A Haunted Marriage & The Cookie Baking Poltergeist

Chapter 12: Michael Returns Home

    Michael's walk back to his home from the Victory Motel took half an hour. To Michael it seemed longer because at 3am, a steady rain began and did not stop for the duration of his journey back home. A journey that he never thought he would make, but one he had to. Michael's walk home represented the first steps into a life that would probably no longer include his wife Julia.

    I just can't live with her anymore. She's such a b***h. She deserved that punch to the face. But she will probably come crawling back to me as usual. She didn't leave me the last time I hit her so why should this time be any different. She had better not be home when I get there.

    Michael stumbled into his driveway, appearing to be intoxicated. But Michael was not intoxicated with alcohol, only hatred. A hatred that has been festering for the past few weeks, a hatred blinded by his false devotion to a wife he tonight realized he no longer loved anymore. A wife who wasn't a wife to Michael anymore. A wife was supposed to be your partner, not an enemy. The punch Michael delivered to Julia's face at the Victory Motel shattered what was left of an already flimsy partnership, a partnership built on a foundation of sand instead of concrete.

    Michael's chin was tucked into his chest as he passed his mailbox. When he stared straight ahead, the rain dripped off his bangs, streaming into his eyes. Michael rubbed the dampness out of his eyes with both hands. Looking up, Michael's home glistened in the rain, the white paint on its siding appeared more glossy than usual. As the rain intensified, water poured from the corner gutter into the grass below, creating a four foot puddle. Michael's Honda Civic now sat in another emerging puddle in the driveway. The home's arched roof pointed to the clouds in the sky, clouds flickering with lightening. A bolt of lightning streaked into the woods behind Michael's home. Each bolt temporarily illuminated Michael's home and his neighbor's from the darkness. A solitary light emanated from Susan Idleman's kitchen window. The shadow of her profile walked back and forth.

    As Michael neared his front door, he reached into the right front pocket of his soaked jeans for his keys. His knuckles got stuck in his pocket before he was able to remove the keys. These being the same knuckles that had connected with his wife's face not more than an hour earlier. Michael stared at his knuckles with the keys in hand. They appeared red and slightly swollen. Michael wiggled the fingers of his right hand. My hand hurts like it punched a brick wall instead of someone's face.

    Michael walked up his front steps and unlocked his front door. What the hell am I doing? I am now about to enter an officially haunted house. I would rather live with the ghost of Frances Pine that the real life Julia Blake right now. I should take my car and get the hell out of here, but to where? I have to go to work tomorrow.

    The front door creaked open to reveal a hallway that lit up every few seconds with lightning flashes. Michael hung his keys on the hook next to the front door before flipping on the hall light. He stared straight ahead into a living room with the couch, television and coffee table all in their proper places. Nothing flying off the walls or strange orange light sources. No sign of the specter of Frances Pine anywhere to be seen as of yet.

    Michael stumbled into his kitchen and turned the light on. The silverware drawer was opened all the way. Every spoon, knife and fork now resided on the kitchen floor.

    I guess under usual circumstances this should scare the s**t out of me. But maybe I am getting used to this place. If Julia ever decides to come back she will have to get used to it too.

    Michael saw Bogey staring at the bottom of the basement door. The baking smell was slight this time, not as intense as before. When Bogey saw Michael he left his post by the basement door and ran up to Michael, rubbing himself against his legs. Michael bent over to pick Bogey up. He purred continuously in his arms. Looking down, Michael noticed that Bogey's water bowl and food bowl were empty. After dropping Bogey to the floor, Michael reached under the kitchen counter for the cat food. Michael filled Bogey's food bowl before filling the other bowl with water.

    Michael scooped as many forks, knives and spoons into his hands as he could. He dropped them in the drawer with a clatter, not caring if the forks, knives or spoons were in their proper places. After slamming the drawer shut, Michael walked over to the refrigerator and reached all the way into the back to find a bottle of Pinot Noir, 2015. Michael removed the bottle and placed it on the kitchen counter. He took Julia's wineglass from the sink (still with its lipstick stain on its rim) and poured the wine all the way to the top. Michael took a gulp before shutting the kitchen light and making his way to the living room couch.

    This tastes f*****g great, Michael thought before taking another sip. I should become a budding alcoholic like my lovely wife. And being an alcoholic will help my writing career. Didn't F. Scott Fitzgerald basically drink himself to death? Or I could just kill myself? That would be an even better career move, just like Virginia Wolfe. But I would actually have to finish a book first to be considered an actual writer. I am really pathetic.

    Michael sat on the couch before placing the wineglass on the coffee table. The rain let up, but the lightning continued to bask the living room in occasional light. Michael finished off his wine before laying on his stomach on the couch. Before his bloodshot eyes closed, they gazed upon the flower vase on the table. The vase still holding the yellow roses he gave Julia a week before. Stray petals had fallen from the flowers and surrounded the vase. The remaining petals were beginning to wilt and brown.

                                                                                    #

    Michael raised his head from his elbows to look out through his still bloodshot eyes. This time those eyes gazed upon the three empty tables of the Stillwater High School teacher's lounge. He looked at his watch. Only ten minutes left before I have to assign One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest to my class. I am getting some more sleep here. I already set the alarm on my cell phone for twelve thirty.

