I’ve been working a lot of long days at my day job for the last week to get ready for this big training coming up. Guess what? It’s here! And guess what? I’m really tired and pretty much out of time. So, the walnut slab for the Ouija board will have to dry a little longer. Until then, there’s this new guy hanging around the office party…

“Who’s the guy with the black turtleneck? Is he new?” Alicia asked Karen.

“No,” she said, “I was just talking with him. Jerry in sales – came in just for the party.”

“Sales?” Alicia asked. “What territory?”

Karen shrugged. “Not sure. But you should have heard what he said about Lucy when she first started!”

“When she first started? She’s an institution! He’s been around a long time!”

“Sorry ladies,” Jerry crossed over to them with a genuine 1000-watt smile. “Karen, it sounded like you were spreading terrible rumors about me?” he finished by tilting his head to emphasize that he was joking.

“No, Jerry,” she said, “I’m just telling Alicia the truth – what you told me.”

“Then it’s definitely terrible rumors!” he laughed. Alicia didn’t find it the least bit funny, but oddly found herself laughing hysterically.

“Alicia is it?” Jerry asked. “I don’t think we’ve had the opportunity to meet. Which department are you in?”

“Purchasing,” she said. “I can’t believe I haven’t met you! After two years I didn’t think there was anyone I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, well, I mostly work out of town, stay in my own territory. But I’ve heard of you – you managed to get that order from HQ expedited for Laser Line a few months ago. Man, you saved a lot of people a lot of bacon! You’re a minor hero in Duluth! They sing songs about you around the fires at night.”

“Ah,” she said as color crept into her cheeks. “I got lucky is all.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it, Alicia. That was tenacity! I don’t know if anyone around here has said it enough, but thank you!”

“You’re too kind, Terry.”

“Excuse me, but I have to go say hi to Eddy from machining,” Terry said before making his way through the crowd.

“That was nice!” Alicia said to Karen, still a little stunned by the compliment.

“Right? Terry’s a doll!”

“Who?” William walked up to them.

“William! I didn’t think you were going to make it! You must have just gotten in from the board meeting in Sweden.”

“Straight from the airport. Who were you talking about?”

“Oh,” Alicia said. “Terry from Sales,” she turned to try to point him out, but she couldn’t spot him in the crowd of coworkers. When she looked back William stared wide-eyed, his face pale. “William, are you okay?”

“Terry? Sales?”

“Yes, William, are you okay?”

“Terry was the first sales manager for the Midwest. He was my first hire when I made manager. Must have been twenty five years ago.”

“Wow,” Karen said, “I didn’t realize he’s been with the company so long. Why haven’t we met him until now?”

“Because he died twenty years ago. Heart attack in his car on the way to a client outside of St. Paul.”

This one got away from me again. This part should be called “Walnut Tree” and you’ll soon see why. The titular “Ouija” will play a more prominent role in the next part, but the woodworking nerd in me dwelt on the details here.

As with most obsessions, Terry didn’t think this would be one of them.

It started at a Halloween party his neighbors down the street threw. Out on the patio by the pool a group of half a dozen neighbors he knew and people he didn’t gathered around a cardboard Ouija board. Three people at a time placed their hands gently on the plastic heart shaped planchette and tried to “communicate with the dead” with varying results.

“People never tire of trying to talk to the other side,” The old widow who lived on the other side of Terry stepped up beside him.

He started slightly at her words, focusing a little more intently on the mostly gibberish the slightly tipsy adults were getting out of the Ouija board.

“Agreed,” he said. “Do you ever wish you could communicate with Roger?” he asked, referring to her husband who had died of a heart attack the year before. She winced a little bit and Terry realized the callousness of his comment. “Sarah, I’m sorry, that was really rude of me…”

The older woman waved off his apology, “No, it’s all right, Terry, it’s all right. I do wish I could talk to Roger,” she nodded to herself. “I’d start by asking him where in the hell he put the retirement documentation, followed by why he didn’t get his blood pressure checked more regularly, and I’d also like him to give me the recipe for his rib rub that he took with him to the grave,” she smiled sadly.

