Karma Hotel Ch. 19 A Fissure

Another intrusion at Hoyt House: Margot's spirit guide, Sybilline, shows up to help her.

                   

Chapter 19

A Fissure

Greta took her job seriously. Matthew told me to be on guard, she reminded herself. She remembered his command. 'Sometimes, lost sprits find their way here, Greta. Sometimes they even get in. Keep them out! For some reason, Hoyt House seems to be inviting them.'
She felt that Matthew would benefit from what she had been noticed lately about Hoyt House. So, one day she told him, "I can tell you why spirits can get in here."
That got his attention. He needed to know what she saw. Like any canine, she projected an image rather than words. Something full of holes. But, not good enough; he didn't get it. Next, she projected the results of the last stuffed toy Lauren gave her: shredded to bits.
"I still don't know what you mean, Greta. I know how little time it takes for you to tear up a stuffed toy. Is that how they get in, tearing up something?"
"That's not what I mean." Greta had to contemplate this. It was really important. I know what to try! He loves that cheesy stuff full of holes on his bread. Cheese with holes. Greta visualized toward him a slice of cheese with holes.
Matthew then got it: Swiss cheese. Gaad! Is the house so full of holes?
"It is and that keeps me busy. I have to patrol the yard too." Greta gave him an exasperated look. "By the way, we have two new dogs around here to look out for."
"Do they live nearby?"
"One does. Two houses toward the noisy place." A sheet aluminum fabricator shop was nearby.
"And the other one?" Matthew was curious now.
"That one just floats around," Greta responded. "I don't think that it still has a live body."
"What does it want? I'm assuming that it's dead."
Greta pointed her muzzle off as if to shrug her shoulders. "Just what all dogs want: a pack, food and comfort. A place to call home, even without a physical body."
Matthew then understood. It was the same for lost dead people. They want the same things. And those holes around Hoyt House were practically inviting them in. It felt to him as if they were his openings. They were tangible to him as if the membrane surrounding Hoyt House was his own.
"Thank you, Greta. You remind me of the fact that I live with this membrane."


Membranes. He had stashed his membrane-like sphere behind the garage years ago after he died and returned to Hoyt House. Now, he had a much larger sphere. It surrounded the house. Helping to guard him as well as all the other dead folks residing there. Regardless, it needed continual managing to be effective, as he was beginning to understand.
The ever-present opening was, of course, the front door. He could sense clouds of energy each living person carried with them as they entered. Some of the clouds where enormous, fully surrounding each person three feet or more in all directions. Other people carried drippy clouds with them. They left trails of energy drops wherever they went.
Highly emotional people came with the habit of squirting out their emotional energies in all directions as they wandered around the house. Greta eventually cataloged each squirt so as to identify them quickly in the future. Spewed-out emotional squirts often got stuck on walls, bedding, furniture, etc. Some would dissipate in a few days. Other squirts can linger for months. They need to be cleaned.
Matthew was left with quite a mess after the party. The interior was decked out with dangling ribbons of emotions left behind. These energy streams were colorful in their own way, but ultimately became clutter. And that clutter easily got stuck on the living. Feeling a bit irresponsible, he was troubled by watching eel-like red ribbons of anger sticking on Jake's aura. Looking more closely it was evident that they were not projected by Jake. They looked to be projected at him. Someone is sure upset with Jake But, that's none of my business.
Grey ribbons of fear that someone carried inside the house followed Lauren wherever she went. They seemed determined to attach to her, sucking like ticks. They also found home with Ramona, who resonated with the spirit of fear.
The entry of each personal energy cloud always required some adjustments on Mathew's part. Getting slimed with someone's emotional "yuck" was no fun. Obviously, I must be the janitor here. No one else here can do it.


