A Haunted Marriage & The Cookie Baking Poltergeist

    "You left the sponge in the sink again."     "Grrrrrr"     "Did you hear me? You left the sponge in the sink again."     Michael Blake rolled to his left side in bed causing its wood frame to creak. Michael had had this bed for 10 years so he was used to it. However, he still wasn't used to all the creaks inherent in moving into a new house, especially a house that he and his wife moved into only previous week. Built in 1904, the one bedroom, ranch home was nestled in the rural community of Stillwater in upstate New York, at least 150 miles north from the chaos of New York City. The house was old enough to have a bathroom with a bathtub with clawed feet at the bottom. But Michael wasn't thinking about his old house which he hoped would lead to new beginnings for him and his wife at 12:30am on a night before having to wake up for work at 6:30am.     "What are you talking about?" Michael whispered as his propped himself up on his elbows.     The overhead light came on forcing Michael to rub both of his eyes. Through the blurriness, he noticed his wife Julia standing in the bedroom doorway, her hand leaning against the wall with a half full class of red wine in her other hand. After taking a sip, Julia placed the wineglass on the nightstand and sat down on the bed next to her husband. Julia pulled the white comforter over to her side while simultaneously removing her husband share of the comforter.     Michael pulled back on the comforter to better cover his bare feet. He rolled over to his left, away from his wife.     "I have to work tomorrow. Can you please shut off the light and please stop complaining about picayune things."     After reaching over to the nightstand and taking another sip of wine, Julia said, "A dirty sponge if full of microbes that can get on our dishes when we wash them. That's why I put the little silver rack over the sink so the sponge can be placed there so it can dry out. You never listen to what I tell you."     "I am going to continue not listening now so I can get some sleep. Some of us have a job to go to in the morning." Michael leaned over to place a hand on his wife's shoulder, but she slapped it away with the ease of swatting an insect.     "Give me a f*****g break Mike. We have been here one week. I have put some resumes out online. We're still unpacking. We moved up here from the city for you."     "We moved up here for us, " Michael said taking Julia's hand in his. "You hated the city as much as I did. Do you really miss the noise, the smell and the traffic?"     Julia took another sip of wine.     "I didn't think so."     "It's so boring here. There are hardly any people. But you made more money teaching down there," Julia said before placing her curly hair in a bun behind her head.     "Money that paid for a small apartment. It was too stressful down there. We have only been here a week. Can you please give this a chance? We're going to be ok. We'll eventually meet some people."     Julia took another sip of wine. "I know you're right."     "Stop worrying so much," Michael said as he reached over and took the wineglass, placing it on his nightstand. "Can you please turn off the light now so we can get some sleep."     Before complying with her husband's request, Julia took one of the extra pillows that lay between them and placed it horizontally in front of her husband, sort of like building a wall. Julia then reached over and turned off the light.     Michael removed the pillow and scooted over to wrap his arms around Julia's bare warm shoulder. Michael kissed her on the cheek and whispered, "Good night sweetie."     Julia turned her neck to kiss Michael on his cheek before whispering, "I'm sorry."     After pulling the comforter over his shoulders, Michael curled up into a fetal position. He closed his eyes before scratching an itch on the back of his head.     We still have half of the house to unpack. We only have two pots and pans to cook from. I have to find the rest. I forgot where I put them, maybe they're in the basement. Where the hell did I pack the good dishes? Maybe they're in the basement too. Crap, I have to type out the quiz on Friday for plot points my students should be remembering about The Great Gatsby. I also have to grade their essays about A Separate Peace. I also have to have my supervision with the principal. I don't know how she can judge my teaching; I have only been there for a week. I have to have the electric bill put in my name. I also have to call the cable company because we are not getting enough channels. The paint on the front porch railing is starting to flake, (not bad for being 113 years old). I have to paint that over the weekend or Julia will have yet another thing to complain about.     Michael pulled his arm from under the covers and reached over to the nightstand to check the time on his cell phone, 1:30am. I have been laying here an hour and I haven't slept a lick. Michael glanced over his shoulder and saw the rhythmic rising and fall of the blankets next to him. She's dead to the world. It's no use. I think I will go downstairs for awhile and grade some papers.     