I stood the tall dark and mysterious stranger at the edge of the driveway, looking at the unfamiliar house my father had recently purchased. It was a beautiful place, as much as I could see in the dark, '…over the rim with potential ; no doubt the real estate agent's plug ,artfully laid upon my father. My Father was a man of discernment not easily conned. This domicile a typical New England design- three stories of stone, tall windows, dark tile roof with gables, covered porches front and back, great shinning multi- paned windows in front. When I looked out on the moon-lit grounds my spine shivered as if someone walked over my grave. The house had the overall look of something vaguely alive. It was if I could feel an 'attention' moving whenever I moved. I felt no ill will, in fact quite the opposite. The October full moon shown down casting a magical silvery shimmer to everything. A gentle night wind blew my face and hair with a feel of guarded welcome. I consider myself a realist and took the feeling to come from the eerie beauty all around me. There was a yellow light shining in knifelike sharpness upon the snow, shinning in colors in a colorless world from two great windows on the side of the house. I was so much my Pop. He was a cacophony and a swirling mass of color -some you have never seen. My Dad had friends-all counted on one hand- some wearied of the world's selfish needs and passed on to a hopeful rest. That’s how he is you see. He is such a grand man that you end up bouncing off him-injured in some small way. You will never find the wound- but don't Dad look good. But I loved him and didn't I end up being him?

Ole Dad must be in the library waiting anxiously for his prodigally handy son to show up. That was the deal, you see, he offered me half the equity if I came and lived with him and helped him renovate this very house.

We lived in Warwick when I was a kid. It was like I was coming going home.

I know he had a script for the way we will be together. Everything is a script to Dad. I can remember him coming over to take my bro and me to the ballgame. After a tiny and reasonably short war we were off. As we were going through line to the turnstile, my Dad saw a man with a long gray beard and short hair. He was creepy. Dad turned around, without a word, drove to a fancy hotel checked us into a suite. He pulled out his laptop and started another book. Now, as for us, we had it fine, room service, the bellhop got us games to play, and new clothes, all on Dad's bill. Dad kept us for over a week. Mom located us and called the room screaming, we could hear every unfair word. She claimed to know Dad but she enjoyed making herself look better by telling whoppers about my Pop. And eventually, in a vicious tirade directed right at him, the truth in no way important, we would go with mom.

"That's it boys jigs up. Did you guys have fun? "

We nodded trying to mimic the way he walked. The bellboy took our stuff down. Dad tipped a twenty and smiled, thanking him at the same time.

Now that I was here in this now and this where- I grinned, feeling pleased beyond reason, picked up my suitcase and walked up to the front door. I knocked several times with no response. Maybe he just couldn't hear me? I tried the doorbell. Still no response, I knew he was home. I walked down the front steps and as I turned toward the lighted window a female voice said quite distinctly from behind me.

"No, don't go."

"What are you up to Pop?" I said with a smile. I pulled out my cell and started to dial." Why would I leave- I just got here. 'Pop' where are you?" I noted a bench built around an old happy cherry tree. If he had gone to town waiting there would be pleasant.

The front door suddenly opened and there stood my Dad with a huge grin and his hands out.

"Who's the girl?" I asked giving the old man a hug. "You just dumped wife number four- give it a break."

" Nice to see you too, son? There is no girl here just me and now… you." Hugging me again. He grinned." I understand from Phil that your breakup had its exciting moments."

" Phil talks to much. Funny- I heard a woman's voice as clear as a bell." I said quietly to myself. "I thought writers were supposed to be …" I couldn't help but look right and left as I entered the foyer, it's in my blood to size a house up and Dad has been known to play a gag. I heard a woman singing. I recognized Pops favorite girl singer Emmy Lou Harris. Something in my mind relaxed just as a cold chill ran up my spine. It had to be the record-I just misheard- maybe acoustics in the foyer

"…All the Federales say-could have had him anyway. It must have been your girlfriend. What is that 'Luxury Liner'? When are you gonna buy a CD player? Then you could play all your tunes-sound files on your laptop."

He answered with a dismissive shrug.

