Dead Obsession

It was a bath towel that started everything off. Jane was sure she
had hung it up in the bathroom - then it wasn't there any more. I told
her she must be mistaken, or perhaps she had just dreamed hanging it
up. This caused an argument of course. So we both searched for it. Her
wanting to find it to prove me wrong, me wanting to find it to prove
her wrong. Childish.
We found it down in the cellar in the washroom, under a pile of other
washing ready for the machine. Jane looked baffled. I felt a bit smug,
then felt guilty for feeling smug.
"But I know I hung it up," she said. "I hung the whole set of blue
towels up all at the same time. The rest are still there."
"Perhaps it wanted to be washed again" I said. "Look, it's still got a
stain on it."
"Yes, David mister clever clogs. After you wiped your hands on it after
cutting the grass." she said punching me lightly in the arm. I looked
suitably ashamed and everything was all right again.
Next week one of Jane"s dresses disappeared out of the wardrobe.
"I know I put it away this time," she said remembering the towel. "I
know I hung it up in this wardrobe, right there on that hanger."
My sceptical look vanished in the face of her certainty. This time we
only spent a short time searching before we looked in the cellar. There
was the dress together with some others waiting to be washed.
"What's going on here?" said Jane.
I picked up the dress. "It looks like some of your washing is trying to
tell you something." I said pointing to the stain on the sleeve.
"That's where your mate Billy spilled red wine on it." she said hotly.
"It won't come out any more."
"Well he did apologise." I countered. "And he bought you a new dress to
make up for it, which you seem to like, seeing as you wear it so
much."
I smiled fondly at her. She was wearing the said dress at that moment.
The love/ hate relationship between my wife and my best friend was
always a subject of amusement between us.
"Yes, but I still wear this a lot too. But that's not the point. How
did this get back down here?" she said snatching the dress off me.
"Well I'm not going to wash it again." She stamped back upstairs with
the offending article.
Next morning was a Saturday, we slept a bit longer. When we awoke the
wardrobe door was open and the dress was missing. We found it back down
in the washroom. There were some work overalls of mine there as well.
They still had faint oil stains on them.
Back up in the kitchen the sewing machine had been set up. Draped
across it was a jacket of mine that was torn. We both looked at each
other a bit frightened.
Later that day we went to visit Jane's mother. She had spent her entire
childhood in the house that now belonged to us. We told her what had
been happening and asked if she knew anything about it. She
laughed.
"Perhaps you've got a ghost." she said.
To me the laugh sounded forced. I thought I could see fear in her eyes.
After this the conversation was a bit strained. We didn't stay very
long.
When we arrived back home the sewing machine and the jacket - both of
which we had put away before leaving the house - were back on the
kitchen table.
"David, I'm scared." said Jane. "What are we going to do?"
"Stay here." I told her.
I went around the house checking all the windows and doors. I was
hoping to find some way that somebody could get in. Somebody who wanted
to play a very nasty trick on us. Everything was secure.
Jane was still standing in the kitchen doorway when I came back
downstairs.
"What are we going to do?" she asked again.
"I don't know." I said shrugging. "Sew the jacket perhaps?"
Jane looked from the sewing machine to me and back again.
"Look," I said, trying to sound reasonable, "if we do what it wants,
whatever or whoever it is might leave us alone in future. Sew the
jacket. Soak the stains or whatever you do with them. Or show me how
and I'll do it."
Jane looked at me with her eyebrows raised.
"There's no way I'm letting you get anywhere near my sewing machine, or
my washing machine for that matter." she said.
After a pause, she sighed and gingerly sat down at the machine to
repair the jacket. The rest of the afternoon we spent downstairs in the
washing room.
The next day we waited on tenterhooks for something else to happen. By
evening, when everything remained peaceful, we thought that maybe it
had ended.
About an hour before going to bed, I sorted out my work clothes for the
next day as I did every Sunday. Overalls, tee-shirt, socks and the rest
I laid on a kitchen chair, so I wouldn't have to search for them in the
morning waking Jane. Shortly after, as we sat in the living room, there
came a rattling noise from the kitchen. I went to investigate. In the
middle of the kitchen floor the ironing board had been set up. Laid on
it were my overalls, a white shirt and a tie. Resting on top of these
was the iron.
"Oh no." cried Jane from behind me. "Not a chance. Now I know who it
is."
I looked at her questioningly. "Who then?" I asked.
"My stupid bloody Grandfather that's who." she said angrily. "I should
have guessed right from the start." I looked at her, waiting for some
clarification.
"He drove my Grandma nuts with insisting that everything he wore was
absolutely spotless." she said. "He was the only person I know who wore
a white shirt and tie while working on a lathe. And the overalls always
had to be ironed. That's how I know it's him."
She turned her face up to the ceiling. "No way Granddad," she said
loudly. "I'm not going to start ironing overalls for nobody."