Michael gently pulled the blanket off then pivoted so his bare feet were now touching the hardwood floor. Michael switched on the flashlight function of his cell phone. After walking over to the window, Michael slipped on a pair of slippers he left waiting for him. Staring out the window, Michael noticed the full moon illuminating his neighbor's two story home. The moonlight made the house's red paint appear black. I haven't even had time to introduce myself to the our new neighbor yet. I wonder who lives over there.     Michael slowly turned the bedroom door know and with a quarter turn, the door creaked open. He glanced at Julia. She still hadn't moved in the past hour. After shutting the door behind him, Michael walked straight ahead but before going two steps he noticed a smell. Something sweet. Maybe Julia baked a cake or something. Michael continued walking straight ahead after turning on the hall light. Two piles of three cardboard boxes each stood like sentries outside the kitchen's entrance. The moonlights illuminated a gray Formica table with two place settings. Two more boxes marked "kitchen" stood next to the door to the basement. Michael opened the oven hoping to find a sweet surprise. It's empty. On his way over to the refrigerator, Michael couldn't help but look in the kitchen sink to make sure that the sponge wasn't left inside.     After opening the refrigerator, Michael grabbed a bottle of water. All he saw inside the refrigerator was a leftover meatloaf in a pan, a gallon of milk, water bottles, ketchup, a bowl of broccoli, but no cake. I swear I smelled cake. Maybe the neighbor made something and the smell drifted over here.     Michael sipped from his water bottle before switching off the kitchen light. Walking through his dining room, Michael flipped on the overhead light to the living room. A glass coffee table contained a manila folder marked "essays." A mug containing red, blue and black pens was placed on the table next to the folder. Michael sat down on the couch before grabbing a red pen. Michael took the first essay from the folder from a student named Danielle Pinto. I can tell already Miss Pinto that you didn't even read the whole book. This is so poorly written. I can't even deal with my students right now. After writing 60% on the top of the essay, Michael placed it back in the manila folder and reached for the TV remote control. The first image that came on the TV was of a young blond girl kneeling in front of a television containing static. What a great movie to put on in the middle of the night, Poltergeist. It's a great haunted house story. This is the one where actress JoBeth Williams, while wearing only panties and a T-shirt, is thrown against her bedroom wall by one of the ghosts haunting her home.     Michael took off his slippers and crossed his bare feet on the coffee table. He slouched on the couch before placing his hands behind his head. Before watching another ten minutes of Poltergeist, Michael's eyes closed. For the next two hours, Michael slept as Poltergeist ended as Night of the Living Dead began. When Michael woke at 3:30 pm he noticed that sweet smell that initially led him into the kitchen, but this time much more intense.     After stretching his arms, Michael rose from the couch. This is definitely coming from the kitchen. After putting on his slippers, Michael placed the remote control back onto the coffee table before sprinting back to the kitchen. He nearly tripped over a pile of boxes marked, "living room," on his way. Michael flipped on the light and opened the refrigerator once again. No cookies or cakes here but I know what I smell. Michael stared at the white door next to the oven. This door led to the basement. Maybe Julia put them down there for some reason.     Michael opened the basement door and pulled a string over his head to illuminate the one bulb for the entire room. Michael grabbed the wood handrail and walked slowly down the stairs. The smell of baked sweetness intensified with each one of Michael's steps into the basement. When Michael reached the basement floor, his feet turned colder due to the concrete. The basement wasn't furnished. Piles of cardboard boxes lined all four walls. A small wood table with a box of tools stood in the middle of the basement floor. A porcelain sink, with a rust colored water stain was in one corner of the room. A set of gray metal shelves containing toilet paper and light bulbs stood in another corner. When he and Julia moved in the previous week, this was the first placed he started moving things. Julia didn't want the main house too cluttered with boxes. Again, something else she can complain about. But I didn't notice this smell a week ago and it's definitely coming from down here, but I don't see anything. Where is Julia hiding them?     Michael walked over to peer inside the sink. All he noticed was a steady drip from the faucet. He checked the shelves behind the toilet paper and found no trays of cookies or cakes. The smell is so intense. I wish I could eat one of those cookies right now, but where the hell are they? Screw this. I need to really get some sleep.     