Chapter Nine

The Ghost

The man had been wandering up and down the road for days now. The neighbors all knew of his presence. He walked behind the houses, peering into bushes. He loitered around, watching doors. He was a silent and most disagreeable menace. When the mothers stepped out of their front doors to sweep the steps, he was there watching. When the children came in for dinner they asked, 'Who is that man?' When friends stood talking in the street, they sensed a presence and turned to see him standing right there, and listening. They all wondered who he was. They all speculated on what he wanted. They all wanted to make him leave although no one wanted to be the one to tell him so or to risk speaking to the devil for any reason. It was just as well, for the man didn't seem interested in conversation. In fact, the man only spoke to the neighbors on three occasions and the first one was purely on accident.

Madame Colette was pruning her bushes and humming to herself when she noticed an odd shape peering at her from behind a trellis covered with vines. Her first thought was that it must be the "ghost" and she had caught him at last.

"All right you rascal! Come out from there!" She cried out as the figure emerged from the leaves.

"What are you doing creeping about my garden like a snake? Haven't you anything better to do?" The man was furious at being caught. She could tell he had a short temper and he glared hatefully at her as he tried to think of a suitable alibi for a grown man who prowled through rose bushes in mid-morning.

"I am looking for my daughter. She has curly, blonde hair. Have you seen her, Madame?" He was lying through his teeth and she knew it. He knew she knew it too.

"Well," she began casually, "I have scores of children come and visit me and a good many of them are girls with blond hair." He opened his mouth to reply but closed it again. She didn't believe him and no amount of fabrication would help his case. Instead he changed the subject.

"Who lives in that house?" Madame was taken aback. She hadn't expected him to ask about her strange neighbors. She regained herself and determined not to release any information that might come to harm Suzette or her friend.

"No one does."

"I'm no fool, Madame. There is a well-maintained garden and the chimney is smoking. I've often heard the sound of a violin coming from an upstairs window, which is left open. So, lets say you tell me who resides there?"

"Only a ghost." The man stared at her with consternation. He was quite sure that she was mad.

"What do you mean 'a ghost'", he demanded.

"Just what I said. There is nothing living in that house. The only one in there is dead."

"Do you really think that house is possessed by a ghost?" he demanded of her, "You must be crazy, woman! The only thing in that house is a little brat who has become quite good at fooling those who wish to be fooled!"

"You may believe whatever you like," she told him coolly, "But you are no longer welcome here, Monsieur. Leave now, or I will call that police." And she turned into her house, leaving the stranger alone and thoroughly confused.

On the second occasion, the man approached a mail carrier that seemed to be leaving the house where the "ghost" lived. The postman saw that he had been running and was out of breath. He started to greet him but the man interrupted.

"Did you deliver there?" he asked desperately, "Did you have mail for that house?"

"Of course, Monsieur. What else would I be doing here? And there was quite a bit of it too. A package that must have been full of bricks, it was so heavy. But, of course, it is always worth the trouble. That house tips quite well, you know. And there were the magazines from Paris, of course. They come every week." The stranger caught his breath. This postman liked to talk. The man hoped that he knew something.

"Well if you deliver mail there, someone must be receiving it! A young girl right? With blonde hair?" The postman seemed amazed.

"Of course not, Monsieur."

"Then who? Who is receiving the mail?" The postman rolled his eyes as if he thought the stranger a fool.

"The ghost, of course."

"Of course! Of course!" the man howled, "Who else would it be? The house is completely empty, save a ghost who plays the violin and reads his magazines!"

"And Othello, of course." said the postman, unmoved by the outburst.

"And who might Othello be?" the man asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"The master's gray cat."

"Of course! Every ghost has a cat! May I ask why it is gray and not black?" The postman laughed and said, "You know, I asked him the same question and do you know what he-

"Oh, shut up!" the man snapped, "Then you've seen this ghost?"

"Of course, not! You can't see a ghost!"

"But you've spoken to him?"

"Yes, he comes out on the porch to talk to me. He asks me about things and we have a little chat. Then I give him his packages and magazines and he pays me and he goes inside." The man was becoming exasperated.

"Doesn't he ever get any letters?"

"Of course not! Who would write a ghost?"

"How are these packages addressed?"

"To the initials OG. Why? Are you thinking of sending him a Christmas card?" The man scowled at him.

"What are in the packages? What sort of things would a ghost and his tabby cat be ordering?" The postman straightened up.

"I am a very busy man." He told him, "I hardly have time to open up every package that I deliver."

"Of course not." said the man, hating the postman fiercely.

"Of course not. Good-day, Monsieur."

"Good-day."

Later that afternoon, the stranger came across three boys playing with a cat in front of the "ghost house". The boys were all petting the wretched animal at once and grabbing at his paws and tail. The cat was contained tightly in the oldest of the boy's embrace and the smaller two begged and whined that they should get a turn to hold him.

"Is that Othello?" the man asked them.

"Yep." they answered in chorus.

"Won't the ghost mind you playing with his cat?" The younger boys gave each other panicked glances but the oldest boy said confidently, "No, he doesn't mind."

"Do you go to the door and ask to borrow him?" The boys' eyes widened and they shook their heads wildly.

"No, sir! Go to the ghost's house? Never!"

"No? What would he do to you?" They shivered and the middle boy told the story.

"Once, a boy called Benoit took a dare to sneak into the ghost's house and bring something out. We never thought he'd come out alive! It was at least an hour-

"No! It was more like two-

"No! It wasn't that long!"

"I'm telling this story! When he came out he was shaking and thrashing about. He didn't seem to know any of us and his eyes were rolling around his head. We had to drag him back to his house and we could hear the ghost laughing after us all the way up the road."

"I saw him on the porch!" interrupted the youngest boy.

"Did not!" shouted the middle boy.

"Did too!" screamed the younger. The oldest went on.

"It was weeks before he came outside again and even longer before he could talk to us."

"Even then he never told us what happened in there," said the middle boy.

"But every now and then he sees something and starts screaming 'It's him! I see his eyes!'" The youngest boy put his hands to his face and pretended to faint.

"So no one else goes in, since Benoit?" asked the man.

"Except for Suzette." Said the youngest boy. The man stopped cold.

"Does Suzette go in?" the man asked earnestly.

"Yep." they chirped, "She is the only one allowed, though." Their faces showed how they idolized her bravery and good fortune.

"And how did she come to receive this honor?" The boys shrugged and said, "He likes her. They're friends, so she's not afraid."

"I'm not afraid, either!" piped the littlest boy, "I went up to the window once!"

"You did not!" yelled the two older boys in unison.

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Si!"

"Non!"

"Si!" They were so busy arguing; they didn't notice the man creeping off toward the ghost house.