Page 7 of Ghost in the Cupboard

“Oh-my-goodness-Silas-I’m-so-glad-to-see-you!”

Rhonda Milner’s arms shot out to pull me into a—not necessarily desired—hug as we stood in the doorway of her mansion. As a kind person, a professional—and mostly as a guy with bills to pay—I accepted the hug, reaching up to rest my hands lightly against her back. Briefly. When Rhonda pulled away, her unnaturally white veneers on high beam, I returned her smile. She grabbed my hands in hers and pulled me into her home.

Closing the door with the swivel of an elegant hip, swathed in a pencil skirt comprised of a material I probably couldn’t afford, Rhonda dragged me towards The Parlor. Her silk blouse was cool against my arm as she laced hers through mine. The Parlor was the room at the front of her house that most normal people would call the living room, but was actually that what rich people called…The Parlor. Basically, a rich person’s front room where they entertain those guests that they feel are not worthy of being invited into the innermost parts of their house.

“Oh, Silas!” Rhonda cooed as she pulled me into the room. “I had a dream last night! A prophetic dream!”

“Oh?”

She pulled me over to the sofas that faced each other.

“Yes!” She practically shoved me onto one sofa and lowered herself onto the one across from me. “Last night, I went to sleep—and slept like a baby for the first time in months! My dream told me that today is the day that Harlan will finally speak to us!”

Forcing myself to not grumble uncomfortably, I repositioned myself on the sofa and laid my hands on my knees. Rhonda was smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles in her skirt as she settled into the couch, her eyes focused elsewhere. I took a moment to assess The Parlor. She’d added more candles. The temperature in the room, compared to the grand foyer, was noticeably higher. A cough nearly escaped my throat as I did my best not to pull at the collar of my shirt. Rhonda seemed unbothered by the oppressive warmth put off by the candles in the space.

Cozy spaces during autumn are one of my favorite things, but Rhonda’s front room was pushing the limit. Warm, fuzzy blankets in front of a fire was a vibe I could enjoy. Roasting in the pits of Hell for all of my sins was not. Of course, I wasn’t actually certain Hell even existed. If there are so many spirits hanging around, I was beginning to believe they had nowhere to go until their business was finished. After that, well, I had no idea what happened to ghosts I stopped seeing after a time.

“Well,” I said slowly, “that’s definitely something, right?”

Rhonda was bobbing her head like she was glued to a car’s dashboard. Certainty that a loved one who has passed is trying to reach us from beyond the grave is not a unique experience. Everyone I’ve ever known—including myself—has done their best to find signs in everything from dust patterns on their credenzas to dreams to scorch marks on their toast.

As an authentic and professional medium and clairvoyant, I do my best to comfort the grieving and help them the best I can. Ease them into acceptance that their loved one is never going to return, even if they are still possibly lingering around in a plane of existence most can’t see or fathom. It’s much better than telling them they’re batshit crazy, after all.

First things first, most ghosts are not powerful enough to physically manifest some evidence of their existence. Secondly, the greater majority of the human population will go their entire life without ever realizing they’ve had a ghostly experience. Around ninety-five percent of the people who have actually had an experience with the deceased chalked it up to drowsiness, inebriation, hallucination, or some natural phenomenon they can’t quite explain.

Because of these first two points, most people don’t believe that I, an actual medium who can see ghosts, is actually seeing ghosts. They certainly don’t believe I can commune with them. So, getting someone to believe I have a message, then convincing them to receive the message so the ghost can drop their mission, is an uphill battle. Worst of all, if the person finally comes around and accepts the message, and that it’s genuine, they tend to begin to believe that they can then commune with their ghostly loved one as much as they want moving forward. When I try to explain it doesn’t work like that—though I have no idea why ghosts lose interest or disappear after delivering certain messages—they once again accuse me of being a charlatan. It’s a no-win situation sometimes, being a medium.

Thirdly, and possibly worst of all, is finding a true believer like Rhonda Milner and having to tell her that her loved one simply isn’t showing up when called. Sometimes, though it’s rare, certain ghosts have no interest in being summoned to deliver a message to a loved one. Maybe they’re not around any longer and have moved on. It’s possible they have no interest in the person for whom you are summoning them. A lack of message to give to the person in question might be another reason a ghost fails to show up. Or the ghost might simply not want to talk to the person for personal reasons.

Ghosts can hold grudges. Once you slip away from your humanly form to your spiritual existence, your personality doesn’t simply disappear. If cousin Ricky stole your BMX when you were twelve and never apologized, you may carry that grudge to the afterlife. To hell with cousin Ricky. Y’all can settle up once he joins you in the spirit dimension, I suppose?

When it came to Rhonda Milner, it was clear that her deceased husband was never going to show up when I came to her house to summon him. That wasn’t simply negativity or professional experience talking—we’d been trying for months. Harlan Milner had decided, for his own reasons, that he did not want to talk to his wife once he’d died. I could call him all day and night, but I couldn’t force him to deliver a message to someone if he didn’t want to do it.

The money kept flowing from Rhonda’s pocketbook to my wallet to the coffers of The Lunch Counter, so I had no plans to give up. As long as Rhonda wanted to keep trying, I’d keep coming to her house as many times a week as she wanted to call for Harlan Milner to come talk to his wife. As frustrating as it was to put on a show so often for Rhonda, it helped fund an important cause. Continuing to show up and do my best was my plan for the foreseeable future, even if I knew there was no point in any of it.

“Maybe we try a different relative today?” I cleared my throat and sat forward on the sofa. “A grandparent? Cousin? A parent? Maybe a friend?”

Rhonda was shaking her head before I could finish my questions.

“I want to talk to Harlan,” Rhonda stated firmly. “My dream told me that today is the day. Now, if anyone else shows up, that’s fine. But I want to keep trying.”

“Okay,” I said evenly. “I’ll do my best, but—”

“I know you’re trying, Silas,” Rhonda said, reaching across to take my hand and give it a brief, reassuring squeeze. “He’ll show up when he feels the time is right.”

I gave a one shoulder shrug and produced my most boyish grin for Rhonda.

“It’s your time and money,” I said. “I certainly won’t tell you how to spend either.”

Her smile lit up the room once more.

“Excellent!”

After meeting Rhonda’s eyes and giving her another smile, I eased back into the sofa and took a deep breath. Rhonda perched on the edge of her sofa and watched me with an intensity I’d become familiar with over the months. Taking a deep breath and shaking my head as if to clear my thoughts—mostly for show—I finally spoke.

“I’m here to commune with the spirit realm,” I said, trying not to laugh at myself. “I call on Harlan Milner, if he is here, to step through the veil and speak with me on behalf of his beloved wife, Rhonda Milner.”

Harlan wasn’t going to show up, I already knew that. However, I closed my eyes and pretended to concentrate on summoning him. For Rhonda’s sake. After several tense moments, I opened my eyes and looked around.