By Susan Cleveland

“Where on earth am I? Everything seems so misty and grey…”

“He thinks he’s on earth?!” A young female voice giggled in the background. 

“Who said that? I told you I can’t see anything…”

“That’s Wilhelmena– don’t pay any attention to her.” An older male advised somewhere off to the left. “I’m Maynard, by the way. Can you tell me your name?”

“I’m… I don’t remember. I feel like I’m floating, and I’m as cold as an ice cube. What’s going on?”

“The feeling will pass- just be patient. You might sense a bit of pressure while I move you over, okay?”

“Seems warmer now. Where did you take me?”

“Don’t worry- I just hauled you closer to the lamp. The light-shower you get from the bulb will give you some energy and should clear your vision.”

“Well, Splend-aroni on an ice cream cone-y.”

“I never heard anyone say that before.” Maynard chuckled. “Are you feeling any better yet?”

“I was until I saw this place…”


The wooden attic in which he hovered was washed in faded silver, like an old pewter serving tray in need of a good polishing. Particles of dust hung in the air. The twenty by fifteen foot room had the ability to cause an attack of sneezes for anyone who stayed in there too long. 

An assortment of misshapen boxes sat in one corner, alongside a rickety table piled high with outdated magazines. The open trunk in the middle of the room contained a light blue moth-eaten cotton blanket and two dispirited lace dresses, with one clunky brown shoe laying on top.

The only other object to be seen was a five-foot lamp with a beige canvas shade smudged with soot. Maynard had yet to figure out how the bulb inside managed to cast its beam of light. 

Still trying to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, the newcomer directed his attention towards his host. “I can barely see you- it’s like you’re luminescent or something.”

“Welcome to the club.” Maynard replied mischievously. “Let’s go downstairs- I’ll introduce you to the others.”


“This is our home away from home.” Maynard stated. “Wilhelmina hangs out here on the main floor. Barnaby, who you’ll meet later, wanders around outside most of the time. That lump-head peeking out by the door to the staircase is Downey- he stays in the basement because he’s afraid of heights.”

Wilhelmena fluttered about, giggling with delight. “Hello, New-boo,”

“My name’s Augustus.” He informed her sourly. “I don’t know what a New-boo is.”

“A New-boo is a Newbie ghost-person.”

“What? I’m a ghost? How did that happen?”

“We don’t know what happened to you, other than the fact that you’re deceased.” Maynard replied gently. “It’s better not to know, actually. Knowing how you transitioned won’t change the fact that you have transitioned, and it interferes with the healing process.”

“What do you mean?”

 “Knowing the circumstances usually makes the grief last longer.”

“I suppose.”

“The good news is that you remembered your first name- I hope you’ll remember more good things about yourself.”


Maynard brightened. “Let’s go to the basement. The three of us have learned some things over the years that might help you.”

Wilhelmena bounced lightly in the air. “You gotta tell the New-boo what happened when you were first learning to move objects.”

Maynard turned pale. “I was trying to blow a piece of paper around and got frustrated. My emotion meter must have gotten too high because I flipped a container into the air instead. The family that lived there was coming in the front door when the lid popped off. I flew away as fast as I could when I saw their Chocolate Lab covered in vanilla pudding.”

Wilhelmena’s laughter carried upstairs then vanished through a crack in the wall. “Downey got swatted one time, and he actually felt it!. He should have known better than to try and hide under the top part of a bunk bed. There he was, making spooky moaning noises under a little girl’s mattress, and didn’t realize her teenage sister could see him. The older girl ran to the closet, grabbed her tennis racket and nailed him on the backside- Whoosh! Whap! Whammo! His bottom turned a purpley-blue color that lasted for a week!”

A sudden rush of air blowing through a broken pane of glass whirled Augustus into a dizzying somersault.

Maynard floated over and maneuvered him back to an upright position. “Augustus of wind- I’m going to call you Gust from now on.”

Wilhelmena giggled in delight. “Thar he blows!”


Augustus’s aura began to darken by the time they’d finished sharing stories. 

