The Ghost of Fall

Fall is here. Not only have the leaves started to turn gold and brown, and the air cooler, but there are more birds, the days are shorter, and the malaise of the triple digit heat is gone.

It is time to start reading more, and trying new kinds of tea, and getting cozy with blankets. We’ve even had some rain in the drought parched world in which I dwell.

I was out in my backyard, which isn’t landscaped aside from a few raised garden beds, half a dozen oak trees, a bunch of citrus trees, and iris plants I’ve spread around the edge of the fence and around the oaks. I was setting up my critter cam when I looked up to see a Ghost. It was Nigel, my ghost. Well, not my Ghost, I’m not dead, but it he lives, haunts, exists, or whatever at, around, behind, outside, and all over my house, and sometimes in my car, and anywhere he wants around me. There seems to be some connection that neither one of us can explain. So I won’t even try to explain.

Nigel looked over at me with a noncommittal sneer.

“There was a baby raccoon out here last night with someone I assume was it’s mother,” I said to the Ghost.

“I saw them,” he said. “It isn’t like I had anything else to do.”

I looked at Nigel standing there today in a black suit, a hand painted tie, and his dark hair expertly tousled. “All dressed an no place to go Nigel?” I asked.

“I’m here for the raccoons, and some of the other Ghosts are having a concert down by the river tonight. They invited Mary and me.”

Mary is Nigel’s girlfriend. She died around 1701 but I have no idea how she ended up here with Nigel. I don’t know how the whole Ghost migration thing works. Nobody does, not even the Ghosts. The other Ghosts are a mix of gold miners from the 1850’s, musicians from the 1920’s who used to play in clubs along the river, and a few folks who lived in the second half of the 20th Century. They all seem to play some sort of musical instruments, and sing. I never said it was good, but sometimes it is, depending on who or what shows up.

“Have fun,” I said.

“Come join us,” said Nigel.

“They don’t like Vampires.”

“Vampires don’t like Ghosts. We’re both sort of dead but not really, each one coveting what the other has and they don’t,” said Nigel.

I knew he coveted a real body and the ability to travel anywhere. I have no idea what Ghosts might think Vampires covet from them. No idea. Seriously. Who would want to be like a Ghost?

I didn’t tell Nigel that. He would just sulk and throw insults at me.

So I said nothing, because I am his friend, and he is mine.

It is odd the bonds of friendship that grow from maybe a common place, or interest, or other friends, then grows into something that can’t be explained. It is when souls know each other in ways that others can’t see. It is an unspoken shared thing that is both unexplained and overly obvious. It is shared experiences, long talks, quiet walks, and the ability to just listen without judgement.

“Have fun tonight,” I said.

“You too,” said Nigel. “I hope the foxes show up too. They’re so precious.”

“Yes they are,” I said.

Nigel gave a slight smile then vanished into the cool fall air. I adjusted the critter cam, and threw out a couple of handfuls of California poppy seeds along my fence line to hopefully bloom in the sprint.

I looked forward to an evening with my husband, some fine spiced blood, and perhaps late into the night some time for reading a good book.

Happy fall everyone. Don’t forget to change your clocks this weekend. Call a friend. Stay safe. Don’t be a dick. And maybe find some live music. Of course I also recommend you kiss a Vampire. You’ll thank me for it later.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

One comment

  1. I tried, but I’m almost sure, whatever I kissed, it was probably not a Vampire. The guy looked fabulous – but he strongly smelled from a mixture of kale-soup and wet weasel… should that tell me something?

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