Apparitions occur in places where a terrible deed was committed.
—Siegfried Kracauer
Channelling a Spirit
My father’s death came as a shock. We were struggling to make ends meet and had just turned a corner in our internet marketing business, when he committed suicide.
I mourned for months and was inconsolable.
That’s when I received a second shock— my mother flew to Rio, eloping with Uncle Clyburn—my father’s brother!
I went into a deep depression and was institutionalized. One night, in the psych ward, staring out the window at the Moon, the door opened and in walked Father—just like that.
I gave a start and began to shake but he admonished me in the stern voice he always used to calm my fears.
“I want you to know, Mel, I’m real—not a hallucination—not a psychotic nightmare. I’m as real as you are.”
Once I got over the shock, I went to hug him, but he stopped me.
“You musn’t touch me —I’m here because of hate, not love—tenderness would only weaken my resolve.”
“What resolve?” I croaked, confused by his demeanour.
“To see my murderer brought to justice.”
This was too much for me to process.
“What are you saying? I know you shot yourself.”
“The finger on the trigger was your uncle’s.”
“Uncle Clyburn? He shot you—why?”
“Lust, plain and simple—he wanted your mother and now he has her.”
I stared into space trying to make sense of what I heard
“Oh God—I can’t believe this! What should I do—go to the police?”
He laughed bitterly. “And tell them what—Your father returned from the grave to accuse your uncle? We have no proof—he wiped his prints and put the gun in my hand.”
“Then, why is Uncle Clyburn being so nice to me lately? He knows I love Leah, but I’m broke and he vouched for me— persuaded her father to allow the marriage.”
“It’s just guilt, Mel—Can’t you see? You’re his nephew and he’s deprived you of a father. He’s trying to arrange for another to take my place, while he’s free to sleep with my Trudy.”
I had to ask. “Surely, Leah’s not part of this?”
“On that score, I’ve no idea, Mel—you’ll have to figure that out yourself.”
He stopped and looked fearfully at the window. “Dawn’s breaking—I’ve got to go. You’re smart, my son—I’m relying on you.”
“Wait, Father—”
But he was gone.
I sank to the floor and lay my head on the cot and sobbed.
How could I go up against my powerful uncle and accuse him of a crime for which I had no proof—and how could my mother sleep with my father’s brother—a mere three months after my father’s death?
If Leah had any part in this, I vow, I’ll strangle her with my bare hands.
Oh, please God, let her not be an accomplice—I love her and don’t think I could bear it.
The honour of your presence is requested at The Oaks Country Club on Saturday, June 18th for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres at 6:00 o’clock in the evening. Dinner immediately following.
Trude and Clyburn Ashleigh.
I wanted to rip the card stock invitation into a million pieces and fling the fragments into my uncle’s smug face—but more than that, I wanted him to pay for what he did to my father.
Leah and her parents would be there—all of New York society would attend.
I’d have to find a way to make Uncle confess and find out once and for all what part if any, Leah played in this horror.
Thank you!
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