“Getting tired is normal.” Maynard assured him. “Go get some rest and energy under the shower of lamplight upstairs. Tomorrow, we’ll tell you what you need to know to get your Flyer’s License.”


“Wakey, wakey, glow and shaky!” Wilhelmena squealed. She puffed out her midsection and strutted lightly through the garden as if she were a rooster pecking the ground.

Augustus watched in disbelief as she tucked herself into the shape of a ball and began to bounce toward him.

“Boiiing!” She hollered as she sprung up in the air. “Boiiing, boiiing, boiiing…”

After the fourth Boiiing she landed on the side of his head. “That’s what you get for falling out of an open window while you’re sleeping.” She announced with glee. “A bop on the head and a boop on the nose will teach you not to land in the garden rows!”

Augustus muttered a bad word under his breath, then tried to lift himself up. To his embarrassment, he realized Wilhelmena had pounced on him hard enough to squish the pod of peas beneath him. Now, he had a few small green stains on his backside.

Maynard poked his head through the front door after hearing the commotion. “Wilhelmena! Get in here and leave him alone. Go to the broom closet and think about what you’ve done.”

Wilhelmena turned a pinkish-red and fluttered angrily in place.

“It’s the broom closet or else, young lady!” Maynard warned her.

She grunted something incomprehensible, then showed her displeasure by floating inside at a snail’s pace. 

“Sorry about that- she’s been rebellious since she got here- I think she misses her friends.” Maynard’s tone sounded wistful. 

Augustus felt a heaviness surrounding him. “That makes sense, I guess.”

“Downey’s waiting for you- he offered to teach you how to get your Flyer’s License. I’m going to go check on Wilhelmena.”

He hovered in place until Maynard attached an energy line between the two of them and towed him inside. Augustus hoped he’d be able to learn how to move around by himself soon- he was getting tired of feeling like a dog on a leash. 


Downey glowed a golden yellow, his confidence radiating while he taught his “Student”.

“Both Anger and getting overly excited will make you fly off in all kinds of directions, Fear freezes you in place, Doubt makes you go backwards, Hope moves you forward, and Love lifts you up. Thinking logically lowers emotions, so calming yourself down will keep you level. 

Once you’ve accepted the fact that you’re a ghost, you’ll feel more at ease. Controlling your emotions will help you control your movements.”

As instructed, Augustus practiced twisting himself this way and that. His first attempt at leaning sideways resulted in a cartwheel that spun him into a dusty bookcase. He landed between two faded pages of a ladies magazine, and emerged thankful that men didn’t have to pluck their eyebrows like the woman in the picture he’d just seen.

After a few hours of maneuvering himself around, he swore he could feel aches and pains developing in his ghost-body. If he’d done that much exercise at one time when he was physically alive he probably would have sweated to death. 

“I think you’ve got the hang of it.” Downey informed him proudly. He floated over to his student and tapped his form. Zap!

Maynard poked his head through the ceiling and looked at them upside down. “How’s it going?”

“I think he’s ready for a place of his own.” Downey replied. 

“I’m not sure if there’s anything available around here…” Maynard admitted. “Barnaby goes out into the neighborhood more than we do- maybe he can come up with something.”

As if by magic, Barnaby appeared in front of them. “You rang?” He asked in a deep accent that was obviously fake.

Downey paled. “How’d you do that?”

“It’s a secret- If I tell you I’ll have to kill you.” Barnaby snickered.

Augustus was getting impatient. “Maynard said you can help me find a house of my own to haunt.”


“Hmm, let me think- there’s a dilapidated shed and a shabby doghouse in the lot next to ours, a couple of run-down apartment buildings around the corner, there’s an old outhouse in the field behind us…”

“Is that it?” Augustus asked in disbelief. 

“I’m afraid so. You’d have to travel North to the city or go South to the countryside to find something better than the farmhouse we’re living in now, unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Hang on a minute.”

