be here in the first place.”

Everybody was staring at her. Charlotte’s dad broke the silence.

“That’s my daughter!” he said proudly.

“When did you learn so much about ghosts?” Charlotte’s mom asked.

“Reading ghost stories, of course.” Charlotte looked at Sheldon sympathetically. “We should help you.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. But help me with what? Even I don’t know why I’m here.”

The cat, who had been watching silently through all this, finally spoke up. “I know somebody who does.”

They all turned to look at her. “Who’s that?” said Sheldon.

“The author.”

“Really?” Sheldon was glaring at the cat.

“Sheldon,” Charlotte began, but he would have none of it.

“I mean, really? A talking cat?”

“I think you’re missing something here,” Charlotte’s mom said quietly.

“What could I possibly be missing? We’re hanging out with a talking cat.”

“Yes,” she continued, “and we’re also hanging out with a ghost.”

“Please don’t bring my ethnicity into this.”

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful Sheldon, but context really does matter in this case.”

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing, you are a mythical creature.”

“Hello. I’m standing right here.”

“Mom’s got a point,” Charlotte jumped in. “You are standing right here only because you’re in part 8 of a book called ‘Sheldon’. So maybe we need to give some credit to context. I mean, when was the last time anybody met a ghost for real?”

“Yes, but a talking cat?” Sheldon looked pained.

“Now who’s prejudiced?” the cat said curtly.

“Looks like I’ve been missing a real party.” It was Charlotte’s dad. “A ghost with glasses and a talking cat.”

“Not the same thing at all,” Sheldon muttered weakly.

Charlotte started to giggle. “I am trying so hard not to say ‘… walk into a bar …'”

“You’re not helping.” Charlotte’s dad gave his daughter a stern look, before turning back to Sheldon. “Young man, you need to get a grip on yourself. Is Hamlet any more real than Count Gonzago?”

“Count who?” Sheldon and Charlotte both said at the same time.

“Bad example dear,” Charlotte’s mom interjected. “Nobody knows who Count Conzago is.”

“I do,” said the cat.

Which did nothing to make Sheldon feel any better.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Charlotte said, motioning for Sheldon to be quiet.

“It’s your mother. Who did you think it would be?”

“I don’t know mom, I was hoping for a surprise.”

“Sorry to disappoint you Charlotte. It’s just me.”

“I’m already in bed. What’s up?”

“I heard voices.”

“Maybe it’s the television.”

“We don’t have a TV, pumpkin. We’ve never had a TV. The voices were coming from your room. One of them wasn’t yours.”

“School play.”

“What?”

“I’m practicing for the school play mom. I am supposed to play … a ghost.”

Sheldon rolled his eyes, and Charlotte, turning from the door, looked at him helplessly. She was improvising. “Whoooo. Whooo. You know mom, lots of haunting sounds.”

“Dear,” her mom said.

“Not now, I need to rehearse.”

“Really dear,” her mom said again, “there’s no point. I’m in the room.”

Charlotte turned back around to face the door, only to see her mother standing there, staring.

There was a moment of silence. Finally her mother said “You’ve got a ghost in your room.”

Before Charlotte could answer, Sheldon jumped in. “You must be Charlotte’s mother. I’m glad to see you’re taking this so well. Very pleased to meet you. I’m …”

“Yes,” Charlotte’s mom interrupted, “you must be Sheldon.”

Sheldon looked pale, if a ghost can look pale. “How did you know that?”

From behind him came another voice. “Because,” said the cat, “it’s the name of the book.”

“You called me stupid!”

“That’s all you can say? I say we’re in a book called Sheldon, and that’s all you can say? I mean really, Sheldon.”

“People have feelings, Charlotte. You can’t just go around calling someone stupid.”

“Technically speaking, you’re not people.”

“Oh, we’re being technical now, are we? Suddenly you’re a stickler for the rules. And what do you call what you just did?”

“Um, breaking the fourth wall?”

That stopped him short. “Yes, I guess that is what you call it. But you can see why I’d be upset here, don’t you?”