"Yep. She's my gal." Pop smiled. She won't never leave me. She is real- vinyl -it don't get better. It's more like being there. I don't care about the CW I hear the difference. Sampling a pure sine wave seems like a capricious creature randomly biting wiil-nilly eating up a great performance and telling us the result is music. Anyway- Thanks for coming and taking the deal. We haven't spent much time together."

"What is CW?" I smiled reading the liner on the album cover.

"Common wisdom, computerized wimpery, carminative whizbang, carpological wickedry …do you need more?"

He chuckled and I nodded.

"Waiting to give me that one haven't you? My, My, What would Irene think?"

"Well lucky for both of us," he dodged my taunt, ' and a solidly composed pre-nup we have this place and the funds to work on it. Sorry Irene treated you so shity."

"Yeah! Well I'm beat, Pop. I need a beer and TV" I walked into the parlor. The house was wonderful, almost empty except for the TV and kitchen. A quick perusal led me to believe that a little elbow work -spit and polishin' -shippin' and shapin'- would turn this already great house to a palace. "Pop, it looks like you did good."

.

" Thanks- she is a beauty-you'll see. I am so glad to have you here. You hungry? I have some beef stew on and good coffee brewed. Oh, you want a beer." He snatched my bag away and with the other hand in the middle of my back, lightly pushed me into a recliner- there were two. "Sit down- How was the train ride? We are a bit out in the toolies. Wait till you see the lawn and garden. On the other side of the street starts a swamp and beyond that is a pond. You used to play on it and fish when you were a kid."

His voice filtered away to a hum as he left the room. I sat down on what I was sure was my recliner. The remote was already on the table next to the other chair. I leaned back and smiled, we will be 40 and 60 years old tomorrow. We were born on the same day under the same star. Birthdays meant a lot to my Dad, little to me. We have had shaky times, he and me, but we always got through it. Time does heal the wounds- not the scars. Certain events will still cause silly eruptions between us.

At his last wedding I got drunk and tried to leave but his lovely, same age as me, hateful, witch of a woman caught me and asked for a dance. I was drunk and she used it to drive a wedge between Dad and I. She feigned inebriation and danced with me as close and as lewdly as she could. It was a devious plan. She begged everyone's forgiveness, She took Dad aside and acknowledged her attraction to me but everlasting (5 years) love for him. Well if the choice were me or her incredible body lying on me every night…I was banished…for being a cad. I did nothing- such an act would be too much to forgive. She claimed it happened like it was a joke every punch line tearing at my Dad. No matter how much I denied there was always a doubt between us. I left- to some, confirming my lasciviousness.

.

For my part- drunk or not, the thoughts of my lusty heart and certain other bodily misbehavin' -left me to take my banishment as a wise pronouncement.

Life goes on,

time will tell,

it all comes around,

isn't living hell.

And now I am back.

He came back in with two bowls of stew and the beers. He sat down heavily. He was a big man, my Dad, 250 and six-foot and 3. I was a little trimmer and a little taller but the kid in me will always see him as the big guy. We always had a great relationship except when we married. Apparently Pop and I are not good people and occasionally a women sees one of us and insists on marrying us. After a short and cunningly deceptive honeymoon they would go about the tedious and unrewarding task of making us better human beings. An overwhelming undertaking with no guaranties except for what can be reaped from divorce. Ironically the task of our improvement when failed delivers the gold. You would think the judge would look sternly upon the women and say 'You have failed to make him a better man. Step out of the way and let another woman give it a try. Here is a fair portion of gold -now be on your way. God's speed!'

To us men He would say 'You, you contemptible- uncivilized hooligan, have one year to find another women to continue the work that this one has started.' So- as life would have it ,we two incorrigibles are here together fixing to get fixing not upon ourselves but upon this very house. Not withstanding the need for women in our lives-here was a reprieve. Thank you Lord and pass me another beer.

The rest of the night we watched ESPN, drank, and talked. I made my acquaintance with the house and I felt as if the house had sized me up. We both slept in the wonderful chairs.

                                                                      ***

Dad was cooking breakfast. I poured myself a coffee and sat down watching my father do what he did so very well. I always believed Dad should have a cooking show and restaurants.