*Barnaby floated over to the other side of the room and whispered to Maynard and Downey*

*Augustus rolled his proverbial eyes, looked at his pretend watch and tapped his left ghost-foot repeatedly*

*Barnaby floated back and nudged Augustus.* “We’re going to hold a seance and try to talk to the person who’s writing this story.” 


Downey: I don’t think lighting any candles is going to get her attention- I’ll make her computer  flash a few times and see if that works.

Maynard: She probably won’t be able to hear us. How are we supposed to communicate with her?

Barnaby: I’ll try to put some words on her screen. Crap- I don’t think it’s working. Do any of you guys know how to type?

*Wilhelmena yelled from the broom closet.* I know how to do it!

*Maynard flushed pink in embarrassment.* Come on out, Wilhelmena! Geez, I’m sorry- I forgot you were in there.

Wilhelmena: I’m sorry I bounced on you, Augustus. Do you guys want me to talk to the writer now?

Barnaby: Yes. Her name is Susan. Tell her I want her to construct another house in this story. 

Wilhelmena: Okey-dokey. I’ll try to get her attention by using all caps. Now, watch this…


Me: What on Earth…who’s typing on my screen?


Me: Ooh-kayyy, if you say so. You don’t have to shout- I can hear you just fine in lower case.

Wilhelmena: GOOD! THAT’S GREAT! OOPS, SORRY. I mean, good, that’s great. Lower case is easier for me anyway. Listen- Augustus wants a nice place to haunt- he doesn’t want to live in a run-down apartment building or a dilapidated shed or an old outhouse, like the ones you wrote about earlier. Even ghosts have standards, you know. We also want you to know that if the characters in your stories aren’t treated well, they’ll tell everyone else in your imagination- if all of us decide to stop talking to you, you’ll get Writer’s Block.

Me: Seriously?

Maynard: That’s what it means when they say Your reputation precedes you.

Me: Wow, okay. Should I go back and edit the part about those other buildings?

Augustus: That’s probably a good…

Maynard *interrupts*: I think you should leave it in the story, along with the conversation we’re having, so that other authors will learn something about Writer’s Block as well. 

Downey: I agree with Maynard. And please tell your readers that the characters like to be acknowledged with some comments, too.

Me: Alright- I’ll go back to the part where Barnaby begins with “Hmm, let me think” and rewrite the story from there. Does that work for you guys?

Maynard/Downey/Barnaby/Wilhelmena/Augustus *in unison*: Yup!


“Hmm, let me think- there’s a couple of fabulous three-level condos on the tree-lined street around the corner, a wonderful Farmer’s Market with a gorgeous apartment above it in the lot next to ours, a magnificent vacation home available to rent two streets over, and a pristine yellow duplex with a white picket fence by the edge of the lovely meadow behind our home. Whatever your heart desires shall be yours, my friend!” Barnaby announced with a flourish.

Wilhelmena: That’s much better, Susan!

Downey: She’s laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?

Maynard: Seems a bit overboard, to me…

Augustus: I think our ghost story just turned into a romantic fiction…

Barnaby: Ugh- this is hogwash! I would never say stuff like that! Augustus wants one decent house, okay? ONE! You don’t have to turn the entire neighborhood into a bunch of sentimental garbage.

Me: Okay, okay, don’t go freaking out, Barnaby- I’ll fix it. Sheesh…  


Me: *whispering* I appreciate what you said, Wilhelmena. You’re very pretty- I bet you’re quite popular!

Wilhelmena: That’s sweet of you to say. Thanks for making me sound so sassy- I’m having fun, acting like a rebellious teenager. Do you want to hangout sometime?

Me: I’d like that! I’ll get in touch with you when I’m done writing this story. It shouldn’t take me much longer to finish it. (smiley face)

Wilhelmena: Sounds good to me! (pink heart icon) 


“There’s a house around the corner that looks okay. The lady that lives there drives a 2011 blue Chevy half ton- she’d get more mileage if she had better tires. It’s a standard. Engine’s a V8. It’s quieter than it was two weeks ago- she must have gotten a new muffler installed.” Barnaby stated.

“Have you been inside?”