Michael turned to leave the basement but before he could take one step he saw red slippered feet descending the stairs. The red slippers led to reveal the white nightgown of his wife. Julia held onto the banister with both hands before releasing hand to cover her yawning mouth.     "I guess the basement is the perfect place for some makeup s*x," Michael said walking up to his wife.     "Cut the crap. The smell of something sweet woke me up. I checked the kitchen. I thought you might have made me a special treat."     "I thought it was you. I have been smelling this for about an hour. I thought you left some brownies down here."     "I haven't had time to bake with all of the unpacking I have done and yet to do."     "Then where the hell could this be coming from. I know this much, the smell got stronger when I got down here, but nothing is here. How f*****g strange."     "In the past week have you smelled anything like this before?"     "Not at all."     "The other morning, before you left for work, the morning we argued about what to unpack first, I thought I smelled some fresh baked cookies. I thought it might have been the neighbor, but after you left, I didn't smell anything anymore until tonight. I guess the real estate agent left the smell of sweetness out of her guided tour she gave us of this old house."     Michael place both of his hands on his wife cheeks before kissing her on the lips. "Aren't you tired of it?"     After placing her hands on her husband's hips, Julia said, "Tired of what?"     "Fighting and talking about arguing. I know this move has been tough on you, especially since most of your family is still downstate. But we're going to make it. And instead of me teaching high school students about great literature soon they are going to be reading my books. Once we unpack these boxes, this basement will be my new writing studio. And you're going to get that job. I know the economy is kind of slow, but it's starting to open up. Are you checking Indeed.com for some jobs?"     "Sure. I found a few receptionist openings in town. I sent them my resume but I haven't heard back yet."     "But you will," Michael said after kissing Julia on the forehead.     "So any ideas for that great novel yet?"     "A few. I just got to get around to actually writing it. I read the Stephen King book called On Writing. His best advice was to overcome your own self doubt."     "I can't wait to read it."     "It's only September but hopefully by Christmas you will be able to read a rough draft."     "You know, I don't smell anything but must anymore, which is what a basement should smell like."     "Let's stop worrying about strange smells and work our way back to bed. That is the proper place for makeup s*x anyway."     Julia took Michael's hand in hers. "Then we had better get started. You still need to get some sleep before work tomorrow."     Julia led Michael up the stairs and switched off the light before closing the basement door behind them. Julia let out a slight laugh as Michael picked her up to carry her over the threshold to their bedroom. Michael nearly dropped Julia after bumping into a Tupperware container with the word "Christmas Stuff" written in magic marker across the top. When they reached the bed, Michael gently placed his wife on the mattress. After taking off his slippers and tossing them across the bedroom, Michael slid under the comforter. This time, Julia did not bother putting a pillow barrier between them. Within one second, her bare leg was draped over her husband's leg. Michael slid his hand up Julia's leg to discover that her nightgown was pulled up all the way over her hips. Michael reached down to take off his shorts before straddling his wife. The only thing he smelled then was the sweet scent of her shampoo and not cookies.     After making love, Julia and Michael finally fell asleep together, this time in each others arms.                                                                                     #     Michael opened his eyes to a stream of sunlight cascading across his bedroom floor. The polished wood floor reflected the light and made the room appear brighter. Dust particles appeared to dance in the rays of sunlight. Michael lifted his head from the pillow and reached over to grab his cell phone from the night stand. He couldn't move too much more because Julia's leg was still draped over his waist under the comforter.     Oh s**t. It's 7:30 already. I will have to get dressed and leave. I will grab breakfast on the way to school.     Slowly sliding out from under Julia's leg, Michael stood up and stretched his arms over his head. He glanced again and watched Julia, still sound asleep in a fetal position. No need to wake her up. Michael walked past his dresser to his closet door. Fortunately, when he opened his closet, Julia has already laid out his black suit jacket, black pants and red tie. Michael slipped out of his shorts and took off his t-shirt. He tossed them into a hamper placed in the corner of the walk in closet. As quick as he could, Michael put on his suit and draped the tie over his neck.     Slowly opening the bedroom door, Michael walked down the hall to the bathroom so he would have the benefit of a mirror. When he looked at himself he noticed the beginning of beard stubble and a head of messy hair. Michael turned on the faucet and placed the comb underneath the running water. After running the wet comb through his hair, Michael tied his tie and adjusted the knot while staring at himself.     