HENRY
by D L Kaiser
I am eighty-two years of age. Someone
just asked me whether or not I believe in ghosts. I responded by tearing up so
badly that I upset my granddaughter Alex. She fumbled around my room to hand me
a box of tissues.
I write this memoir for her, my
granddaughter. She is what is known as a “sensitive” and has experienced being
aware of ghosts. She told me there were several that had spoken to her. Of
course she kept these secrets between herself and I, away from her father
Thomas. He would not hear of any nonsense about ghosts. As a scientist, he is naturally a skeptic. But I get ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.
I was born to a wealthy landowner in
a small rural town. We had a large household and many staff. My mother hired a
nanny and proceeded to rule it with an iron fist. I seldom saw her, and barely
remember my fifth year when she died. Life relaxed a bit after that and I
wandered freely around our property with my nanny on numerous occasions. It was
a glorious day when I leapt off of a log and fell into a deep trench that had
grown over with weeds. I bumped my head and passed out for most of the
afternoon.
When I awakened, there was a young
man sitting beside me in the rain. I sat up abruptly, afraid of the stranger.
He raised his eyebrows and spoke softly.
“You can see me?”
“Can you see me?” My head hurt and I
was in no mood for games. I glanced at him. “How come you are dry? Where’s your
umbrella?” He seemed to weigh his response and decided to answer truthfully.
“I am a ghost. Ghosts do not get
wet.”
I clearly did not believe a word he
spoke and reached out to poke him in the stomach. My hand fell through him and
I screamed. He backed away and held his hands up in mock surrender.
“I will not harm you. I am here to
help. “
I quieted for a moment and looked
around the deep and muddy trench.
“Can you help me get out of here?”
He stood and floated over to a
portion of the trench that wasn’t quite so steep.
“Here, I think. It will take a while,
but you can dig and climb your way out.”
“Why isn’t nanny Marsha here? She can
get me out.”
He seemed to blush. “She’s um, busy
at the moment.”
“Well, tell her to come and get me
then!” I stomped my foot and grimaced at the pain in my ankle.
“Ah. Well, no one can see me
except you.”
“Oh.” I decided that perhaps I should
be nice to this ghost after all. “My name is Andrea Van Heusenburg. What’s
yours?”
“Henry Watts, at your service.” He
swept off his top hat and bowed. He was maybe ten years older than I was at the time. He squinted at the sky as clouds moved
overhead. I began to get antsy to get out of the trench. I imagined snakes
liked to come out after dark and eat little girls.
Henry seemed to sense my unease and
reached for my hand. I felt a light tingle in my right palm. Henry guided me to
the spot he had in mind and encouraged me to dig a hole in the side of the
trench with my hands. He explained that I would be making steps until I could
climb up out of it.
“But Mr. Watts, that will take a
looooong time!”
“What else have you got to do?”
I narrowed my eyes in disgust. Three
hours later I had successfully climbed out of a trench that no one had ever
noticed. Thanks to my big mouth, that trench was boarded up and I was forbidden
to be unsupervised. Nanny Marsha was discovered in a very compromised position
with our stableman and summarily fired.
As for Mr. Watts, he kept me company
from time to time, and told me about his life in Nashua, New Hampshire. He said
he is now permanently a young man, and had died in a tragic accident. I can tell you that he saved my
life more than once.
When I was fifteen, I ran away from
home. My father had finally discovered a more soured personality than my birth
mother and was determined to inflict her moral chains upon my freedom.
I had pilfered my father’s safe a
number of times for small things, but since I had planned ahead, I took a
months worth of expenses. I thought myself quite clever and dressed in adult
woman’s clothing, booked passage on a train in an alias name. I sat gazing out
the window. A shadow cast upon my view.
“Ma’am, mind if I sit here?” The big
buffoon didn’t wait for my permission before sitting directly across from me.
He gazed at my bust for a very long time, then after sweeping his eyes up and
down my body, leered at my face. His smile revealed blackened teeth and the
smell emanating from his breath was revolting.