“Looked over the truck a few times. Went in the house once– didn’t see any guys around. No kids either. Pretty sure she lives alone.”

“K. I’ll check it out.” Augustus hesitated. “How about pets? She got any dogs or cats?”

“I didn’t see any.”



Me: What do you think, Barnaby? Is that any better?

Barnaby: It’ll do.

Me: Shall I continue?

Barnaby: Whatever. Go ahead. 

Me: K. 


Augustus moved out with very little fanfare- being a ghost meant there was no need to rent a van for furniture or fill up boxes with household goods or personal items. Maynard floated over with him under the guise of curiosity to mask his concern. Maynard had always been, and still was, a protective family man, who was loyal and gentle in his treatment of others.

Augustus kept himself in control, wavering only slightly while he made his way through the front door of his new abode, his stubbornness keeping his impatience in check.


Augustus: I am not stubborn! I insist you change that word right now. Once in a while I’m impatient, I’ll admit, but I am NOT stubborn!

Me: My apologies- I’ll use the word determination instead. Okay?

Augustus: That’s more like it.


Augustus kept himself in control, wavering only slightly as he made his way through the front door of his new abode, his DETERMINATION keeping himself in check.

Maynard wished him well, then took his time going back to the farmhouse. What an odd group of characters, he thought to himself: Barnaby was loud and outspoken, Downey was more cautious than timid. Wilhelmena was young, outgoing and spunky. But figuring out Augustus was easy- he was just plain stubborn. 

The farmhouse was considerably quieter when Maynard returned- Wilhelmena was fluttering about contentedly upstairs in the attic, while Downey was doing whatever it was he usually did in the basement. Barnaby had gone out somewhere without saying Goodbye to anyone. 


Augustus took his time exploring his new surroundings. The lady of the house, whose name he hadn’t learned yet, had gotten into her truck and drove away shortly after his arrival. It didn’t seem like she’d been in a hurry, so he doubted her departure had anything to do with him. 

The kitchen was scrubbed clean and free of knickknacks. A plain square wooden table sat in one corner along with two matching chairs. The Formica counters were beige with brown flecks, which supported a chocolate-colored hand mixer, a silver toaster and a black, two-cup coffee maker. A pair of lacy white curtains had been pulled to the side of the window above the sink. On the sill sat one aloe-vera plant and one small pot of assorted wildflowers. The refrigerator was a modern silver, complete with a full-length side freezer and an ice maker/cold water dispenser. The stove was an older model with four coil burners on top. The brown and white checkered linoleum, though faded by many washings, appeared to be in good shape. All of the dishes were neatly stacked in the cupboards. 

The living room featured a green and grey striped couch, one easy chair made of white leather, and a coffee table and two end tables made of silver chrome and beveled glass. The light blue long-shag rug showed the tracks of a recent vacuuming. There was a cushioned seating area directly under the large bay window, and a flat-screen television was mounted on the wall right above a wide mahogany bookcase. 

The bathroom was a functional area of pale pink and white, with an apartment sized washer and dryer tucked into an alcove.

In the back corner was a small bedroom. Freshly laundered purple curtains had been hung in front of a small side window. The rest of the house seemed pale in comparison. The plush carpeting was the same color as an evergreen tree darkened by shadows. The duvet cover was as red as an overripe strawberry. Two large pillows were covered with silky cases of navy blue. Whereas the other rooms were painted in pastels, the walls in here were covered in geometric shapes with colors so vibrant, it looked like a box of crayons had exploded on contact. The blades on the ceiling fan looked powerful enough to believe they’d previously been employed at the top of a helicopter. 

Something was nagging at the back of Augustus’s mind. He looked at each room until he realized what made this home different from most others- there were no radios, no telephones, and no alarm clocks. 


Donna Fullerton returned home, set her bag of groceries on the table and stopped short. She could see an apparition floating beside her kitchen window. It hovered in place for a moment, then darted around her and disappeared. Whatever-it-was had brushed her skin, so she checked to see if it had left any evidence behind. She hadn’t gotten slimed like some of the actors did in Ghostbusters, but the top of her arm was chilled and damp, as if a small rain cloud had just smacked her in the shoulder.


