Today at Work: Ghost Story
“I think I’m going to contact this paranormal investigator,” I say. “See if he wants to do coffee.”
“I wonder if he ever investigated the guest ranch,” Maryann comments.
“Is it haunted?”
She raises her eyebrows and nods. “But, Mable’s a friendly ghost. Just likes to play games. I used do morning prep in the kitchens and the evening meal, and without fail every time I wanted to get out early-well, on time-I’d have a big tub of dishes in my hands which we stored under the counter, and just like that,” she clicked her fingers, “The lights would go out. And I’d say something like, ‘Mable, come on now,” and then wait. Sure enough a few minutes later the lights would come back on.
“And you know, I’d be walking out to where I parked by the main buildings, and I’d turn around and I’d know I’d turned out all the lights, but I’d look and there would be the dining room light on and the light at the very top of the house. Then I’d keep walking to my car and, sure enough, by the time I got there the lights would be out in the house.”
“What was her story?” I ask. I grin in that uneasy way anyone who’s the recipient of a ghost story smiles. Trapped.
Maryann frowns a little. “Her daughter died, I think. And then she died too, but she wouldn’t leave, because her daughter was there. Buried where the tennis courts are now, you know?”
She laughs and shkes her head. “We’d have tour buses come through and the bus drivers, you know, we’d put them up in the rooms above the kitchen. And in the morning they’d come down and say, ‘I thought you said we’d have the place to ourselves last night.’ And we’d have to ask, ‘Well, what did you see?’ You know? And they’d say, ‘Well there was a beautiful woman in this, this long flowing, you know, negligee.” They all described the same thing, every time. This woman. And sometimes we’d say, “You know, I think you got to meet Mable,” and explain things, but with some of them, we’d look at them and have to tell them, “Sorry, yes. We ran out of space at the main house and we had to move someone up there.”
“I wonder if he ever investigated the guest ranch,” Maryann comments.
“Is it haunted?”
She raises her eyebrows and nods. “But, Mable’s a friendly ghost. Just likes to play games. I used do morning prep in the kitchens and the evening meal, and without fail every time I wanted to get out early-well, on time-I’d have a big tub of dishes in my hands which we stored under the counter, and just like that,” she clicked her fingers, “The lights would go out. And I’d say something like, ‘Mable, come on now,” and then wait. Sure enough a few minutes later the lights would come back on.
“And you know, I’d be walking out to where I parked by the main buildings, and I’d turn around and I’d know I’d turned out all the lights, but I’d look and there would be the dining room light on and the light at the very top of the house. Then I’d keep walking to my car and, sure enough, by the time I got there the lights would be out in the house.”
“What was her story?” I ask. I grin in that uneasy way anyone who’s the recipient of a ghost story smiles. Trapped.
Maryann frowns a little. “Her daughter died, I think. And then she died too, but she wouldn’t leave, because her daughter was there. Buried where the tennis courts are now, you know?”
She laughs and shkes her head. “We’d have tour buses come through and the bus drivers, you know, we’d put them up in the rooms above the kitchen. And in the morning they’d come down and say, ‘I thought you said we’d have the place to ourselves last night.’ And we’d have to ask, ‘Well, what did you see?’ You know? And they’d say, ‘Well there was a beautiful woman in this, this long flowing, you know, negligee.” They all described the same thing, every time. This woman. And sometimes we’d say, “You know, I think you got to meet Mable,” and explain things, but with some of them, we’d look at them and have to tell them, “Sorry, yes. We ran out of space at the main house and we had to move someone up there.”