    Michael tucked his head back into his elbows before closing his eyes. Within seconds, he began to dream of punching his wife in the face. But as Michael's fist approached that face, the face mutated into the rotting face of Frances Pine, a face with maggots streaming from its eyeballs, nostrils and mouth. Michael dropped his fist at his side. Frances pointed her rolling pin at him and said, 'How come you don't like my cookies and you never helped me?'

    Michael coughed into his elbows as he slept. Drool from his mouth formed a puddle on the table. A touch to his shoulder caused him to jerk his head up so quickly that his back and neck cracked. Michael balled his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes. Eyes that now stared onto a blurry apparition seated across from him at the table. As his vision cleared, the image of Jack Stone came into focus.

    "You ok? I wouldn't want the principal to catch you sleeping in here. I usually leave the school property and take a nap in my car. I also have to leave to smoke. You can't smoke on school property anymore. "

    "In the mood I am in, I really don't give a s**t what Principal Edwards thinks."

    "No offense, but you look like s**t. You have a five o'clock shadow at noon," Jack said ending with a laugh.

    "Not much, well not really any sleep last night."

    "Trouble at home?"

    Michael lowered his voice to a whisper before answering. "My wife and I had a fight. She hasn't come back yet."

    "That really sucks. As I said before, try to patch things up. Child support is a bitch."

    "No kids for us. We would have never had any. I am not sure if she will ever come back. Living in that old house had been a nightmare so far. You were right about all of the other people who had to live there. It's a really strange place. You might believe me or you might not, but the place is really haunted. I saw the ghost of Frances Pine for real. All of that stuff they have on that show Ghost Hunters is real. I don't have the slightest idea what I am going to do about it. I will probably have to sell that place if I end up getting divorced anyway. Both of our names are on the mortgage to that house."

    "My friend was able to get rid of the ghost in his attic."

    "How? Is there a version of Upstate NY Ghostbusters that I can call?"

    Jack laughed so hard that his stomach shook the table.

    "Actually there's a medium that lives in Saratoga Springs named Beatrice Nelson. She has a f*******: page, but doesn't everybody, that you can check out. She came to my friend's house and since then he doesn't here any rumblings from that ghost in his attic anymore. This Beatrice is able to sense spirits and occasionally communicate with them. However, she's not cheap."

    "I will have to look into it assuming I don't get a divorce and have no money left."

                                                                            #

    Michael pulled into his empty driveway at 4pm. Before leaving his car, he took a bouquet of red roses from the passenger's seat and held them in his left hand like a torch. Michael used his free hand to unlock his front door. When he entered the front hall, the burning smell became apparent immediately. Michael walked into the kitchen and placed the roses on the counter, making sure that when Julia arrived home she would notice the note pinned to the plastic right away.

    I know these are not much, but she forgave me the last time that I hit her. I really do hope she comes home. I was such a d**k last night. Our resident ghost freaked me out and I took it out on Julia. I am such an asshole. I will promise her to go to anger management if she asks me when she gets home. Usually about now Julia would be here giving me a hug by the front door. We would be talking about our respective days. This place is quieter without her around. Hopefully Frances Pine won't make her presence known to keep me company instead.

    Michael left the kitchen and walked into his bedroom. He found Bogey curled into a ball in the middle of his bed. Michael kicked his shoes off before sitting on the edge of the bed. Bogey came over and sat in his lap. Michael reclined on his back, placing his elbows behind his head. He shut his eyes. Even thinking about all of the good times he had with Julia the past few weeks, such as the trips to the apple orchard and the battlefield, could not blot out the image of Frances Pine's rotting corpse on his basement floor.

    Michael rolled onto his side and noticed that the bedroom closet door was ajar. Michael leaped up from the bed and ran to the closet. Twenty empty hangars hung from the pole on Julia's side of the closet. Michael's clothes all hung on their respective hangars next to hers. Michael glanced at the floor of the closet. Both of Julia's suitcases and her duffel bag were missing.

    s**t she finally really left me.

    Michael ran into the living room and sat down on the couch. He sobbed into both hand before seeing a white envelope with his name on the coffee table. Michael grabbed the envelope and ripped it open before tossing the envelope over his shoulder. The handwritten note in Julia's neat script trembled in Michael's hand. The note read:

Dear Michael,

    This note might be the final thing I write to you as your wife. I told you if you ever hit me again it was over and now it's finally over for good. I know you thought the move upstate would be best. Unfortunately we both ended up living in a haunted house. But if you think about it our very marriage itself has been haunted for quite some time now. We both came from broken homes and we both therefore had no idea how to build a stable family. I need some space right now and have moved back to Long Island to be with my mother awhile while I think things through. But you know as well as I do that we have really been finished for a long time. The good times we had those past few weeks were a facade hiding our deteriorating relationship. People aren't able to get their past back. Our good times are history. When you are in a haunted marriage you really don't have a future. I am sorry for everything.

Sincerely,

Julia

    Michael crumpled up the note and threw it on the coffee table. The paper wad landed next to the vase of yellow flowers, but the flowers weren't yellow anymore, they were very brown and very dead.