“Not really,” Charlotte shook her head. “I mean, why should you care if I bend a few literary conventions? Is it any skin off your nose?” She peered at him more closely. “Do ghosts even have skin?”

“You are so missing the point.”

“And what is the point?”

“It was my big moment. Cold wind, black clouds covering the full moon, little sparkly swirly things in the air, everything building to the big reveal. I was nailing it, completely nailing it. I mean, when have you ever seen a better ghost appearance?”

“The librarian in Ghostbusters?”

Sheldon snorted. “That was a comedy. Totally doesn’t count. Anyway, here I was, firing on all cylinders, and you just let the air out of the balloon.”

“That was a mixed metaphor.”

“Whatever. My point stands. It was my scene, and you made it all about you.”

“My my,” Charlotte said, shaking her head in wonder, “you really do have feelings, don’t you?”

The wind was picking up outside, the leaves beginning to swirl in the air. Charlotte wasn’t surprised. Neither was the cat.

Together they looked out the bedroom window, although it was getting harder to see by the minute. The night was quickly growing darker, as black clouds gathered to cover the moon.

“Looks like it’s going to be a stormy night,” Charlotte said, idly scratching the cat under the chin. The cat just purred, and rubbed up against Charlotte’s hand. From the open window came a sudden cold rush of air, and they both turned their gaze to follow it.

In the middle of the room, a shimmering light began to form, like a thousand sparkling pinpoints of light all in a muddle. Charlotte and the cat continued to watch, as the strange phosphorescence gradually took shape, casting eerie blue shadows against the walls.

At last the nebulous form began to resolve itself into a vaguely human shape, first arms, then the semblance of legs, now a head. At last a face began to emerge, the face of a young man. He was wearing glasses.

The cat ran to the still faintly glowing apparition, who was looking more solid by the second. Idly he reached down and scratched her behind the ears.

The young man looked Charlotte directly in the eyes. “Thanks for looking after my cat,” he said.

When Charlotte just continued to stare at him, not saying anything in reply, the young man looked vaguely embarrassed. “Please don’t be frightened.”

“Why would I be frightened?” She asked, finally speaking up, “Because you’re a ghost?”

“Well yes, that does tend to have an unfortunate effect on some people. But you seem ok with it.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like it’s your fault or anything.” She gave him a searching look. “Or do you think it’s your fault?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m just a ghost. No dead bodies under the floorboards or anything like that.”

“Well, that’s a relief, isn’t it?” She smiled.

He smiled back. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. My name is…”

“Sheldon,” she said, before he could finish the sentence.

“Wait,” he said, “how did you know my name is Sheldon?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Because, stupid, we’re in a book called ‘Sheldon’.”

“Do you think it’ll be all right?”

He turned to look at her. “We’ve known for years that our daughter is different. It’s not about what we decide to do, or where we choose to live, it goes beyond that.”

“Yes, I know,” she looked at him ruefully, “but I wish there were something we could do to help.”

He shook his head. “Look honey, it’s not about us. She … sees things. It’s a gift.”

“No dammit, it’s a curse.”

“Hey,” he said gently, “it’s a gift and a curse. Everything has two sides. Can’t we just live with that? I mean, she can. Why can’t we?”

She gave him a long searching look. “What about the cat?”

“The cat?”

“You know what I mean. With Charlotte, everything means something. There are no coincidences. That cat showed up for a reason.”

He smiled sadly. “Would you want our daughter to be any other way?”

“No, I guess not. Damn you, you’re always so logical.”

“Not really. Just realistic. She’ll be fine with the cat. We’ll be fine with the cat. Now try to get some sleep.”

“OK.” She kissed him, and she turned over in the bed. Then she felt his arm around her, and she knew that somehow it would be all right.

Charlotte couldn’t believe how big the house was. It just seemed to go on and on forever. And every room was different from all the others.

“Pumpkin,” came her mom’s voice from downstairs. “You’ve got plenty of time to explore later. Come on down for dinner.”