“Oh, those ribs…” Terry remembered. “Often imitated, never duplicated.”

“And never will be, sadly. Unless we can get our hands on that planchette and eek it out of him from the afterlife,” her smile warmed.

“If only…” Terry chuckled.

They both stared in silence watching the game.

“Maybe…” Sarah, started, but let the thought trail off.

“You don’t suppose…?” Terry asked.

“I mean, maybe not Roger, but I wonder if the instrument,” she nodded at the laminated cardboard board and cream plastic planchette, “were of higher caliber…”

Terry surprised himself by considering the idea more seriously than he expected. “Where would we start?”

Sarah furrowed her brow. “That old walnut tree that came down in the storm last week…” she started. “I have pictures of that house from the 1920s and that walnut tree was visible in the back yard. I wonder what that heartwood has seen in the last hundred years.”

Terry knew she was appealing to the woodworker in him in a way he couldn’t let go. “You haven’t had that removed?”

She shook her head. “I got an estimate from one of the tree companies, but I think part of it is I’m still sort of mourning it. It was here when we moved into the neighborhood forty years ago. That tree shaded countless barbeques, my kids playing, climbing. It also…” she stopped, her face growing frighteningly serious.

“How about I come over tomorrow and take a look?”

…

The next day Terry knocked on the old three-story house next door that looked out of place in all the remodeled places in the neighborhood. Sarah greeted him and they walked to the back yard where the full tree had crashed into her prodigious yard, crushing the wooden fence separating her yard from the creek that served as a border for the far edge of her property.

“I didn’t realize it took out the fence,” Terry said.

“Sure did. That storm made a mess.”

Terry ran his hands over the trunk where it uprooted and marveled at the rough gray-brown bark and sheer width. “I think I can get a crew here to take this out. A buddy of mine runs a lumber mill – he’s where I get the slabs for my wood shop.”

“Is that where you got that cherry wood that you made that spectacular end table you gave Roger and I for our 75^th Anniversary?”

“One in the same,” Terry said. “I’ll give him a call – he’d be very interested I think.” He thought back to the conversation they had the night before, but the notion that seemed if not reasonable at least worth exploring under the orange hunter moon now seemed exposed as silly dreams in the bright, cool light of an October morning, so he said nothing about it.

“Do you think it would work, though?” her revisiting the conversation took him by surprise.

He nodded slowly, “I do. Let me see what I can find out.”

Hector came over that same day and thanked Terry profusely for calling him. He worked with Sarah and they had a crew break down the ancient tree’s limbs  and cart off the unusable branches and leaves.

“Remember,” Terry told Hector as they surveyed the crew wielding chainsaws and dragging brush to the chipper whirring in the front yard, “I get a heart slab – finder’s fee.”

Hector laughed, “You got it man.”

Terry saw Sarah watching through the window. He waved and joined her inside. “You know it’s going to take a long time before we can use that heartwood – they have to mill it and then the slabs have to dry… if we want this slab it will be years…”

“It’s got to be this tree.” The steel in her eyes took Terry aback a bit.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Is there,” he started, “Something about this tree that’s… special.”

“There is.” She didn’t elaborate.

“Alright…” Terry said.

…

Terry visited Hector the following week to pick up a slab of acacia for a vanity a customer in Scotts Valley had commissioned. “How’d that walnut break down?”

“Oh man,” Hector said. “You have to see this…”

They walked out through Hector’s warehouse into the open yard where metal racks ran in long rows holding varying lengths of drying slabs of wood. They crossed to one row and walked all the way back to the chain link fence  before Hector stopped and put his hand on top of a stack of slabs separated from each other by inches to allow air to circulate. “Claro walnut. This one is yours,” he said patting the top of the stack.

Terry had to catch his breath. Eight feet long and half as much wide, the three inch thick slab seemed to almost glow, its whorls and striations picking up the diffuse sunlight between the stacks of drying slabs.