Although Matthew, being in the afterlife, had little sense of time passages, it seemed to be about time to patrol Hoyt House. It's walls of dead energy were porous enough to warrant frequent scrutiny. No opportunistic dp's allowed, no floating miasma or other thought forms from out there were allowed.
"Greta! Greta come!" Matthew knew to trust her most accurate of noses when it came to detecting afterlife debris.
She showed up with a smile, her white-tipped black tail wagging. "Hey, Matthew. What's up?"
"Nothing special today. Just the usual inspections."
"My nose is ready," she tail-wagged affirmatively.
"All right, follow my lead", he ordered. "And notify me if you smell anything suspicious."
Greta tail-wagged, obedience. She carefully observed Matthew, anticipating what's to happen.
"Let's begin with Skippy. He can be difficult to find, but you remember how to track him."
Greta remembered a recent patrol looking for Skippy. She knew well the human aroma of a young boy. But, that aroma was not apparent anywhere. So, Greta adjusted her tracking. Skippy usually oozed energy his stains: Fear and dust.
Like a land mine detector, her muzzle swept the floor to track for that stain. Fear and dust. Where is it? It took Greta only twenty seconds to find the track. It led to the basement. "The track leads to there."
Greta took the wooden material stairs downward. Matthew simply floated. "OK Matthew." she wagged, "I found Skippy." She pointed with her muzzle at the remains of an old coal bin. "In there."
"Good finder, Greta!" Then, to Skippy, "I know that you are there Skippy. I'm just checking to see if you are all right." There was no reply, as usual.
"All right Greta let's check on the Bernbaum's. They are usually in the kitchen." By now, Matthew and Greta were familiar with swimming through a slurry of energetic layers to get from one place to another. Getting to a destination required passing through pockets of desires, memories, fears, guilt's and obsessions.
"Remain focused, Greta. We're only looking for Golda and Reuben, not all that other debris." He knew how easily distracted a rat terrier can be.
Greta wagged obediently again. They drifted up to the kitchen and listened carefully. "Hear that Greta?"
She cocked her head counter-clockwise. "Of course. It sounds familiar."
"What you are hearing is the knife drawer opening and closing, over and over. You remember, don't you?"
"Yes. The grey man with glasses again. He gets upset about that drawer." Greta continued to stare at Reuben, who was busy fussing with the kitchen knife drawer, over and over. They could hear him mumbling about soap. 'If only we had a bar of soap I'd lubricate that stubborn drawer.'
"All right Greta, since we are in the kitchen, where's Golda?"
She went around a corner and wagged back to Matthew, "Over here."
As usual, a roundish woman with an apron was bent over the oven, pulling out a tray of baked bread loaves. Suddenly aware that she was being watched, the baker adjusted her bonnet and turned around. She looked to the right. "Hey, Reuben! It's that goy again and his dog."
"Shalom," she announced." The baker looked Matthew up and down, with disapproval and offered, "Ya want some bread? Just made it. You see, we're not idle."
"Sorry. I'm just doing the rounds right now. But, thanks anyway." Matthew well knew that their bread was going to be faded in appearance and devoid of flavor.
He looked at Greta. "So, who's next?"
"That sad woman and her cat, who by the way ignores me for some reason. And that's fine with me." We terriers are suspicious of cats with attitudes.
"Constance and Simon. Let's go." Matthew could usually find her at one of the bay windows or in the old Widows Walk.
Hoyt House had three bay windows on the first floor. The two facing NW Hoyt street were empty of spirits. They found Constance facing the bay window off the dining room, where she could have relatively private solitude.
"Good day to you Mrs. Treadmore. Any sighting of Johnny?"
Constance brightened up a bit from her usual sad resignation. "His sails might show any day now. I'm waiting faithfully still, as I should."
"Constance, do be careful on those stairs to the Widows Walk. Don't fall again", he cautioned.
She gazed off, staring at nothing. "I never fall any longer."
"Everything's normal here, Greta. I'll bet Ramona is still looking for her baby."
In response, Greta thrust her muzzle to the floor and sucked in air. Followed promptly by a nasal gust outward, meaning no scent to be found here. In spite of many searches, she never did get a scent-track of an infant in the house. Their aromas are unmistakable. But, the sounds of second-floor closet doors opening and closing got both of their attentions.