"Huevos Rancheros-beans-and Bacon. Say nothing my boy you will love it."

He sat down the plates, wonderful odors rose to my nose and stomach gave me a playful shrug. Pop went to the 'fridge door pulling out a bowl of quartered oranges and small wild strawberries. He sat it down on the table spun to the oven and added a warm plate of tortillas. He sat smiled at me and dug in to his creation. We ate in silence other than the mmmmm sounds that filled the room.

"You gonna think about a restaurant?" I asked through a full mouth.

"It depends how well you and I do with this place. I kinda have a plan for us…"

"Pop let's not do this- we haven't even started here."

"What? You asked. I just thought we might go into business together. I open a restaurant or three and you keep buying and fixing up houses. I'll run my part of the biz and you run yorn. We share fifity -fifty?"

"Given my situation… look lets get on this house."

We cleaned up and went upstairs. I walked the rooms and shook my head. The walls were wood, Mahogany, probably, painted a hundred times and wall papered just as often. Stripping or re-wall papering was out - that would be too much work. I had Dad load 1/4 inch drywall throughout the rooms upstairs. It was basically starting over - finishing like new walls and ceiling. The sheets were light enough and even though Dad wasn't familiar with the craft it didn't take him long to get into a nice tempo. We had all the walls and ceiling screwed up by ten that night. It already looked better. I drooped my bags and hard hat, slapped my dads shoulder at the good work. Something caught my eye in the darkened hallway-it was a woman with blond hair dressed in a white nightgown. Dad wondered why I stopped our boots got mixed up and we were in the air and heading down the stairs with at least one painful bounce. We bounced two- one with me on the bottom the next with Dad acting as the human cushion. We slid across the foray floor to a stop against the front door. Once we determined that we were not broken or bleeding we unwrapped and stood doing further checking.

"Man, that hurt. You OK?" Pop rubbed his hand through his long gray hair. How did we manage to do that?

"Didn't you see her?" I ran upstairs looking through every room and closet. There was no woman.

"No one told me about her- the way she lied…" Dad was in the kitchen clanging and obviously putting dinner together. 'No one told me about her."

I walked in and got a beer out of the 'fridge. I popped the tab took a swig. I waited… no explanation came forthwith. "Dad- I saw a women upstairs as plain as day. If you got a girlfriend here it is fine with me. If it's a joke it ain't no way funny. We damn near broke our necks."

"I thought we would have steaks tonight…The range in here has everything."

"Dad! The Woman?"

You need a toke or something …you are so tense. There is only us- that's all. We just tripped- no harm no foul. You saw something in the dark and it gave you a start. This is a grand old house it will make the imagination go off like a blender with crushed ice and tequila. - Man, that sounds good to me let's make some for dinner."

I calmed down- we ate rare steaks- we drank Margaritas- we, content, slipped away in our recliners.

                                                                           ***

I awoke feeling the weight leave me. My nose caught a slight lilac scent. I shifted in my chair. The bare skin on my butt caused a familiar sound. My eyes sprang full open - my pants were not on me. An intimate female odor wafted up to my nose. Images of ruckus lovemaking flashed in my head and were gone. I fondled myself. I was dry and all odors disappeared further every second. Where were my pants? Perhaps I took them off. I haven't been with a woman for too many months and too many days. Before Dad called I was about to sign up and be God's man. Shaking my head, I deemed it a nightmare- of a sort. I found my pants hanging on one of the entryway's coat rack and threw them over my shoulder -walked to the living room, where we set up our unused cots. I lit my lighter and stood in silence.

Dad was snoring from his chair with his back to me. The cot closest to me seemed to have a small person lying, covered in a large quilted spread. In the little light from the hearth the smaller bundle moved sinuously. I was terrified. Blood was rushing from my head and I fainted.

I awoke on the floor with Dad staring at me.

"Have a good night? hahahha! Where the hells your pants? Do you need some shorts?"

My cot was empty-I was lying on Pops- the quilt nowhere in sight- my pants nowhere in site.

" There was a woman here. No shit!"

"No, she was a ghost a very talented ghost." My dad grinned. "She only allows one shot at her."