"And I don't want them ironed," I said just as hotly. "If I start
wearing overalls with a crease in them, I'll be laughed off the shop
floor. And as for a white shirt and tie, you've got to be kidding. In a
machine shop?"
There was a loud bang and the ironing board shook, the iron wobbling
dangerously on top.
"Piss off Granddad." said Jane, and stormed back into the front
room.
I remained in the doorway to see what would happen. The bangs and
thumps continued, as if someone was having a tantrum. Although bottles,
cups and other items jumped and jiggled about, nothing was actually
moved. After a while I went to join my wife.
The noise went on for about an hour without a pause. Then it stopped.
Even ghosts get tired it seems. In the meantime Jane told me about her
Grandfather.
"He was an alcoholic." she said. "For as far back as I can remember he
was always half cut. He had secret stashes everywhere, a bottle here a
half bottle there. If we ever get around to sorting out all the junk in
this house we'll probably find some of his booze still here."
She said that he had an obsession for personal tidiness. He would spend
two hours getting ready to go out to the pub. The suit had to be
spotless and pressed to military perfection. The shirt had to be ironed
just so. There was never a hair out of place. You could see your
reflection in his shoes. Two or three hours later he would be back
home, incoherent and barely able to stand. If Jane's Grandma was lucky,
he would just be covered in mud. More than often it was something much
more unsavory.
"The smell I associate with Granddad is old alcohol and Old Spice."
said Jane. "He used both of them by the gallon. Even a trip down to the
corner shop involved a half hours preparation. That's why my Mum left
home as soon as she could. It's also why she gave us this big old house
when Grandma died instead of moving back in herself. No wonder she was
so nervous yesterday, she knew the old bastard had come back."
"Well yes, all right." I said. "But we've been in this house for three
years now, and your Granddad has been dead for what, seven years? Why
should he wait so long to start this nonsense?"
"I don't know." said Jane throwing her hands in the air. "Perhaps he's
only just worked up the courage. You've seen just now how he banged and
clattered about a lot, but nothing was actually broken. That's typical
Granddad. He always used to shout and slam doors, but he never used
actual physical violence. I think he was scared to in case Grandma
smacked him one and proved that he wasn't the macho he made out to
be."
We didn't sleep much that night. Next day I phoned in sick, I wasn't
going to leave Jane alone in the house. The problem was we didn't know
who to ask for help. Who do you contact when your dead grandfather
won't leave you in peace? In desperation I phoned my mate Billy. He
surprised us both by not scoffing at our story straight away. We must
have sounded very convincing. Billy very rarely took anything
seriously. He said that he would ask Chris, another friend of ours, for
help. Chris reads loads of horror books. We spent most of that day out
of the house.
That evening Chris and Billy came round. Chris had spent a couple of
hours going through his books.
"Look I'm not an expert on this." he said. "I only read ghost stories.
But it seems to me that your average ghost hangs around because he's
lost something, or he hasn't finished something, or there's something
in the house he can't bear to leave. So if we can find out which one it
is that affects your Granddad, we can probably sort it out."
"Okay." said Billy turning to Jane. "What could your Granddad have
lost?"
Jane considered. "A bottle." she said. "That's all I can think
of."
"What could he not have finished then?" asked Billy.
Jane shrugged. "Another bottle." she said.
"Come on Jane, that's not being very helpful you know." said
Chris.
"No wait a minute." I said having an idea. "I think she's right."
All three turned to look at me.
"Yesterday you told me that if we sort out all the junk here we would
probably find some of his stashes." I said to Jane.
They still all looked at me questioningly.
"Don't you see?" I said. "He"s got some bottles of whiskey or something
stashed around this house. He didn't have time to finish them off
before he snuffed it. Now he can't bear to leave them. Get rid of the
bottles, we get rid of Granddad."
Jane"s face lit up.
"David your a genius." she said throwing her arms around me.
The rest of the evening was spent making a plan of action for the next
day. Chris and Billy stayed the night with us, that might explain why
Granddad remained fairly quiet the whole time. In the morning we set to
work.
It took almost the whole day and we turned the entire house upside
down, but in the end we found eight half full bottles. All cheap vodka.
Every time another stash was found, Granddad would have a small fit. As
the last one turned up things actually stared flying around. We had to
do a bit of dodging for a while. He was obviously getting
desperate.
When we were sure we had all the bottles, we took them into the kitchen
and gave them to Jane. She poured them one after the other down the
sink. As they poured away a keening noise started up all around us,
like someone grieving terribly. When Jane started on the last bottle,
the keening rose in volume until we could barely stand it. As the last
of the vodka gurgled down the drain the noise followed it, gradually
disappearing off into the sewers.
"Of course," said Jane when all was quiet, "you do know that he worked
in the same place that you lot do now? I"m only too sure he had a
couple of stashes there as well."