A Haunted Marriage & The Cookie Baking Poltergeist

Chapter 2: School Days

    "I feel that the theme of this book was that Gatsby was like just this guy who just couldn't get over this Daisy woman. Gatsby was the kind of guy who was upset with a mistake from his past. Gatsby wants this woman back in a really bad way. He thinks his money will be able to get Daisy back but I feel I learned reading this book that money does not buy happiness or anything else for that matter. Tom Buchanan was also a kind of a jerk. A great bad guy. It also works as a tragedy. Gatsby had some kind of death wish. I knew he wouldn't make it in the end. I also liked the book because it was really, really short."

    The other twenty four students in Mr. Blake's fourth period English class laughed in unison after seventeen year old Alison Jones uttered her last sentence.

    Alison remained standing in front of her desk, holding a typed paper of what she just read out loud for her book report in her hand. Alison placed her papers next to her cell phone on her desk, but remained standing. "How was that Mr. Blake? Mr. Blake are you ok?"

    The rest of the class let out collective laugh once again.

    Mr. Blake's students noticed Michael seated at his desk with his head resting in both of his palms. A stack of text books partially hid Michael's head, but didn't hide the fact that both of his eyes were closed. Behind Michael, the chalkboard (Stillwater High School still used old fashioned chalk boards) contained a chalk written title, "The Great Gatsby," underlined and under it a listing of major characters from the novel, such as Jay Gastby, Daisy Buchanan , Tom Buchanan and Myrtle Wilson. Michael was used to writing out his lesson plans on white boards at his old teaching position in NYC.

    "Mr. Blake, I am done with my report. May I sit down now?" Alison asked.

    Michael mumbled into both of his hands before jerking his head upward. Michael pushed the stack of books aside before placing both of his palms down on the desk to raise himself to a standing position. After rubbing one eye, he said, "Sorry. Obviously I didn't sleep well last night, but I did hear that wonderful encapsulation of the novel by Miss Jones. And you can sit down now Alison."

    After sitting down, Alison picked up her cell phone to see if she had any text messages from her boyfriend, Frank Simmons, who should now be in math class.

    Michael looked over his shoulder at the clock above the classroom door. 11:45am.

    I still have fifteen minutes to kill. I knew I should have stopped for an extra cup of coffee this morning, but I had to waste time talking to our new neighbor.

    "Would anyone else like to talk about their impressions of The Great Gatsby?" Michael said as he walked from around his desk and approached the front row of students. "The discussion might help when we have a test on this by the end of next week."

    Not one student responded to Michael's request.

    After looking out the window and noticing the gym class beginning to jog around the track, Michael began to walk between his students' desks. Their collective heads began to raise from the collective hands and Michael neared each one of them. One student was seated in a hunchback position texting someone on his cell phone.

    "Josh it might be best to put the phone away for now and focus on class, specifically the reading assignment. What did you think of the novel? Hopefully you read it like you were assigned last weekend."

    Josh shoved his phone into his jeans pocket before standing up. Josh's black bangs nearly covered his eyes. He was clad in black jeans with a black leather jacket.

    In nearly a whisper, Josh said, "To be honest Mr. Blake, I didn't like the book that much."

    "That's fine Josh. I don't like every book I have to give you guys to read either, A Separate Piece is not one of my favorites, but Stillwater School District mandates that I must have you guys read it, but Gatsby is one of my personal favorites. It takes place on Long Island where I am originally from so it holds a special place for me. But anyway, why didn't you like it?"

    "In my opinion, Jay Gatsby was too hung up on this Daisy woman. He needed to move on. He was trying to get his past back but couldn't. You can't relive your past."

    Michael walked over to the rear window of the class room. The gym class was ending their job and beginning to make their way back into the school. Michael pulled down the blinds because the sunlight was striking him in the eyes.

    "That was actually very well said Josh. The Great Gatsby to me, although not to others, is the ultimate ghost story. But in Gatsby's case, he's not dealing with a ghost of someone who died, but is still alive. Gatsby is kind of haunted by an ex-flame that he can't get over. Gatsby thinks that by getting her back he will be able to move on with his life. But Gatsby never really moved on. He's stuck in the past and trying to use his money to reclaim what he thinks is rightfully his, namely Daisy. Although Gatsby has all of this money, he's trying to pay to get his past back with the wrong currency. It might have been better for Mr. Gatsby to not have noticed Daisy at all. I think F. Scott Fitzgerald was trying to tell us that you can't buy your past back. This can lead to tragic consequences as we see for Jay Gatsby. In the end The Great Gatsby isn't so great himself after all."