I sat on the edge of the cot with a blanket across my lap.

"You know about this? Why did you buy the place."

"I didn't know till I bought it and then…well kinda hard to be scared off by a wonderful piece of ass. You know?"

"Damn dad."

"What, you didn't enjoy it? She was a dream come true. I have never had a woman so enthusiastic."

"Don't you think there is some responsibility. I mean it's weird."

"Well. "Dad said " I don't remember being asked. You can't live with it?"

"I guess so. It's still weird."

"Let's put it aside and get back to work. We need more materials." Dad headed for the front door.

                                                                        ***

That night nothing happened.

I was up most of the night. I don't know if I was disappointed or relieved. Being molested by a ghost, an erotic one, was after all pretty interesting.

The sun rose and created a crazy splash of color on the fluffy summer clouds. It was the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. It was perfect. Even the coffee I sipped was more than delicious.

Dad came out with a dish of cheddar cheese omelets, sausage, fresh fruit and toast. It was great, then any food my dad prepares is gonna be wonderful. We both sat on the porch and enjoyed the morning vibe forgetting about ghosts for a while. Even the house seemed in a good mood.

The whole day went incredibly well. We finished two room, ready to paint. Thank God for quick mud. For dinner Dad prepared a pork loin, new potatoes, cinnamon apples, and a Greek salad. I was going to get fat. Thank God we were working hard. A Celtics playoff Game topped the evening.

We slept well.

At 2:00 am I awoke, not unusual for me. I usually rise every two hours to pee. I went to the bathroom and screamed in pain as I walked through the bath door. I gasped and fell to the floor with my hand on my lower back. Dad woke and rushed to me. He lifted my shirt and gasped.

I yelled "What?'

"You gotta see this. You must be a terrible lover." Pop went into the bathroom to get a mirror.

I position the mirror where Dad told me and couldn't believe my eyes. It was a hand print. A small hand had raised a fiery red welt. A large scratch crossed the center of the welt oozing blood.

"Damn she's mad. Christ what did I do?"

"I'm the wrong person to ask that. Here let me get some antiseptic." Dad responded.

It felt better after being tended. We went back in the dinning room and sat on the cots thinking about the events of the last few days.

"I guess she didn't want you to pee."

"Pop. Doesn't this bother you?"

"I should be but I'm not. How can you be mad at a ghost that is so good in bed?"

"Ok very funny. But what makes her want to hurt."

"Yeah, and I'm sure there is only one ghost. It must be important."

"Did the Realtor tell you the house was haunted?"

"No. Just that the place had been empty for ten years."

"I don't get it. Why make love to us then hurt me?"

"A fine line between love and hate?" Dad mugged.

"You may be right." I said, ignoring him. "The love thing was for attention the…"

"Didn't get enough when she was alive?"

"Dad…Look she wants help. Slapping me was to get my immediate attention. Come on!"

I ran to the bathroom and started checking the walls and floor. I moved to the door and jamb.

I noticed that the header trim on the bathroom door was a lot wider than the rest of the house.

"What's this Dad?"

"Yeah I noticed that. Let's pull it off. Where's the bucket of hand tools?"

"Upstairs in the first bedroom."

A loud moan, coming form everywhere made us both flinch.

Dad gritted is teeth and ran upstairs and down in a flurry.

"Here's a crowbar." He said handing it to me.

I pulled the trim off. There was a six -inch gap above the jamb header. Sitting in the gap there was a tin box.

Dad pulled it down and opened it. I asked him what was in the box. He pulled out the papers and gasped.

"My God, these are barer bonds." he went quiet as he counted. "400,000 dollars!"

"Those are ours now. But , Dad, why would she show us? Unless…"

"What?" Dad was counting the bonds mesmerized.

"She wouldn't have showed us unless she had a reason. What do you know about the person who lived here before you."

"Nothing. Just that the place had been empty for ten years. It was well kept and clean. That's one of the reasons I bought it." he looked at the bonds again. "These were issued 11 years ago. Who ever owned them lived here then."