Michael looked at his cell phone again. s**t. It's 7:45. I really need to get going. Michael jogged into the living room to grab his folder of students' essays. Strange, I don't smell anything now.     Before leaving the living room, Michael wrote a note to Julia that he left conspicuously on the coffee table. The note read:     Dearest Julia, Will be home by 4. Text me if you need anything. And the sponge isn't in the sink anymore ha ha. Love, Your husband Michael.     With the folder tucked under his arm like a linebacker holding a football, Michael jogged to his front door. Upon opening it, Michael noticed some brown leaves surrounding his 2012 white Honda Civic in the driveway. The car sat in the shadow of a large maple tree whose outer leaves were beginning to turn orange. Behind the tree stood the Blake's only neighbor's on Mulberry Street. The Blake's address was 26 Mulberry and their neighbor's 24 Mulberry. That house was a wood red, two story Victorian home, with a gray porch in front. Usually the gray porch contained a chair that was empty, but today a woman sat in that chair, with a folded newspaper in her lap.     She must be about 80 years old, Michael thought. I wonder if she lives there all alone.     As Michael walked down the steps of his own porch, he grabbed he grabbed his car keys from his right pocket. Michael clicked the button on his key chain and heard the locks of his car unlock. Michael pulled the door open and sat down. Before turning the ignition key, he placed his students' folder next to him on the passenger's seat. Michael rolled down both widows as he looked to his rear to back out of his driveway. When nearing Mulberry Street, out of his peripheral vision, Michael swore he saw the old lady in the chair waving him over.     I really don't have time for this not, but I really should try to neighborly and meet her.     Michael placed the car in park. He got out and walked behind the maple tree approaching his neighbor's home. The woman waved him over with one hand and held the folded newspaper in the other.     "Come on over. I haven't met my new neighbors yet," the woman said in a high pitched voice.     The woman's silver hair was styled in a bun behind her head. Dressed in black pants and white blouse, the woman got out of her chair to extend her hand to Michael.     Michael noticed a myriad of age spots on the woman's wrinkles hand. Knobs of arthritis plagues the joints in both of her hand. The woman pushed herself out of the wood rocking chair with both hands.     "I guess I am your new neighbor. My name is Susan Idleman. I have lived in this house for 50 years. My husband passed away 10 years ago and it's just me here now. I have someone who comes over now and then to help me straighten up and cook. I just want you to know that I am not one of those annoying neighbors. I feel really lucky to finally have someone living next door. It's been awhile since someone lived in that house."     "Nice to meet you. My name is Michael Blake. My wife, who is still sleeping over there, is Julia. I will try not to be an annoying neighbor as well. My wife and I keep mostly to ourselves."     "Do you have any children?" Suzanne said as she sat back down. "Sorry, I think it's going to rain later, my legs are beginning to ache."     "No children yet, but not for lack of trying," Michael laughed.     "I never had children either, but they are truly a blessing. My best friend Frances had two children. They are grown up now."     "Where is your friend Frances?"     "Oh she passed on about the same time as my husband. She used to live in the house you just moved into."     "Has there been anyone living there since?"     "Just a few young couples that seem to move on after they have kids."     "We intend to be around awhile. I just took a teaching job and I am another writer trying to write that great American novel."     "There's enough peace and quiet to get that done. Stillwater is a quiet town and you picked one of the quietest streets in that town to live on."     "Did your friend like living in our house?"     "Yes. Frances was a good friend. She had two children, Frank and Sally but they moved away. Unfortunately, they grew apart after their father died. Frances also had a grandchild named Jacob that she didn't see enough. But the thing I remember most about Francis is that she loved to bake, especially cookies. I used to sit out on this very porch and smell those cookies. When Francis lived there, she used to have an oven in the basement for her baking. She always wanted cookies ready if her son ever decided to bring her grandson over? Most times that didn't happen. Is the oven still in the basement?"     "No."     "As a matter of fact, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Francine died of a heart attack in that house. She died in the basement while preparing her cookies. Luckily her son stopped by the next day and found her body."     "Thanks for making me feel so much better Susan," Michael said as he jogged back to his car.