    The bell rang denoting the end of English class. Before Michael could walk back to his desk, most of his students had already filed out of the classroom.

    Thank God. Time for lunch. I can get some more coffee in the teacher's lounge.

    When the last student shut the classroom door, Michael grabbed his suit jacket off of the back of his chair and put it on. Michael turned off the lights before exiting into a hallway crowded with girls talking about their latest dates and guys talking about everything from the Stillwater Stallions football record to their next f*******: postings. Michael had to walk sideways down to the end of the hall to better negotiate his way through the student throng. After reaching the end of the hall, Michael opened a door labeled, "Teacher's Lounge."

    The Teacher's Lounge consisted of four round tables with six chairs a piece. In the corner of the room stood a counter containing a sink , coffeemaker, some paper cups and a microwave oven. Next to the counter stood a refrigerator. A billboard hung on the wall next to the refrigerator containing information about the next PTA meeting, the Stallions football schedule and apartments in the area for rent.

    Since it was still early in the lunch period, Michael found the lounge empty. Michael made his way over to the refrigerator and pulled out his brown bag lunch. Michael poured himself a cup of coffee before sitting at the table the farthest away from the door. At least it's a little quieter sitting over here.

    The brown bag contained a turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich with a little mayo. Michael drank half his cup of coffee before taking one bite of his sandwich.

    "How do my students, who live less than 10 minutes away from where the Battle of Saratoga took place, all nearly fail a quiz I just gave them on that very battle?" Mr. Stone said as he walked into the lounge. Jack Stone served as the Stillwater High School eleventh grade US and World History teacher. Stone stood five foot ten, but appeared larger due to his pot belly and bald head.

"Because we have a generation obsessed with f*******: and other social media. These millennials have the attention span of a fruit fly," Michael answered.

    Jack Stone grabbed his own lunch bag out of the refrigerator before sitting across from Michael.

    "You're the new English teacher right?"

    "Eleventh grade English that's correct."

    "Jack Stone, nice to meet you," Jack said reaching his hand across the table to shake Michael's hand. "I just assigned The Great Gatsby and my kids actually did pretty well interpreting it."

    "Why do I always get the kids who just don't seem to care?" Jack said before taking a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

    "I used to teach in New York City and I had some really tough ones there. I had kids who I had to fail out because they refused to read any of the books that I assigned. I had kids dealing with pregnancies by age sixteen. I just couldn't deal with the stress anymore. I didn't feel like a teacher in the city. I was almost like a teenager's therapist. I want to just be a teacher again, and a writer. Upstate New York is much more conducive to writing that living in a small apartment in loud New York City. The city that never sleeps had me not sleeping either with all of the noise," Michael said, taking another sip of coffee.

    "No offense, but you look like you didn't sleep much last night."

    "Between you and me I have been having some issues with the wife."

    "Been there done that. Been divorced for five years now. Five years of paying alimony, although it's called spousal maintenance in the state of New York, and five years of paying child support. Seventeen percent of my salary goes to my crazy ex for my son. A son that is also a teenager and doesn't have time for his father. Best advice. Try to patch things up with your wife. Divorce sucks."

    "I thought moving up here would help us but so far I don't know."

    "Do you live in town?"

    "Yeah, the old house at the end of Mulberry Street."

    "I know the one, the one next to where Susan Idleman lives. A lot of people have been in and out of that house over the past ten years. What do you think of the place so far?"

    "If we ever get done packing it will be nice. I want to make the basement my writing studio. It's nestled in a nice area."

    Jack Stone sat up straighter in his chair before finishing his sandwich. "Obviously since I am a history teacher I have always been interested in history. Even local history. Do you know anything else about that house?"

    "The neighbor told me an older woman used to live in there. In fact, I learned today that she died in the very basement that I want to write the next great American novel in."

    "Yes, Frances Pine. I used to know her. Nice lady. Very lonely though. Her son was kind of a jerk. Liked her baking. I knew her from church. She made the best chocolate chip oatmeal cookies I ever ate. She should have started a business. I always told her that. After Frances died whoever lived in that house complained about strange noises. I am not sure but maybe that's why they left. Have you guys noticed anything odd?"

    "No noises. Julia and I thought we smelled something coming from the basement, like cookies or something but we were both really tired. It was probably nothing. "

    "I know friends of mine who swears they have a ghost living in their attic. They just get used to things going bump in the night so to speak."

