was the beginning of endless night
― William Peter Blatty
My Ghost
Sipping coffee in my sun-dappled kitchen the following morning felt surreal, especially considering I had just seen a ghost the night before.
But the longer I sat in my mundane surroundings I began to doubt the legitimacy of the experience. Reality was solid and tangible like this house, not dreamlike and chimerical .
A pale wraith in moonlight? It seemed preposterous―a filmy and insubstantial mirage and nothing more. Or so I tried to convince myself.
I knew what Elias would say and I actually flushed with embarrassment picturing how he'd remind me of my brain trauma and reassure me my romantic obsession with Whitehern was easily explainable as a fragment of a memory.
"Surely, you must have been in that house before," he'd say calmly, "and as for the girl, she also is someone from your past you can't quite recall."
I hate vacillating between defending and prosecuting the evidence of my own senses, but it seems such is my life at the moment.
I felt at sixes and sevens and needed to get out into the sunlight.
I opted for exploring more of West Harbour and headed for the SUV parked in the garages in back of the house, but as soon as I turned onto the street I headed back into the city and parked again outside of Whitehern.
What is it about this house that draws me? I mused and found myself retracing my steps from before in the direction of the back gardens.
The sun was gleaming off the windows and I had to pause on the circular drive to admire the stately Georgian architecture.
"She's a real beauty, isn't she?"
I turned to see a middle aged man in a business suit smiling at me.
I felt immediately defensive. "Oh, I'm sorry―I didn't mean to trespass, I was just admiring the house and grounds."
The man chuckled good-naturedly, "You're not trespassing at all―the house is owned by the city and is a designated historical site. You can go on a tour if you like and see inside as well, if you're interested."
"I will do that. Do you manage the site?" I asked.
"Oh no, I'm not a public servant type." Again, the genial smile.
"Clay Lightbourne," he said, extending a hand.
""Marcus Sterne," I replied, completing his handshake.
"You must be Thomas Sterne's son. I heard you might be coming back to West Harbour. I guess I'm going to function as welcoming committee and welcome wagon."
"I didn't anticipate much of a welcome, I'm afraid, The Sterne's seem to have made a few enemies over the years."
"Comes with the territory," the man laughed. "Your dad was a real estate developer like me, although I didn't really know him directly, but I heard he was a tough but fair businessman."
"Your opinion of him is certainly more generous than that of the local residents," I smiled bleakly.
Clay looked at me narrowly―I've seen that look before and know he was sizing me up, but I also saw a softness in his eyes.
"Look Marcus, I know it can't be easy being a Sterne in West Harbour. The people here went through some rough times in the past with the steel mill closing and people losing their houses in the economic downturn, but your father wasn't to blame for that. I still get a frosty reception at times because they see me as profiting from their misery, but it's not true. Your father and I kept this town afloat and nothing can change that."
I was genuinely moved by his words. "Thank you for that, Clay―I appreciate your levelling with me and the kind words about my father. It helps me put things in perspective."
"Why don't you have dinner with my wife and I tonight at our place? I know she'd love to meet you and it might help you feel more a part of the town. What do you say?"
How could I refuse such an invitation? Clay and I seemed to have a natural affinity or simpatico for one another. I gladly accepted and took his business card and agreed to drop by his house at six.
As for my plan to explore Whitehern, I thought it best to postpone that until I could arrange for an actual tour.
Despite Clay's amiable manner and kind words about my father, I still felt apprehensive about becoming involved with the townsfolk.
I was reminded of a quote from Romeo and Juliet about how quickly bright things come to confusion and worried that the fragile bond that seemed to tie our friendship together might turn out to be the very strangler of that amity.
But in that regard, I reigned myself to suspending all judgment because I knew I was still new in town and whether I'd ever be fully accepted even by Clay, only time would tell.
I have seen the word 'chimera' used by various writers. Usually they use it along with 'dreamy / dreamlike' or whispy' and so forth....all having positive connotations. Yet, it is the opposite and it would be more correct to think of monsters and the macabre (A grotesque product of the imagination) when using this word.
Somehow I cannot tie that in to the image of the ghostly girl....she speaks, to me, more of dreams unfulfilled, of sadness and opportunities lost.
I know what you mean, Arthur - I think it's a normal reaction to the presence of something alien or paranormal - as much as we may desire the presence of the deceased, our flesh rebels. May of those reactions were similar to those of Hamlet beholding the ghost of his beloved father - the allusions to revisiting glimpses of the moon and making night hideous.in part 12