Ghosts and the policeman

 It was the ghosts he feared.  They appeared often to him.  Sometimes they were children running around houses and going through walls, or someone walking the streets at three o’clock in the morning and disappearing into thin air when he got close.  He had  seen them many times.  When he was alone he could not ignore them..           

 He was ten year old when he saw his first one.   A loud bird woke him that night.  Dazed, he  looked around the room and saw an antique Singer sewing machine.  Moon light came on it streaming through the curtain- less window. 

 Then something caught his attention at the window.  A handfull of fireflies made a left turn into the darkness.  Hundreds more followed and they all joined together.   Then a little girl appeared and began searching for something. 

  Her arms and legs were only partially formed and she levitated in a line moving like a scuba diver.   Everybody in the room seemed to wake up at the same time when he began screaming:

 Just a split second before that happened, the ghost stopped bouncing around and turned towards him.  It went back through the window the same way it came in; a ribbon of fireflies blown out by a gust of wind.

This was not a positive ‘Casper the friendly ghost’ experience for him in any way.  It traumatized him for life. 

 Working the night shift in the summertime was something he enjoyed, but not when he had to work alone.  He patrolled parks and quiet upscale neighborhoods, with fenced yards and outside lights kept on.   He never saw ghosts in those places.  

    But  when he was told that he would be patrolling the Old Toronto University campus  he almost passed out.   He was given this area because it was the safest one.  But it was a haven for apparitions.  The place looked like a nineteenth century Jack the Ripper crime scene complete with cobble stone walkways he had to walk down.    

Tonight he was patrolling a few blocks from the university campus, an older area with dimply lit streets with tall trees.  It was near the end of his shift and he needed coffee.  He turned unto the street towards the all night Tim Horton's coffee house.   

 In the distance he could see a man standing with his back turned near a tree wearing a gray sweater: The man was staring intently into a house like he was waiting for something to happen, but all the lights were off inside the house.  He walked slowly up to him.

“Hey, buddy!” he shouted, “You live here?”  The man ignored him, fixed in one place like a tree.  “I know you heard me.  I’m a police officer.   Need to ask you a few questions.”  He started getting that weird feeling in his stomach, and heard a ringing sound in his head.   Gooseflesh covered his arms.   It was a warm early July night but he felt a cold wind as he got closer to the man.   He entered the yard through an old gate in need of repairs.  And even in the dark it was obvious that the yard was a mess, with weeds growing wild and old furniture piled up.

 The man in the grey sweater just kept staring into the house and still hadn’t moved a muscle.  Then as if suddenly becoming aware of his presence with the light from the flashlight on him the old man turned quickly to the policeman when he got close.   His face was a black hole with maggots moving and coming out the sides with hollow shadows for eye sockets.   Yet he watched the policeman for what seemed like an eternity, before vanishing.  

 The policeman looked around the side of the house instinctively, but he knew that the old man was an apparition and he was shaking violently.

 At two o’clock in the morning he decided to knock on the front door, hoping that seeing someone would calm him down.   He felt stupid that he had gotten suckered in to coming closer.  He should’ve picked up the obvious signs that it was a ghost.  

A yawning annoyed looking man in his forties answered the door adjusting his bathrobe.   “Good night officer,” he said, he had the look that everyone had when a policeman knocked on their door at some unreasonable hour of the night.   “Is there a problem officer?”

“I saw someone standing in your backyard staring into the house a little while ago,” the policeman studied the man’s reaction.

But the man just narrowed his eyes and looked at him confused but kept silent.  No concern for his personal safety showing, it was as if he was saying; ‘that’s no reason to knock on my door and wake me up.’

“Is everyone accounted for?” continued the policeman, his hands still shaking from what he had seen.   He was hoping that the man would invite him in for a cup of coffee, but this man did not have any such intention.   

“My wife is asleep,” he said, ‘is it necessary to wake her too?” “It’s just the two of us that live here, officer.”  His face was a cross between sarcasm and annoyance.

“No, that won’t be necessary.   If you see anything just call it in.   I’ll look around the area.   Good night, sir.”

“Goodnight officer,” he said, smiling.  “Good luck in finding what you’re looking for.  Usually this place is as quiet as a graveyard. ”

The policeman felt that the man was mocking him or a condescending bastard and even considered the idea that the man was a ghost himself, pretending to be just an ordinary person.   Then he concluded that he needed to get out of night patrol before he lost his mind completely.  The ghosts were winning.