"Let's not put these in the bank it would start a rumor mill. The bonds are ours. We own the house and everything in it. We don't want shitheads making fraudulent claims and wrapping us up in court. Then there's the more sinister aspect…Who was the person living here hiding it from?"

We chatted up the rest of the night. Planning what to do with the money and wondering at the mystery we fell into.

                                                                ***

The next morning Dad woke early leaving me in bed. He wanted to make his famous French toast. I turned over in irritation at the noise coming from the kitchen. Finally annoyed I got up wondering why Dad was making all the ruckus. I walked into chaos. Eggs were thrown against the windows. Syrup dripped from the ceiling, flour was everywhere. My father even had a fine white coat of flour all over him.

"What happened here. "I asked." Did your recipe not go well."

"Funny man. I should have left you at the hospital. But your mother insisted we take you home."

"That explains a lot."

"Coffee? It's the only thing untouched."

With a little shake the coffee pot lifted from it's cradle and lifted in the air. It moved toward me. A coffee cup flew from the shelf. I caught it and turned it over just in time for the coffee to pour in without a drop spilled. The pot returned to the Mr. Coffee and settled in the cradle.

"It appears to like me!" I whispered.

"...guilt for slapping you." Pop offered.

A loud moan coming from the stairwell made me jump.

"It doesn’t like being called 'it'."

"I did see a woman. Are you a she?" I asked the air around me.

The room instantly smelled of lilacs.

"There's you're answer." Pop grinned through the flour.

I told Dad I was going into town and see if I couldn't find out about this mystery woman. He nodded and said He'd clean up the mess. He told me he would be saying 'He was sorry' the whole time.

                                                                        ***

I drove the back way on the old coach road that circled from the swamp to Aponougue Pond. I suddenly had the urge to go fishing there. I heard that pickerel abound getting huge back into the swamp. As a boy some friends and I built a raft and poled back to the black pool that was the pond's source. Lily pads and hanging vines cascading down from great old trees circling a huge artesian well. It was a strange place. It looked as if it was southern Georgia not New England. I longed to go see it again.

I decided before I went to the library to get a chocolate egg crème from the bait store and fountain that sat on the city side of the pond. I drove up remembering the hard penny candies sold by old man Petermyer. Cavities aside it was a good memory. I walked in to the chime of a bell. Not much had changed. Even the jars of candy were the same. As I sat down at the counter two kids came in exchanging their dimes and nickels for root beer this and caramel that. The man behind the counter looked like old man Petermyer.

"I'm his son." he responded when I asked.

He made me the best chocolate egg crème I had ever tasted.

"Say aren't you one of the two fellows remodeling the Burnam house."

It didn't surprise me that he knew of Dad and me. Even larger towns had a way of being small when strangers show up. Warwick had gotten famous because of a  TV show' The Ghost Hunters'. But it still had the feel of a small town. I wondered about the priests at St. Charles. Particularly - I wondered about the old guy that beat me with a cane for questioning the Trilogy. I was never confirmed. That guy was personally responsible for making me a Lutheran. All it required was a lucid explanation. Lutherans, if anything, were lucid.

"I used to live here when I was a kid."

"I know, I went to school with you. I kicked your ass by the hardware store."

"Gene! I barked. No shit. Would you like to try me now without your gang of punks?" I said half joking still remembering the humiliation.

He grinned and shook his head. "I outgrew that…you have certainly grown as well."

It felt good to just sit and remember. "Say Gene, What do you know about the place we bought?"

"Not much, 'cept that Sharon Burnam was killed in the house. Shot in the head. Been empty till you guys bought it…pretty place. It's gonna be nice."

"Anything else?"

"Well there was some talk about Frank, her beau. Sheriff swore he did it but there wasn't enough evidence. In the end it was assumed some thief was after her jewelry. She was said to have a rich aunt …left her a ton of money and jewels. Anyway Frank…"

"Frank who?" I asked, my interest heightened.

"Why…Frank Stevens. He owns Crown Realty her in town. He bought it from the estate not long after the murder. It made a lot of tongues to wag. Don't know where he got the money. He's a nice enough fellow, church going, family man. After a while people sorta forgave and forgot. If he did it then God can sort it out. That is as long as he keeps his nose clean.