    What kind of a person, who you just met, basically tells you you might be living in a haunted house? This guy is full of s**t. That baking smell was just a coincidence. We just moved in. It's nothing. I need to focus on Julia right now. I am not the most popular person in her world. I am f*****g sick of this Mr. Stone already. He's crazy. This is why his students don't complete any of his assignments.

    Michael looked over his shoulder at the clock above the microwave oven. 12:25. Nearly time to head back to teach another class.

    "I have to get back to class. Nice to meet you."

"Please feel free to let me know if anything happens in your house. I don't mean to scare you."

    "The only thing that his going to happen in that house is my wife and I are going to be happy and I am going to write that book. I don't believe in that ghost story crap, no offense."

                                                                                   #

    Michael pulled into his driveway by 4pm and noticed his wife's red Subaru in the space closest to the house. Additional fallen leaves covered most of the driveway. Spotty clouds blotted out the sun, casting Michael's and Susan Idleman's home in perpetual shadows for the remainder of the afternoon. Upon approaching his porch, Michael noticed more flecks of paint that had fallen off the porch railing. I really have to get to that this weekend. Michael also glanced over to his neighbor's porch. This time the wicker chair in front remained empty. There wasn't ever a car in Mrs. Idleman's driveway so Michael couldn't be sure if she was home or not. I would really like to ask her more about this history of this house and this Frances Pine, but I can't be bothered right now. I have to see how Julia is making out. She has another interview tomorrow.

    Before Michael had a chance to open his front door, Julia had already opened it for him. She grabbed his neck and kissed him on the mouth as he entered the front hallway.

    "Guess what? Annette is pregnant again. I am going to be an aunt for the third time."

    Michael took off his suit jacket and hung it on the bronze rack behind the front door.

    "Your sister is like clockwork. Another kid every two years. Maybe she'll have a girl this time."

    "They really want a daughter, but as long as the baby's healthy who cares right?"

    "Absolutely."

    Julia took Michael's hand and led him into the kitchen. Two piles of boxes that were stacked near the basement door were now empty.

    "I was able to get all of the dishes and pots and pans unpacked and put away today. "

    Michael walked over to the cabinet above the sink and opened it, finding a perfectly stacked set of red and blue dishes. Next to the dishes stood Michael's New York Yankees mug.

    "I am glad you found that one. I got that at Yankee Stadium before they tore it down. And I am very happy for Annette and Steve. I know someday will be our turn."

    Julia reached over to the sink where she had a wine glass perched. She took a sip before saying, "I have given up hope with that one. My clock keeps ticking and ticking."

    "Your clock has plenty of ticking left to do. You're only thirty five and-"

    "But Annette had her first one at thirty. I think we would have gotten pregnant by now. We've been married for five years for Christ's sake," Julia said taking another gulp of wine.

"It will happen," Michael said taking Julia's hand.

    "I hope you're right. Before I make us some dinner would you be able to help me unpack some of the boxes in the basement? It shouldn't take more than a half an hour. I didn't have time to go down there yet. I had to run and get an oil change on my car earlier."

    "Sure," Michael said as he opened the basement door. Immediately the aroma of baked sweetness permeated the kitchen.

    "There it is again just like last night. Maybe there's something we missed down there?"

    Like the fact that an old woman died there while baking cookies. What a coincidence.

    Julia went down the basement steps before Michael could reach the first step.

    "Holy s**t. What the hell happened?" Julia yelled.

    Michael ran down the basement steps to find Julia looking down at a stack of boxes that looked to have been knocked over. A set of wrenches and screw drivers were scattered all over the concrete floor. Two photo albums were strewn in one corner. Every Christmas ornament was set upon the floor and the box marked "Christmas" was set upside down as if someone had turned it over.

    "I haven't been down here all day. Tell me the truth Mike. Did you knock this over by accident this morning before you left for school and were afraid to tell me?"

    "I haven't been down here all day either."

    "Then how the hell did this happen? Maybe we have mice or rats. f**k, now I am going to have to call an exterminator. It's going to take me an hour to clean this up."

    "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. Just worry about dinner and rest up for your interview tomorrow."

    Julia ran up to Mike and said, "Do you really think we have mice? It's possible. There's so many ways they can get into an old house. But usually you see their droppings first."

    No I really don't think we have mice. I think we might have the spirit of a former baker who apparently died in this very spot in this basement. But it wouldn't be prudent at this juncture to tell Julia about that now. She thinks I am crazy all ready. And I thought houses were only haunted in scary books or movies.