“Not a single crack,” Hector said. “I’ve never seen a trunk so perfect. This thing is magnificent. I thought I was doing you a huge favor covering so much of that removal. I mean, I didn’t mind, you know – that old lady is sweet. But practically everything we pulled out of that yard is solid. Now I almost feel bad!”

“Well, just let me know! I’ve got a really special project for this.”

…

A year later at the next neighborhood Halloween party, Sarah stepped next to Terry as he watched a different group playing with the Ouija board.

“I can make it out of something else,” he started. “I have a great piece of Blue Mahoe left over from a series of bowls I turned. It’d make a gorgeous board…”

“Not for our purposes. That walnut…”

Terry saw that look in her eyes again. “Okay.”

He did make a proof of concept Ouija board out of that Blue Mahoe. He put the tight-grained brown and blonde board with hand-painted letters and numbers on it along with a planchette from the same wood in the window of his Los Gatos gallery for Halloween. It sold handsomely to a couple visiting from Napa.

He had shown the board to Sarah who admired the grain and color of the wood and the craftsmanship. “That wood has a spicy smell,” she said.

“Blue Mahoe is known for that,” Terry said.

“It’s nice. But it won’t work for us. The walnut…”

…

Just before Halloween the following year Sarah fell in her house and broke her hip. When she got out of the hospital her daughter stayed with her during her recuperation.

Terry knocked on the door, a casserole in hand.

“Hello?” the woman with dark hair answered the door.

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s neighbor, Terry. I thought I’d bring by a chicken and potato casserole.”

“Oh, that’s so nice! I’m Jenny, her daughter. Come in. My mom’s in the back yard.”

Terry found Sarah sitting in a chair on the deck overlooking the weeds where the walnut tree had been.

“Those roots are poison,” she started abruptly.

“Sorry?”

“The roots of the walnut tree. They leach a poison that kills other walnut trees, but a whole host of other plants.” She pointed to a row of raised beds with tomato plants that leaned over exhausted from their summer-long bounty, “that’s why we had to build raised beds for the tomatoes.” She scowled. “I was going to tear those out before that damn fall.”

“It happens,” Terry said. “I can take care that for you tomorrow.”

“Really? That would be sweet.”

“You got it, Sarah.” He was quiet as the subject he knew she was thinking of rested between them.

“The wood?” she gave voice to it.

“Hector showed me when I picked up some Monterey cypress for a dining room table. It’s coming along, but he thinks another year. If you don’t want to wait, I have some really even Pau Rosa from Tanzania that would finish nicely…”

“Only the walnut.”

“Sarah, with this fall, I’m just worried…”

“That I’d die before we do this?”

“Well…”

“Terry,” she said, “I’m old, but I’ve still got fight in me. Don’t worry about that…”

“Why this walnut,” he gestured to where the tree used to stand.

“Sit,” she instructed pointing to a chair next to hers.

“Mom, do you need anything?” Jenny asked. Sarah shook her head. “Terry? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you,” he said.

“Okay, I’m going to go call Adam then,” and she disappeared inside.

“Jenny’s been wonderful. It’s been nice spending so much time with her,” Sarah said after her daughter went inside. “Her husband, Adam, is a doll as well. I feel a little bad taking so much of her time, but…

“She had an older brother,” Sarah said and let the statement hang for a long moment. “Joey,” she smiled. “He was a good boy. Troubled, though,” she nodded solemnly. “We… Roger and I… we did our best. We knew he had some issues with the kids at school, but neither of us knew the extant of it, I guess. Until…” She remained statue still and silent for so long Terry wondered whether she would continue. “I found him. He’d come home from high school early. I was out running errands, but I saw him through the kitchen window as soon as I stepped in the front door,” she gestured to the windows behind her. “I will never forget the sight of his body hanging from one of those branches,” she pointed to the air where the walnut tree stood, “swaying in the wind. Lifeless. My boy. My boy…”

“I’m so sorry,” Terry said. Sarah nodded.

“I’ve seen him in those branches over the years,” she said solemnly. “As a boy climbing the thick limbs. I’ve seen him swaying at the end of that rope. I heard his laugh when the winds rustled the leaves.” She turned to look Terry in the eyes with that fierce look. “That tree. It has to be that tree.”

