The mother was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The old mother was as dead as a door-nail.
The newer mother was putting her daughter to bed, reading some story about counting pumpkins. The newer mother knew the old mother was dead, how could it be otherwise, it was her mother and she died the week she gave birth, but today was October 30th, the old mother’s birthday in her life, and this date has always been the eve of Halloween.
The mother knew she would have a haunting this evening, this is where the story begins. Early in the morning while walking the little one in the park, leaves blowing in the wind, she felt the chill. It reminded her of the panic she used to feel regularly, but had tampered down with therapy and pot. Today, she felt the cold wind blow in the memory of this day being her mother’s birthday, and she grabbed her phone as a reflex to call her, getting out the obligatory call on her birthday, but as I have already mentioned, this old mother has been dead for three years now. There was no one to call and so her phone fell back into her pocket and the new mother and child chased falling leaves. In the back of her throat she felt it though; a haunting was coming whether she wanted it or not.
There is no doubt that the mother was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of this story.
The daughter drifted off to sleep, with drool leaking from her toothless mouth. The newer mother, let’s call her Carol, slipped into the kitchen. In preparation for the haunting she poured herself some gentle spirits, her favorite, Bulliet Rye on the rocks.
Now I don’t know about you, but some people like to hold onto voice recordings left by family members, in case they may be dead some day. Carol had one saved message from her mother, something she hadn’t listened to since the week her mother died, a message her husband told her to erase, but she didn’t. So Carol finished her first glass of rye and pressed play.
“Carol, I imagine you won’t pick up. I hear you are in the hospital and having a baby. Hearing this news reminded me of an article I read just this week, can you imagine? You give birth and I read an article about parents! The universe is really something, full of connections, well, in this article I read two parents starved their baby to death. The baby died at two and half years, imagine two and a half years of hunger, a whole lifetime for this one because the baby finally died from starvation. Get this they had other kids, who they fed, they just chose this one, from birth, they decided to never feed this baby and it took two and half years for the baby to die. Incredible, how babies want to live. Well, I thought of you and how you have a baby that probably wants to live. Make sure to feed it, good bye for now.”
Carol poured more rye. She walked into the room the baby slept in, she still called her daughter a baby, except that she was almost three and spoke words, walked, started to know things. She watched her chest move up and down, proving that she was alive, a tick she had since day one, never really trusting that she had a baby that wanted to live. The daughter slept blissfully, and she thought about how awful newborns come out, covered in blood and guts. They look like monsters.
Carol fell asleep in the bed and was disturbed by the wildest dreams. She thought she saw her daughter, in the bloom of health, walking in the park. Delighted she embraced her; but as she imprinted the first kiss on her face, it became livid with the hue of death; her features appeared to change into her old dead mother. Carol woke, the daughter’s chest still rose and fell with sleepy breaths and Carol went to the kitchen for another drink.
Something about the dream reminded her of Frankenstein and she remembered how an enthusiastic teacher in college told the class how Mary Wollstonecraft died in childbirth and that Mary Shelly only got to know her mother through the published feminist pamphlets on the vindication of rights of woman. At this moment Carol’s phone rang with the caller ID stating “mom”. She finished her glass and answered with a shaky voice; “hello?”
“We have been trying to reach you about your pre-approval for a loan of $60,000 dollars,” said the voice on the other line. Carol swallowed with paranoia, how did they know she need $60 k, she thought with all seriousness. She hung up the phone. She settled herself, the phone numbers of the deceased are often sold to scammers all the time. Everyone needs sixty thousand dollars. It is likely a bot, in the guise of haunting this new mother. She poured herself more rye and listened to the late October winds blowing. It was almost midnight. It was almost Halloween, and not this evening of ghosts and memories and thoughts. She silenced her phone and stepped into bed. When she turned off the light she heard the sweet cackle of her dead mother saying good night and felt a kiss on her head, just like when she was a child. At least this is what she thought she felt. She turned on the light and looked around. The house, full of shadows, resembled nothing but ghosts, of loss and of longing. A familiar feeling of sadness came over the new mother, the clock struck midnight and she passed out, stinking of spirits