Across the street from the house where I grew up stood a five-step staircase leading to the raised red brick house of my childhood friend, Laynie. One day we’d be friends. The next, not. The day after ... friends.
On a cool fall morning, I waited for the school bus by my mailbox. Laynie came barreling down the five steps to join me with a colorful story about how she had seen ghosts last night. A Mother and daughter, wearing Victorian dresses. They traveled from east to west in their living room.
Classic Laynie. Always with a tale.
Months later, she came screaming down the five steps. She saw them again. This time from west to east. Same old Victorian dresses.
But that was a long, long time ago, and the house has since been torn down, leaving only the five steps.
I had a nice visit with my parents tonight. Dinner. Conversation. When I left, I glanced toward Laynie's house, considering the old days. There they were. The ghosts. Floating from the east. They descended the five steps, jumped into my back seat, and haven't stopped chanting "Laynie."
Anybody know the steps for getting rid of old Victorian ghosts? Help!
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