Terry’s blood ran cold knowing the story of the beautiful, tragic tree.

“The walnut,” she said, nodding to the empty space where the tree stood. “That tree.”

To be continued…

There was a point not so long ago that I lived with four cats, a dozen fish, ten chickens, and a dog. The chickens and fish started going first. Then Shurik died and Amaya ran away and it was just Kione and Clementine along with Winston. Clementine died last year, and Winston died a little more than a month ago. So, now it’s just Kione (or Kiki) and me. She’s become a very different cat. When Clementine was around, Kiki treated her like her kitten and was very maternal and reserved; Clementine was the “perma-kitten” to Kiki’s quiet resolve.

Not anymore. Kiki has found her voice. Just this morning I was trying to eek out a little more sleep and Kiki very vocally let me know her wet food was not down at the proper time. When I do feed her (FYI, Fern, bless her soul, got up and fed Kiki this morning to let me sleep) Kiki mews and rawrs and meows like she’s grumbling that I’m not fast enough. At around 16, She’s settling into her golden years and feeling herself and her single-cat-ness. Okay, Kiki, I get it. This one’s for you.

I’m not a cat person. I’m not a dog person. No, I’m just not a pet person, full stop. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I don’t like cats or dog – I absolutely love them… so long as someone else is doing the feeding, the cleaning, and the maintenance. If I can pet them, hug them, play with them and then give them back? Perfect.

Talking to my friends it also makes finding a new place a lot easier. It took Susan three months to find a place that would allow her to have her three cats. Alan’s rottweiler required him to have a special codicil on his renter’s insurance in case the dog went mental and mauled someone.

Me? I got this tiny little detached house behind a bigger apartment unit. I think it used to be the caretaker’s cottage back when that was a thing and housing prices were such that you could afford to have a whole place just for that. It’s 400 square feet of adorableness as far as I’m concerned – I even have a little garden with a little café table between me and the apartment block. It’s my Eden.

It’s perfect. At least it was, that is, until I found out it was haunted.

Four a.m. and I’m dead to the world… until the meowing starts.

“Mew, mew, mew” came quietly into my dream. Then, when I clearly wasn’t taking the hint, full on “Meow! Meow! Meow!”

“The hell?” I wondered if I left a window open or something. I peered over the edge of the bed loft and sure enough, prowling around down there was a lanky gray and white cat.

“Meow!” it crowed as it rubbed against the ladder. “MEOW!” it insisted as it brushed against the tire of my bike.

“How in the hell did you get in here?” I asked as I started down the ladder. The cat walked towards the front door as I got down.

“Meow?”

“Yeah, you! How’d you get in here?”

“Meow!”

“That’s helpful,” I said. Then grumbled to myself, “I don’t know what I was expecting…”

I reached down to pick the cat up and my hands went right through it. “What the?” I staggered backwards in shock.

“Ghost cat?”

“Sounds like it,” Carrie said at lunch.

“Definitely,” Susan agreed. “After Muffin died last year, I swear I could hear him sometimes.”

“Okay, yeah, but this isn’t a ‘sometimes I hear my beloved pet.’ This is some damned cat is haunting my new house.”

“Look on the bright side,” Carrie said. “At least you don’t have to change its litter box!” She crinkled her brow. “Unless… you don’t think it leaves some kind of… spooky dookie around?”

We all laughed. “No, thankfully no spectral turds. Just a loud wake up call at 4am all weekend.”

“It’s hungry,” Susan said.

“For my soul,” I intoned menacingly.

“Seriously,” Susan continued. “Cupcake and Cheeto let me know if I haven’t fed them straight away after I get up. Cheeto will go so far as to walk on my face.”

“Cheeto? Cupcake? And Muffin?” Carrie said. “Girl, you should not name your cats when you’re hungry.”

“So, I just need to get some ghost cat chow…” I started.

“I don’t know, maybe start with real cat food,” Susan offered.