I did my best to ignore him but it
was no use. He inquired where I was going. I answered honestly and then
realized my mistake.
“I am headed to San Francisco.”
“That’s a mighty long way for an
unescorted young woman to travel.”
“Oh, I will be meeting my husband at
the next stop.”
He glanced quickly at my left hand.
No ring. I was a fool to try that ruse. He smiled slowly and stood up. He
closed the space between us and began pawing at me. Suddenly his hand covered
my mouth and I began to struggle. Mr. Watts lifted my umbrella and hit the
groping man over the head several times until knocking him out cold. I never
saw him materialize. It was eerie.
I stood up, my shaking hands trying
to repair my clothing and finally grabbed my luggage from the compartment. I
tripped over the prone body and ungracefully made my escape.
“Thank you Mr. Watts!”
“Just Go! Leave here!” I heard behind
me.
Years later I found out that my train
companion was a murderer preying upon young women. The police have yet to
figure out who presented their trussed up felon to them on a silver platter.
As the years went by, Henry Watts and
I became closer. On my 18th birthday Henry surprised me by kissing me on my
cheek. I felt it solidly now. Whatever power had granted him this second chance
at life as a ghost was getting stronger. For some reason, I noticed, he was now aging along with me.
“You call that a kiss?” I leapt up
from my seat and kissed him on the lips, smiling when he responded. It was at
that moment I realized beyond a doubt that I was in love with Henry Watts.
If it weren’t for my stepmother, I
would probably still be with Henry. You see, she was spying on Henry and I.
Naturally seeing me talking to Henry looked as if I were insane. She reported
it to my father, who had no room in his life for a young woman who refused to
be married off to many of the suggested business associates he paraded before
me. He used this information to bribe me into acquiescing to some of his
demands.
“If you are as demented as Helen
seems to think, I will send you away.”
Henry appeared to me the day I left
for the sanitarium.
“Henry, you are coming with me!”
“No. This cannot be. I have
ruined your life enough as it is.”
“But--“
“No, don’t argue Andrea. I’m letting
you go. Just convince them that it was a temporary illness.”
I feel on my knees in despair and choked
back sobs. Henry kneeled before me and looked into my eyes…and vanished.
The sanatorium was pleasant enough,
thanks to my father’s money. His wife Helen stood stiffly in my presence and
visited once a month out of her duty to me.
I hated her with a passion. After a month I tried to escape but they
drugged me. Whatever drugs they prescribed made things worse. I slit my wrists
one night.
I remember floating above my body. I
wanted to go away and find my beloved Henry. I found him sitting on a riverbank,
looking at a sunset.
“Henry!”
He turned and gave me the sweetest
smile.
“My Andrea.”
We spent precious hours together.
Suddenly I was yanked back into my
body. I lie face up, staring into the greenest eyes I had ever seen.
“Get this woman to the hospital!”
He was checking my pulse and taping
my wrists.
A few days later I was lying in my
hospital bed when a Dr. Bledsnow walked in. I recognized him from his green
eyes. We chatted, and for the first time in my life I trusted someone other
than Henry. He ran a small, exclusive sanatorium and was visiting the day I had
tried to commit suicide. My father released me to his custody without even a
visit beforehand. I received a letter from my stepmother, which supposedly
explained his absence:
My poor Andrea,
Your father is beside himself on how to treat the problem. It would be
better for everyone if you were to receive treatment out of the public eye.
Do get well, for all our sakes.
Helen Van Heusenburg
I was heartbroken beyond words. Dr.
Bledsnow was a patient man. I finally told him about Henry in a moment of
weakness.
“I see.”
“Do you? What is your diagnosis
Doctor?” I knew what lay ahead was more drugs and “therapy” to talk me out of
my imaginary manifestation. Two weeks after I had revealed Henry to Dr.
Bledsnow we had what he would refer to as a breakthrough. We were talking about
my family when I had an outburst.
“Henry was the only one who listened
to me!” I sobbed in despair.
“Now Andrea, there is no Henry. I
think that is time to admit that.”
