So it seems crazy but Jerome is the Ghost inside me. Actually, that’s not his name- that’s what my wife calls him. Don’t ask me how he got his name, he just did. I can’t get into a description of Jerome since our encounters haven’t been very long nor have they been very real.
Jerome comes and goes as he pleases, vanishing into thin air, literally, usually at the moment I get home. Jerome is a man of few words, tall, dark and very reserved. He doesn’t share much at all- nothing about his past, where he’s from, who his people are, why he’s here.
It’s great for Jerome to live here, I mean, rent free, sign me up! He has full run of the house without even being invited. What’s up with that? But now he’s pissing me off- making all kinds of random noises- what the hell?
Last night, the damn computer chimed all by itself. The other day it was the toilet. No damn toilet I’ve ever seen can flush itself. Maybe except for those fancy, new ones that are at swanky hotels that I will never, ever be able to afford.
He is beginning to drive me crazy, ahh, er, crazier- there, I said it. I’m certifiably crazy, which means that I can get away with a crapload of things, because everything, anyway, will be chucked up to the fact that I’m a little touched in the Cabeza. So I might as well have fun with it!
I know he exists, along with the other people (sorry, spirits) that he brings along because my wife tells me so. Unless she doesn’t exist either. As you can probably tell, Jerome is not real nor is he a figment of my imagination, because he very well could be. I mean, I am crazy, remember that! Jerome is a spirit- I think that’s the politically correct term and our latest ‘house guest’.
One day, I thought I saw “someone” crossing from one side of the room to the other, that was Jerome. He didn’t speak, he didn’t scare, he just made his presence known. There was another time when I felt like I wasn’t alone in the house, at night. That was Jerome too, or at least I think it was. Now, that scared me. Another day, while sitting at our small dining room table, in our small cozy house, I saw “something”, not so small or “someone”, not so small, walk past the window- was it Jerome or one of his buddies?
And why do I assume it’s a ‘he’- what do I know about any of this. It’s not like I can see a face or a body. All I see is a big BLOB- please don’t get mad at me, Jerome, and freak me out. I couldn’t even see the Exorcist I am so scared. Am I supposed to get a priest over here who’s gonna chant and scream, “Be gone, Satan!!”, while throwing holy water all over the house?
The thought of it makes me giggle inside-I can only imagine the spectacle my wife and I would be. I did look on Google, however, cause Google’s always right and an exorcism is performed by a priest, blah, blah, blah, only “with the express permission of the local bishop and only after a careful medical examination to exclude the possibility of MENTAL ILLNESS……..I am so screwed.
My wife was the one who made contact with the spirit world first, beginning with my dead brother, the oldest dead brother, not the youngest dead brother. Suddenly, one night, my brother came to my wife in a dream. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. I mean, she’s not a Theresa or a Whoopi- a regular Jane…well, sorta. She was so petrified that she couldn’t speak or even move- he started off by saying, “Hey kid”, I guess that was his way of verifying his dead identity. I don’t mean to appear to be cold and nonchalant about my first dead brother. But there’s a lot of history there.
I’m sure he is in ‘Hog Heaven’, dancing around and having fun. Oh, he loved fun, especially at the expense of others. Much like my son! How do I know that? Because he hated life so much that he had tried to kill himself several times, beginning at age 18 over a ….you know it….a girl. Then again, it could have been a guy. He finally achieved his goal at 55.
Of course, I cried when I got the news, regardless of our relationship. But at that same rate, I smiled inside, because I knew now, he truly was at rest and sickly enough, I was happy for him. Many people don’t understand why there could be someone like him, like me, like my other dead brother, like my own children, who don’t want to live. They don’t want to wake up. In fact, every night, before they go to sleep, they ask God to take them. They’ve had it with life. Been there, done that, not liking it.
There’s gotta be better things out there, somewhere else. So it’s a toss-up as to whether these people, my people, me, really want to die or just haven’t found the recipe for happiness, so they give in- NOT give-up. They’ve been fighting this for years, what is the acceptable amount of time before one gives in?
Oh, you say never. Well, you’ve probably inherited good genes. Or your life has you far away from this topic. Some people don’t get it. There are people, who have gone thru addictions and mental illness, and come out the other side, who can understand why someone would want to die. A lifetime of inheriting someone else’s bullshit! Some people get help and manage their lives better. Others get help and it just doesn’t work. And still, others don’t want it. I could go on and on with this now, but you’ll have nothing to look forward to, so I’ll keep you in suspense.
I was still a skeptic. This can’t be real about Jerome and his people- until the toilet flushed itself again. He was making his presence known. I was a goner at that point. I wanted to run far, far, away. What do I do with a spirit? What does he like to eat? Where will he sleep? Should we charge him rent, I mean, after all, he is living in our house! Why is he here? I assume he’s male because he comes and goes as he pleases. What will come next?