The spirit of correctness
There was no denying that Miss Annabel O'Grady was a proper lady, a gentlewoman of refined manners and impeccable courtesy. She did nothing that was even a shade improper, and her house was always as neat as a pin. The only instance of impropriety in her blameless adult life occurred, in fact, at its close, and even then it was not a matter over which she had any control. Her great-nephew Kevin, of whom she was very fond, unfortunately did not place the same value on propriety; and, being very much cut up over the death of his beloved great-aunt, allowed the undertaker to cut a few corners in the matter of Miss O'Grady's funeral arrangements.
Miss O'Grady was rather unimpressed. There was no question of moving on to the next life, not while the closing of her earthly life was as yet undone -- for to her mind, a thing done improperly was no different from a thing not done at all. And so, though her earthly remains were borne forth from her parlour, her ghost remained to insist that the thing be redone in a satisfactory manner.
Young Kevin O'Grady inherited the neat little house and moved in. He was not, at first, aware of his great-aunt's ghostly presence. But, as time went by, he began to notice little things: shoes left lying in the hall would mysteriously move themselves onto the shoe rack; the old grandfather clock continued to keep perfect time despite not having been wound in over two months; chair cushions would be straightened; beds left unmade in the morning would be found neatly made by evening. For a while, he thought he might be the victim of a mad, marauding housemaid -- until he recognised his great-aunt's particular points of propriety in the mysterious goings-on.
He was, of course, a little surprised when he first realised the truth. It seemed unthinkable that Great-Aunt Annabel should choose to remain on earth after death, even to maintain her housekeeping: after all, the proper thing to do once one died was to move on to the Judgement of Heaven, and Great-Aunt Annabel always did what was proper.
He contacted a spirit medium; several, in fact, but the first eleven turned out to be charlatans who declared that the dead lady desired certain rather suspiciously improper courses of action, such as the continuous architectural expansion of that neat, prim little house. The twelfth, however -- a singularly worldly-looking gentleman with an enormous meerschaum pipe billowing forth plumes of white smoke -- did in fact manage to summon forth the unhappy spirit, and relayed her message to her great-nephew.
"Is that it? She wants to be buried properly? But why could she not just write this to me in a fogged-up mirror or on my desk blotter?"
"She considers such doings theatrical and vulgar; contact between the dead and the living is a somewhat touchy matter, and she finds this very seance a matter of great embarrassment."
"Well, I'm not surprised. But I could hardly dig her up for a second funeral; that simply isn't done."
It was finally agreed that the ghost would simply have to accept that some things could not be corrected without making everything worse than it was already; but her coffin, which had been buried only five feet below ground, would be reburied at the proper depth of six feet. This was done, and, as no crooked picture frames were found straightened after that, it must be assumed that Miss O'Grady had then gone on to her eternal reward.
Kevin O'Grady, however, held a proper Irish wake for her every year, just in case -- thereby earning himself a not unwanted reputation for open-handed generosity and eccentricity.
Miss O'Grady was rather unimpressed. There was no question of moving on to the next life, not while the closing of her earthly life was as yet undone -- for to her mind, a thing done improperly was no different from a thing not done at all. And so, though her earthly remains were borne forth from her parlour, her ghost remained to insist that the thing be redone in a satisfactory manner.
Young Kevin O'Grady inherited the neat little house and moved in. He was not, at first, aware of his great-aunt's ghostly presence. But, as time went by, he began to notice little things: shoes left lying in the hall would mysteriously move themselves onto the shoe rack; the old grandfather clock continued to keep perfect time despite not having been wound in over two months; chair cushions would be straightened; beds left unmade in the morning would be found neatly made by evening. For a while, he thought he might be the victim of a mad, marauding housemaid -- until he recognised his great-aunt's particular points of propriety in the mysterious goings-on.
He was, of course, a little surprised when he first realised the truth. It seemed unthinkable that Great-Aunt Annabel should choose to remain on earth after death, even to maintain her housekeeping: after all, the proper thing to do once one died was to move on to the Judgement of Heaven, and Great-Aunt Annabel always did what was proper.
He contacted a spirit medium; several, in fact, but the first eleven turned out to be charlatans who declared that the dead lady desired certain rather suspiciously improper courses of action, such as the continuous architectural expansion of that neat, prim little house. The twelfth, however -- a singularly worldly-looking gentleman with an enormous meerschaum pipe billowing forth plumes of white smoke -- did in fact manage to summon forth the unhappy spirit, and relayed her message to her great-nephew.
"Is that it? She wants to be buried properly? But why could she not just write this to me in a fogged-up mirror or on my desk blotter?"
"She considers such doings theatrical and vulgar; contact between the dead and the living is a somewhat touchy matter, and she finds this very seance a matter of great embarrassment."
"Well, I'm not surprised. But I could hardly dig her up for a second funeral; that simply isn't done."
It was finally agreed that the ghost would simply have to accept that some things could not be corrected without making everything worse than it was already; but her coffin, which had been buried only five feet below ground, would be reburied at the proper depth of six feet. This was done, and, as no crooked picture frames were found straightened after that, it must be assumed that Miss O'Grady had then gone on to her eternal reward.
Kevin O'Grady, however, held a proper Irish wake for her every year, just in case -- thereby earning himself a not unwanted reputation for open-handed generosity and eccentricity.