Buying a Dream ...Finale ...Enjoying. the Moment

"Do you really want to know where we come from?" he said. "In every century, in every country, they'll call us something different. They'll say we're ghosts, angels, demons, elemental spirits, and giving us a name doesn't help anybody. When did a name change what someone is?"
― Brenna Yovanoff

Enjoying. the Moment

I was in a quandry. I spent a fortune acqiring Blakely House and now it’s unsaleable because of Harry, the resident ghost.

As I was musing if I could pass him off to buyers as a prospective tenant, it became apparent that wouldn’t work.

He went to lean on the fireplace and his elbow passed through the mantle.

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, great! I always thought it was just art that required a willing suspension of disbelief.”

“Heh, heh. I don’t care if you don’t believe in me at all—it doesn’t work that way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I exist, whether you believe it or not.”

He had a point, but I also had a sizeable investment, ghost or not.

“Look Harry, we’ve got a problem here. I own the title to this property.”

“On the contrary, dear heart—I see no problem. Your piece of paper establishes rights over the brick and mortar in the here and now. But I decided a long time ago I liked this setting and purposed to stay here in perpetuity, regardless of whether the house stood or fell.”

“So you’re saying this is your haunt?”

“Oh, please, Madame—why must you continually use these words?”

“What words?”

“Oh, you know—terms like ghost and haunting as if I’m some kind of turn-of-the-century Spiritualist’s efforts. There’s not one bit of ectoplasm in me, I assure you.”

“Yes, but you are a spirit.” I countered.

“Ouch! You really know how to hurt my feelings, don’t you?”

“I’m not trying to be insensitive.”

“Well, that’s quite apparent.”

“What is?”

“It’s apparent you’re not insensitive—I mean how else would you be able to see me? I am non-corporeal, you know.”

“Aha!” I shouted triumphantly. “Then you admit it!”

“I don’t understand you dearest—I never denied it. I prefer to see myself as materially challenged. The fact is, I have difficulty negotiating contact with things.”

The air went out of me and I plopped down in one of the canvas-draped armchairs.

I began to weep.

“Oh no, what am I going to do?”

Harry, for his part, seemed genuinely taken aback by my tears. He looked flustered. He reached for a Kleenex, but of course, his hand went right through the box.

“Well now, that’s not going to work is it?”

“Nothing’s working,” I wailed.

“There, there,” Harry consoled me patting me on the shoulder and watching his hand pass through my body. “Drat! …Still, it’s the gesture that counts.”

“Why can’t you just leave me alone and go on an extended vacation to the Elysian Fields or the River Styx or even Valhalla for that matter?”

“Never did get along with Scandinavians—Couldn’t picture rubbing shoulders with Old Norse gods.”

“What am I going to do? I can’t sell a haunted manse.”

“No, of course, you can’t—that wouldn’t be fair.

Suddenly his eyes lit up. “Wait, I’ve got an idea.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” I grumped.

“Actually, it’s brilliant.”

“Okay, Einstein—let’s have it.”

“Why don’t you move in here?”

“What—to Blakely House? Are you suggesting I make this old manse my principal residence?”

“Why not? You said yourself it had good bones. What would it take to fix it up?”

“The question is, what would it take you to move?”

“Don’t be like that, darling. I’m good company—an engaging conversationalist. We could sit on the verandah, drink tea and watch rainstorms together.”

“Hey,” I stopped him and eyed him suspiciously, “how did you know I liked rain?”

“I know a lot about you, dearest—that’s why I chose you.”

It was a perplexing situation. I certainly couldn’t afford to maintain two residences and Harry definitely was charming, once I got to know him.

As I pondered my dilemma, I began to fall in love with the old house. Harry showed me around, pointing out all its charms.

We went skating on Potter’s Pond—at least, I did—Harry sort of glided along.

We sat on the verandah at night under blankets—again, just me—and drank hot chocolate and watched the stars. Harry knew all the constellations.

I’ve always had a weakness for older men and though he looks my age, at almost 200 years old, Harry certainly qualifies as being my senior.

I had to choose between the here and now, and the now and then.

In short, I chose the latter and that’s why I’m the new mistress of Blakely House, and that’s why I have Harry.

It’s a good situation and it’s worked out well. After all, Harry’s the previous owner of my house.

Okay, he died 156 years ago, but the problem is, he’s never moved out—or on...or whatever term it is that denotes going to the light or the blissful hereafter.

Basically, Harry liked it too much in the here and now.

He decided to stay and I decided to keep him company every now and then.

To be continued…

© 2026, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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