Treating the world with great gravity
By: Pamela Edwards
Tags: Hauntings, Living In The Present, Humorous Life Lessons, Short Story, Magic Leap

Treating the world with great gravity

Being jaunty and haunty

Since inheriting a lemon grove in early autumn, you have begun to sink deeper into your new life. You’re starting to feel at home now in your tree house retreat.

Yes, you feel jaunty.

As the temperature drops, the garden grows drowsy. The green sprites recede underground to moulder things over. As the days grow shorter, the giant oak sheds its leaves and the tree house perches in stark branches, silhouetted by a troubled sky.

No, you feel haunty.

Noticing another season is passing, you sink into melancholy. Wavering between gratitude and grief, fullness and sadness — some times you live in the past — other times you worry for the future.

Fall feelings get complicated.

You treat the world with the greatest gravity as you prepare for Halloween. Problem is, you have no idea how many ghosts you’ll be entertaining this year.

That’s when the floor mats start getting uppity. Full of tricks, they have a rug-pulling competition.

Their mischief takes you by surprise as you come in fresh from raking leaves in the garden. You step into the library, tea cup in hand, and a rug rises up suddenly.

The carpet convulses to throw you across the room. Landing be-splattered on the sofa, tea drips from your nose.

“Hilarious,” you say, as the carpet titters. . .

You hate it when the fine furnishings grow insubordinate.

On your way to the kitchen, the hall runner tries the same trick. But you’re on your guard now. Feeling the mat twitch, you side-step before another rug gets pulled out from under you.

The runner slithers off to the parlor, giggling.

From that moment forward you step gingerly about the house, careful to avoid all the rugs. The larger carpets ripple like ocean waves. The smaller mats convulse with laughter and roll about the floor.

You know things are bad when you can’t trust the doormats.

You recall how every Halloween your grandmother would take the rugs outside and beat them soundly. She would spend hours whacking each one of them until they coughed up their dustballs. Now you know why she performed this annual ritual. Today, in the absence of her harsh household discipline, the underlings are uprising.

Frightful things are underfoot when the underworld comes alive.

The mirrors in the hallway start dishing up the dead.

The wall is lined with dozens of antique mirrors arranged in reflective poses. Over the decades, each time a family member strolled down the hall, or paused to preen, the mirrors have stolen their snapshots.

Now they’re reflecting old memories.

First, you catch a frightening glimpse of great Uncle Reginald’s ghost. Then another.

In each reflection he’s wearing a different outfit from the 1959 Fall Catalogue of Foundational Garments. To your horror, his private posings, no longer Victoria’s secret, are brazenly bouncing from mirror to mirror.

Flashes of undergarments from the underworld unnerve you.

“Stop invading my dead uncle’s privacy!” you say sternly to the mirrors.

They look at you like you’re crazy.

“Don’t pretend you’re not watching,” you say to one mirror, then another. “I know what you’re up to!”

You have no idea what the mirrors are up to.

As if being haunted by Uncle Reginald in his un-norm fitting underwear isn’t frightening enough, next your grandfather’s face appears in the mirrors.

He was only recently incinerated, but even so, the mirrors dish him up like Halloween mistreats.

Hands on hips, eyes glaring from beneath a brow beating, his bellows bounce off the halls. “Not enough,” he roars. “Never enough!”

Behind him, you catch a glimpse of grandma quietly watering her household plants.

The meek will inherit the potting soil.

Taken aback by your grandparents’ ghosts, you unintentionally step on the hall runner which duly dumps you to the floor.

These under-footed tricks will be the end of you!

You struggle to stand, trying to strike an I’m in charge kind of pose. Grandma may have had a retiring nature, but she still beat the bejesus out of the brat-mats, you think darkly.

Trying to regain your balance, you pause to reflect. Reginald’s underwear overshares are neither here nor there. But you would like to rise above your grandparent’s outdated authority — resist their fossilized fears and need for control. How can you treat the downtrodden with respect without being completely over-ridden?

That’s when great Auntie Grace appears upon the silver interface.

She always was a legend.

“I think that’s enough haunting for your first Halloween here,” she laughs. Beckoning you from behind the mirrors — you are invited to visit the other side for some festivities.

Dipping your toe in the watery surface of one of the full length mirrors, you step through the veil.

“So glad you could drop in for a visit,” says Grace welcoming you to the underworld. Standing in a circular room, you are surrounded by your ancestors, radiant as marigolds.

For dead people, they’re in remarkably good spirits.

Grandfather nods gruffly. Grandma shares a loving hug. You’re relieved to see that Uncle Reginald is wearing a suit.

Treats are piled high on a table at the heart of the room. On the ceiling above, you see the underside of your home’s floor, recognizing the patterns of each carpet from the ‘real’ world above.

Below your feet is a reflection of the tree house’s ceiling. If you could look beyond the roof (that now lies underfoot), you would see the tree’s branches rooting up (or is it down?) into the underworld’s sky.

Everything gets turned round in your head, when you entertain with the dead.

After settling in to the party, you ask Grace for advice about your uppity carpeting.

“Life won’t always live down to your expectations,” she says mysteriously.

You figure this will make sense, eventually.

As the party of the departed grows lively, you make amends for past misgivings. You recall the gifts inherited from each ancestor. Discipline from grandpa, a love of nature from grandma, the courage from Grace to turn things on their heads.

And before you leave, your ancestors give you their quirky blessings.

“Show a fine flair for your underwear,” says Uncle Reginald.

Bless him.

“Form a fierce alliance with life,” says your grandfather gruffly.

Is being dead making him more life-loving?

“Talk to your house-plants and you’ll never feel lonely,” says grandma.

You give her the green thumbs up.

“Remember the past, but don’t live here,” says Grace as she leads you back through the mirrored door. “Now, your present is waiting,” she adds, raising a silver brow.

You get back to ‘reality’ and decide to call the carpets to the mat.

They gather round you, levitating and laughing, declining to take your gravity so seriously.

“I have to admit, that’s a great trick!” you say as the carpets hover about, simply refusing to live down to your expectations.

What is underfoot will not have the upper hand — but flying carpets can simply floor you.

Some times you live in the past — Some times you worry for the future. Fall feelings get complicated.

But even though you treat the world with great gravity, Grace surprises with a present filled with levity.

© Pamela Edwards 2019

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