I blinked back shock. I stood and
shouted at him.
“Henry is real! I’ll prove it to you!
Henry! I need you! Please! Prove to Dr. Bledsnow that you are real!”
I waited a moment, and then waited
minutes more. When Dr. Bledsnow’s eyes began to crinkle with mirth, I could no
longer tolerate his presence. I ran towards the door. Dr. Bledsnow blocked my
path. He held on to my arms.
“Andrea, please.” His eyes held more
feeling than they should.
That is when all of the books in his
library began flying from their shelves. Pens floated in mid-air. A glass of
water floated towards me and I took it, rubbing my temple with relief. But
Henry was demonstrating his presence a bit too heartily and we had to escape
the flying debris.
I had never seen Dr. Bledsnow so
unnerved. He held me close to him and ordered his car out front. When we were
seated in the back, he motioned the driver to take him home. He wrapped his
arms around me, murmuring in my ear.
“You poor dear Andrea. What you’ve
had to put up with!”
He had tears in his eyes. That night,
Dr. Bledsnow became “Jack”, my protector, my friend, and yes, my lover.
It was twenty years later when I
discovered the truth about my husbands’ beliefs. I had cancelled attending a
meeting with the ladies club due to a sore throat. When entering through the
back door I heard my husband and son Thomas chatting in the study.
“Father, what do you think about
ghosts? Mother says they are real, and I’ve always wondered about that.”
“Let your mother have her beliefs.
The human mind is capable of much more than any ghostly powers!” He then went
on to describe to my only son how my emotionally disturbed state caused objects
in his library to move. They both laughed at the vivid descriptions of flying
objects that my husband performed with theatrical relish. My son was convinced
of my emotional and intellectual inferiority from that time forward and became
distant, with a superior smirk on his face whenever I voiced my opinions,
especially in front of his father.
It was then that I withdrew my trust
from my husband and my son. I would never confide in them again on this matter,
and I certainly hid any emotions that betrayed any deep passion.
But in my old age, and my many years
of thankful freedom after the divorce, I am enjoying being close to Henry once
more. Last week I fell asleep and awakened to him rocking in the chair beside
me on porch.
“It won’t be long now love.”
“I am tired Henry, and so glad to see
you.” I wrote the last lines of my memoire
to Alex.
My Dearest Granddaughter Alex, this memoire of mine is only for your
eyes. I honor the fact that you are able to talk with your ghostly spirit
friends. Just be careful. Do not trust
anyone! Look up Henry Watts of Nashua, New Hampshire.
I love you.
Andrea
Thomas slipped the letter into his
pocket. Best not to give his daughter any more fuel for these ghost delusions. Ridiculous! He always knew his mother was demented. He would look into counseling for his daughter
soon. When he arrived home he shoved his jacket on a chair in the kitchen and
went to find his wife.
Henry materialized in Alex’s bedroom. Alex’s
jaw dropped.
“Read the letter in your father’s
jacket!”
Alex managed to sneak the letter
upstairs and read it. On the back of the envelope was a counselor’s name and
phone number. She went on the Internet to do research on this Henry Watts of
Nashua, New Hampshire before making any drastic decisions.
She lucked out and found some old photographs of him
from a newspaper that were stored on an online database. It seems he attended a
black tie affair for the mayor and was listed in a photograph. She leaned in
for a close look. She was stunned. The features in his face reflected her own, and that of her father. She
could no longer deny the truth. Henry was actually Thomas’s father, her own grandfather! She
wondered if Thomas had searched for him after reading her grandmother’s letter.
But to ask that question was to endanger herself.
Alex cleverly duped her father Thomas
into thinking she was cured from all this ghost nonsense without revealing what
she knew. After attending college she
moved away. She owns a boutique and also has a part-time job as medium.
Their laughter echoed in Alex’s mind
from last nights’ dream. She smiled at the memory.
“Well,
at least a part of you made it to San Francisco!”
“Yes Henry. I guess a part of you did too.”
THE END