I had what I wanted. Frank Stevens killed Sharon and she was pissed.

                                                                  ***

I went to the library to verify the story. Then went back to tell Dad. It was late afternoon before I got back.

"I'll be damned." Pop reacted. "Should we call Ghost Hunters? He responded.

"I don't think so. We know we are hunted and why."

"That was it. The Police didn't know about the bonds. There is the motive. Look, will you go back to town for a few things?"

I didn't want to. It was hard to be interested in the work to be done. But I got the list and went back to town anyway.

                                                                         ***

When I got back to the house .I expected to smell something cooking. I didn't and it disturbed me.

"God. How could I have left Dad alone?" I said to myself.

When I walked in the front door. My worst fears were realized. Dad was gagged and tied up to a chair.

"Come on in and try nothing. I have a gun." I walked in and sat down as Frank's gun waved me to a chair. "It belongs to your Dad. I have my own, but I like this one. I came over to see how the work was going. I noticed a tin box. An empty tin box. I knew that box. I made it in a class I took in tinwork. Sharon thought it was lost. Well, seeing it again made me think. She must have put the bonds…Oh, I can see by your face you knew about the bonds. So you have them. Where are they? You better turn them over. No?"

He came over to me. He had more rope in the other hand. He tied me up. Then slapped my face, twice.

"I don't want to kill you two. All I want is what is mine. You see the way I look at it…if I had married Sharon I would have benefited by the money. You see…she accused me of cheating. I was and I eventually married the other woman. It got heated. Sharon could be real pigheaded. She started screaming and I hit her. A lot harder than I wanted. To bad, she was a nice gal. I shot her. I didn't have to. She was just being so damn unreasonable. I found the jewels- I took some and spread the rest about. I had a friend from California pawn them in Providence. The police never made the connection.

"You are not gonna get away with this." I bluffed. "I told the sheriff about you."

"I shot the Sheriff but I did not shoot the deputy." He sang "I don't believe you. You are gonna tell me where the bonds are. Then I am going to disappear."

"No?" Frank turned and ran out of the room. The next hour he tore the house apart, coming up with nothing. The sun had gone down and the house was dimly lit. The light came on in the dinning room where dad and I were tied.

"Damn you two. Look I'm not leaving until I have the bonds. I plan to be out of the country by sunup. Now where are the bonds or so help me I will kill the old man."

He lifted the gun aiming at Dad. Then stopped.

"Your Pop's quite a cook isn't he?" He aimed the gun down and walked into the kitchen. A large guffaw resonated from the kitchen. Dad started struggling against the ropes.

Frank came back counting the bonds. "The broiler… are you nuts -that could have been a disaster.

A loud moan emanated from the upstairs. Frank was thrown to the ground. The bonds scattered everywhere. He was lifted upside down, in mid air, screaming at the sound of slaps. Welts appeared on his face. He fired the gun wildly screaming in fear. He dropped the gun and was thrown violently into the wall sliding broken and unconscious to the floor.

A bullet cut my bonds and winged my arm. I pulled off the ropes and went to help Dad.

"Son of a bitch surprised me." Dad explained

"It's OK Sharon took care of him."

We picked up the bonds and put them in Dad's truck, tended our sores, tied up Frank, and called the sheriff.

                                                              ***

We didn't mention the bonds when the Sheriff showed up. It turned out that the gun Larry brought to the party was the one with which he killed Sharon. Frank never regained consciousness but remained in a coma. Dad and I were rich but not greedy. We anonymously sent 50,000 to Frank's widow. She would never know Franks plans to abandon her and his family. We finished the house. We didn't sell it we had done too good a job. Dad said Sharon had moved on and the house was clean. He opened a restaurant in Warwick, down the street from the Ghost Hunters office. I bought another fixer after I was sure that the house was not otherwise occupied.

I came home last night and Dad was half watching TV. He had a small recorder in his lap.

"I got a recording last night you should here. The guys down the street called it an EVP.  All I did was turn on the recorder and went to bed. Listen!"

He turned on the recorder and nothing recorded for a moment or two. Then a voice in an eerie whisper said:

"Thank you. I love you both."

End