I thought about it. “Eh, couldn’t hurt.”

I picked up a small bag of cat chow on the way home. Next morning, like clockwork the phantom gray and white cat started its 4am serenade. “Meow! Meow!”

“Hold your ghostly horses,” I said coming down the steps. I got a bowl out of the kitchen and set it down next to the fridge and filled it with kibble. “There,” I said and started back to the ladder.

“Meow! Meow!” It demanded.

“You have food!”

It walked to the front door. “Meow!”

“You want to go out? Just go through it! You’re a ghost.”

“Meow!”

“Fine!” I opened the door. The cat just looked at me like I was stupid.

“MEOW!”

“What?!” I asked. Then I got it, “Oh, you want your food outside. Okay. Whatever.” I retrieved the bowl from the kitchen and set it just outside the front door.

The cat sauntered out, stood by the food, and mewed what I took to be a contented “better. That’ll do, human.”

I went back inside and got another couple hours of blissful, meow-less sleep.

When I opened the door and wheeled my bicycle out to go to work, the cat food was empty. “Hungry little ghost,” I said but knew that couldn’t be right. I shrugged, locked my door and headed out.

The next day was the same 4am wake up meow. Fed her – I’ve decided my ghost cat is a she – and went back to bed. Food was empty when I went out at seven.

Lather, rinse, repeat, and by the time I had to buy a new bag of cat chow, I decided to get one of those video monitors to see if, I don’t know, the ghost cat ate the food. More likely, I though, I’d see a giant, plump racoon snarfing down on ghost cat’s breakfast.

But that wasn’t what I saw.

A few days later I was reviewing the video on my phone. There I am, all sleepy girl in my ratty bathrobe and slippers, setting out a bowl of food and new water (yeah, I figured even ghost cats get thirsty). No ghost in frame, though, seriously? I expected be the first person to catch a ghost on film? And it’s a cat? Yeah, don’t think so…

Anyway, food and water down, I can be heard telling ghost cat, “Bon Appetit,” and closing the door behind me. A few minutes later, a little emaciated black kitty comes out of the brush tentatively. It’s looking at something near the food. It was looking at the ghost cat. It tilts its head and rubs it against something in midair—the ghost cat! Then it starts purring so loudly that the camera picks it up as it hungrily starts eating the food. When it finishes, the kitty curls up on next to one of the rose planters and damned if I couldn’t make out the impression of a ghost kitty tongue grooming the contended little kitty.

4am the next day, the meowing wakes me. “You’ve got a friend!” I tell the ghost cat as I get the food ready.

“Meow!”

“That’s why you’re here! For her!”

“Mew!”

“You’re a good little ghost cat, aren’t you!” I said setting the food down. “Say hi to your living friend, and Bon Appetit,” and closed the door.

The next day after I closed the door, I went to my computer instead of back to bed. I pulled up the live video and waited until the kitty was well into devouring the food. I padded quietly to the door and slowly, quietly, opened it. The kitty was too busy eating to notice me at first, but as the door opened wide enough for me to step out, the kitty’s head popped up, and it spun and started back to the hedges.

“MEOW!” I looked down and the ghost cat was by my ankles. “Meow, meow, meow!” it said and the kitty stopped by the hedge and turned around warily.

“Meow!”

The kitty started back towards the food, slowly, eyes focused on me.

“Meow.”

The kitty resumed eating, but eyed me.

“Mew!” Ghost cat said to me.

I stepped out and the ghost cat moved to stand right next to the eating kitty. “Mew,” it said again.

I reached out a hand and the ghost cat meowed comfortingly to the kitty. I touched the kitty’s soft black fur. It tensed. “Mew!” Ghost cat said again. The kitty relaxed and started eating again and let me pet her. And started purring. Her little motor was humming! She finished eating and instead of retreating, let me pet her more. She had no tags or collar and she clearly was too skinny to be taken care of by anyone.

“I guess I have a cat now,” I said as the black kitty rubbed its face against my hand insistently.

“Meow!” the ghost cat said.

“Sorry, I guess I have two cats now.”