Those noises could hardly be made by Jill, stuck in a wheelchair. "Ramona! Is that you?"
Ramona shrieked, "Oh Matthew! I'm so glad it's you." She stared into his eyes hungrily and teared up. "Have you seen my baby? I'm just desperate to find her. Can you help me?"
I'd rather not get into this again. Her baby is long gone. "Ah, Ramona, I have an idea. I have to check on my sister Jill on the second floor. While I'm there I will make a point of asking her if she has heard anything at all about a baby."
"Oh, Matthew! You'd do that for me?" Ramona was now rescued. "Such a good man you are. You love babies too. I can tell."
Feeling more than ready to bug out, he hollered, "Hey Greta!"
She showed up with a much worked over rawhide chew and said to him, "Look at what I found in the basement!"
Matthew took one look a the slobber-covered chew. "Oh, how nice. Greta. And, no I don't want it. Go find Jilly. Find Jilly."
Greta wagged, "I'm on it." She shifted back to floor tracking mode to search for elusive energy stains left by the dead. After a few brief snorts and nasal out-gusts she scampered up to the second floor. The second door on the right was closed. Greta took air samples from the door bottom and got confirmation that Jill in inside.
Matthew drifted up with her. Greta pointed her muzzle at the door. "She's in there."
"Such a good finder you are! Thank you!" Mathew then smoothly blended through the bedroom door. The room was dark grey, smelling slightly of smoke. A lit candle in one corner revealed Jill in her wheelchair. Head slumped down, Jill looked to be napping.
She noticed a presence and slowly raised her head. "So, my time has finally come! You bring me eternal punishment. Go ahead. Take me now!"
He approached from behind her. Here we go again! "Sorry to disappoint you, Jilly. It's only me."
"There's nothing humorous about my status, Matty. We both know that it's just a matter of time before: you know what!"
This is a dead end as always. Time to move on.... "Uh Jilly, I have some other folks to check on. I'll be seeing you."
"You may see me or not. I might be in a really hot place!"
It was high time he checked in with Randy, the "loose goose" among the residents at Hoyt House. "Hey, Greta. Can you find Randy?"
Greta looked up at Matthew and replied easily. "Any time. He often smells of tag-a-longs."
I warned Randy against bringing any "associates" with him as he comes and goes. I need to check on him. "Where is he now?"
She'd just found a rawhide chew down there, so Greta's eyes swelled with enthusiasm. "The basement!"
Matthew followed her lead back down the stairs. She sniffed the air and proceeded to an unoccupied spot behind the old wooden stairway. "There," pointing her muzzle at Randy.
Randy had hallucinated for himself a recliner and stereo headphones. He sat there, with eyes closed, head bobbing to some distant rock'n roll music.
"How's it going Randy?" The question yanked Randy out of blissful reverie.
"Eh, everything's cool. Just smooth sailin' with some tunes." Randy gave Matthew an enormous grin. "Hey Matt. Uh, is it OK to call you that? Anyway, have you ever seen a light show?"
"A Light show. What's that?" I could use a primer on 1960's culture. Then maybe I can relate to him better.
Excited now, Randy's began to glow. "I watched one at a Cream concert a short while ago. The light show was moving images projected onto a screen behind the band."
Matthew was perplexed. A cream concert? Singing cows? "Chances are, that's after my time. So, tell me about this cream concert."
Randy was perplexed. Where to begin? "That Cream concert was truly psychedelic! Almost like the real thing. I just stumbled into it by accident, right into a live memory of the concert." He picked at his imaginary beard and looked off dreamily, his brass bracelets lightly clanging as he did.
"Whose memory of a concert?"
"I don't know, man. Must have been hundreds of faces watching. So I drifted near and enjoyed the show."
When Matthew heard the word "faces" a gelatinous vapor appeared just to the right of Randy. A face floated inside it. A young woman with straight dark hair hanging down covering her left eye. She looked to be a streetwise waif. He felt undulations of sneering attitude from her exposed right eye.
"Oh just great Randy." Matthew was pissed. Look at what he brought in! "What's your excuse?"
"What?" But, he knew that he had been caught, breaking the rules. Randy's head fell shamefully to his chest. "Patsy. Her name is Patsy. But don't worry. She's cool."
"What did you expect to happen, Randy? 'Look who followed me home Matthew. Can we keep it? I've even given it a name.' Sorry Randy but, Hoyt House has enough lost souls already."
"But..."