And it was true — there would be plenty of time. This crazy old house really was their new home, for keeps. At first she hadn’t been very happy about that, but she was starting to really like this place. It was different, it had character. Like her.

“Charlotte!”

“Coming mom.” She bounded down the big curved staircase two steps at a time. It had probably been very fancy in its day, with all sorts of parties and stuff. She imagined how young ladies her age must have walked down these stairs back then, making their grand entrance. They probably got all dressed up for it. In any case, they definitely weren’t wearing sneakers.

“We thought you’d gotten lost up there!” Her mom was pretending to look cross, but wasn’t doing a very good job of it. Her parents were already sitting down to dinner. The food looked really good, and suddenly Charlotte realized she was hungry.

“Sorry mom,” she slipped into her chair. This was already feeling like home. Maybe things weren’t going to be so bad.

She was reaching for the mashed potatoes when her dad spoke up for the first time. “I believe we have a visitor.”

“Oh no,” her mom said. “We must have left the door open. I was sure I had closed it.”

Sitting on its haunches in the living room, looking at them with calm regard, was a black cat.

“Oh mom,” Charlotte said, “she’s beautiful!”

“How do you know it’s a she?” her dad asked.

“I don’t know, I just do. Can we keep her? Please?”

Just as her mother, frowning, started to answer, the cat darted forward, heading straight toward Charlotte. With a graceful leap, it jumped into her lap, and started to purr.

Her mom looked from Charlotte to the cat, and back again, and her face softened. “Well ok, but it’s not clear just who is keeping whom.” She turned to her husband. “Dear, I think the cat should have her own dinner, don’t you? Can you please get her a bowl of milk?”

Charlotte was very pleased. Their little family had just gotten larger. Which made sense, with the house being so big and all.

Charlotte was not at all convinced about this move. “Mom, Dad, are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m sorry pumpkin,” her mom said, “but we’ve been over this a million times. Finally your dad and I will get to work in the same college. It’s not easy for academics.”

“Indeed,” her dad chimed in. “We are the hobos of the modern age. Always wandering from place to place, in search of an honest day’s work.”

“You are overdramatizing dear,” her mom said. “I’ve got this. Keep your eyes on the road.”

Tonight was the full moon, and all Charlotte could see outside were trees. Lots and lots of trees. “But we’ve never lived in the country. Is it even safe? I read somewhere that too many trees are bad for you.”

“Actually trees are good for you,” her father said helpfully. “They create oxygen. Makes breathing much easier.”

“I said, dear, that I’ve got this,” her mom said, this time more sharply. “Focus on your driving.” She turned to look at her daughter. “Think of all the new friends you will make here.”

“But I’ve got friends back, um, … home.” As she said the last word, she could feel the tears welling up. She balled her fists, annoyed at herself. There was a serious point to make here, and she would not cry.

“Your friends are aren’t disappearing. Believe it or not, even out here in the country they have the phone and the internet. Besides, after the summer you’re going to start high school — a whole new crop of friends. So you’ll have twice as many friends as anybody else.”

Charlotte sensed there was a flaw somewhere in her mother’s logic. She was still formulating her counterargument when she heard a crunch of gravel beneath the tires. They had arrived.

The black cat sat upon the old stone wall, looking impassively out into the graveyard. Tonight was the full moon, and the town church cast its long dark shadow over every grave. For a long while she remained unmoving, still as a statue. Only her eyes moved, flitting quickly from place to place, as though searching for someone she knew.

Suddenly she leapt, landing without a sound upon the soft brown earth, and began to run lightly between the headstones. She darted past George and Martha Fletcher, took a sharp right at the Hargrove family, and made a long graceful leap over M. Branson, before coming to a stop in front of a small and unremarkable grave in the far corner of the grounds.

She took a few minutes to clean her paws, taking her time, with no sense of hurry at all. When she was quite done, she circled twice around the headstone, rubbing up against it with a soft purr. She then walked to the very middle of the grave, curled herself into a ball, and with an air of contentment, promptly fell asleep.