"Randy, when I allowed you residence here there were certain rules you must obey. He followed with raised eyebrows, "Remember?"
"Uh, yeah.", Randy answered weakly, hangdog with his head bowed.
"What did I say about bringing any associates with into the house?" This was followed by uncomfortable silence. Matthew let it linger. "You get to chose how we deal with Patsy."
Randy looked up now. "Me?", he replied incredulously.
"Who makes her leave, Randy? You have three choices. One: Me. I will banish and blacklist her.
Two: I sick Greta on Patsy. She will scare the living daylights out of her."
Randy, feeling a bit guilty let his eyes study the floor. "What's number three?"
"You do it."
"Me? But what do I say to her? 'Hey you're really groovy and all but, you gotta get out'?"
"It's your choice, Randy. Who makes her leave?"
Randy was troubled at the whole idea of evicting someone. That's definitely not cool! Each of the three choices resulted in a particular kind of pain. He wished that he could hide under a rock.
This might teach him a lesson about violating a most important rule. "Greta! See that face by Randy?"
Greta spotted it and wagged affirmatively.
"Sic 'em!"
Greta locked eyes with Patsy and showed teeth, hackles raised all along her back.
Patsy sneered back with, "What are you gonna do? Kill me? I'm already dead!"
Taking this as a challenge, Greta charged at Patsy with a loud growl, her teeth baring. Then she barked rather loudly. In spite her status as dead, Patsy shrunk in fear and retreated through a basement wall.
The struggle for turf was interrupted by that loud shearing feeling again, Scherrupp! Greta's hackles stood up again and her eyes bulged. Another intrusion was in progress!
Matthew commanded her, "Go Greta! Take care of it!" She ran off quickly and darted up the staircase to the second floor. A moment later she let out a sharp but brief bark followed by a whine. That sounded like trouble.
Concerned about Greta now, he swam upward toward the memory of her voice. He passed through that slurry of layers that held desires, fears and memories. He noticed on his way upward what appeared to be an empty dark hole. That was what Greta was telling him about. He made note of it. Empty holes need to be repaired.
But, first things first. Matthew landed on the second floor and gazed at the hallway. The door of the bedroom on the right was partly closed. A light showed through the gap.... an irregular pulsing light. He could faintly hear a conversation. Margot and someone else. Another person was there too. Lauren, who had collapsed on the guest bed. She was presently weeping.
His curiosity got the better of him. He just had to edge himself near enough to understand the dialogue inside. Margot sounded as if she were spilling out her guts to someone, recounting all she had been through. Apparently, this was someone she trusted. But was this someone dead or alive?
It was a robed figure radiating an intensely bright light. And, it was not exactly physical. Yet, it did not seem to be dead either. Matthew was stunned. Who or what is that? It reminded him of Margot in a way: dead but not dead.
Eavesdropping further, Matthew heard them talking about the condition of the dead people at Hoyt House. In order to move on to a better place, each one needs some kind of assistance. And, they talked about Margot having a choice, to move on or not to move on.
Matthew could hardly contain himself. To have a choice! Who gets choices? That glowing robed figure apparently has the authority to give that choice to her. But the whole notion of him moving on had been a source for anxiety, lots of it.
He peeked through the door gap again. His eyes bulged at what he saw: Margot standing with arms upraised while what looked like a shower of light crystals pouring downward. She was smiling! Matthew could not remember a dp at Hoyt House ever smiling, including himself. To be dead is to be miserable.
Yet, Margot, who had lost everything that was precious to her, had an expression of pure delight while standing in that shower. He peeked again. Now she looked to be at peace.
He couldn't do anything but stare. This vision seemed to be so out of place that it felt jarring. In all the years after physical death, he had never witnessed anything like this. It's as if this was the first time he saw the color blue. Now, it was the first time he saw the color of joy. And that changed everything. Can I have that?
Next he heard the robed figure addressing him. "Care to join us? Margot and I were just catching up with recent events."

The End

Author Notes

If this tale has -
         Stimulated your          curiosity
                   Awakened submerged          memories
                   Creeped you out
                   Or has violated a          sacred cow... that's why I wrote it.          
How about pondering over a few questions:
         How did the ghosts          at Hoyt House differ from one another? What consciousness did each          one have?
                   What does a dp          (dead person) feel like if one is near to you?
                   What about the          possibility that we can be influenced by the dead like Julie is with          Bud?
                   Did the Jan &          Dean chapter stimulate questions regarding entity influences?
                   If I was passed,          would I, therefore, be scary to people? And why?
                   If I was passed,          what would it be like to get a living person to trust me? Maybe you          want to convey something really important.
                   How are spirit          guides different from ghosts?          

Feel free to contact me: [e-mail] I would appreciate your comments.

Jester is my pen name for fiction writing. I live in Bonners Ferry, Idaho where I practice interactive hypnotherapy and dispense hearing aids.


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