Being diagnosed as legally deaf when she was young, Donna firmly believed that her other senses had become heightened in order to compensate. The few times she’d tried wearing hearing aids as an adult resulted in an amplified version of garbled speech filling her ears- it had sounded like a jumbled mess of consonants without any of the vowels necessary to form words. 

She was used to her quiet life, and managed quite well. The Closed Captioning printed on her television screen allowed her to follow the news and the few programs she watched. She had a beeper that vibrated on her arm when anyone pressed her custom-made doorbell, and she had a specialized ceiling fan that could be programmed to turn on at a specific time, which would wake her up instead of an alarm clock. 

She also had three part-time jobs that suited her. On Mondays and Wednesdays, she typed copies of admissions records for two doctors in the emergency department with legible handwriting. Tuesdays and Thursdays she organized and restocked the book shelves at the college library on the other side of town. Every Friday she cleaned up at the bank after hours (No, she didn’t rob the bank once a week- she vacuumed, washed windows and emptied the trash cans.)

She wasn’t wealthy, but she wasn’t destitute either. She made enough to pay her bills in full each month, would donate some food and money to the local animal shelter on occasion, and once in a while, was able splurge on a new book or a small bag of her favorite herbal tea from the SpecialTea Shoppe. 


The thought of a ghost in her home didn’t bother her much, particularly this one. Mr. Ghost seemed more frightened of her than she was of him. This wasn’t the first time she encountered someone otherworldly.

When she was a teenager, she often went home on her lunch break instead of eating at the high-school cafeteria. Not seeing her mother in the kitchen one day in particular, Donna began to climb the stairs to where the family bedrooms were located. When she lost her footing near the top and began to fall backwards, she felt someone’s hand on her back, which pushed her forward and prevented her from becoming injured. After catching her breath, Donna turned to thank whomever had just saved her life- but there was no one there. She searched high and low, but didn’t fully grasp what had happened until she reached the dining room. Sitting on the table was a note that read:

Dear Donna, your grandmother (my mother) called to say she wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I’m taking her to the hospital. Your dad said he will end his business trip early and should be home sometime tomorrow. There’s a bag lunch waiting for you in the refrigerator. I’ll come home at supper time to give you an update on Grandma. Xoxo

Too anxious to eat, Donna had gone outside to walk around her yard. She was surprised to see her mother’s blue Dodge pull into the driveway a few minutes later. With tears streaming down her face, Mrs. Fullerton informed her only child that her Grandma had passed away. Both women were shocked when Donna told her mother what happened on the staircase that day, for the elderly lady had departed the physical world ten minutes before she fell. Was it a caring ghost, an angel, or her very own grandmother who’d pushed her up the stairs and saved her life that day?

In the years since then, other elderly members of the Fullerton family had passed away. There’d been a number of times when other strange occurrences took place: an apron that repeatedly jumped from its hook on the wall and onto the floor. The hairbrush, the manual can opener, and the wristwatch, that would often vanish from their usual place, then would reappear just as mysteriously as they disappeared a few hours later. With no earthly explanation available, Donna believed with all of her heart that life continued somewhere beyond this world.


So, she was fine with Mr. Ghosty McGhost-Face residing in her home: Donna hadn’t felt afraid or threatened when she’d encountered him, and she trusted her instincts. As long as he didn’t leave the toilet seat up, he was welcome to stay as long as he liked. 


Augustus got to work right after Donna went to bed. He couldn’t see her very well in the dimly lit room, but her relaxed profile and steady breathing convinced him she’d fallen asleep. By his calculations, it was roughly 11 p.m. on a Friday night, with a calendar date somewhere towards the end of summer. Though the afternoons were fairly warm, the changing colors of the leaves and chilly evenings indicated Autumn was approaching. Children could be seen still riding their bikes throughout the day, which meant school hadn’t started yet. 

“Since it isn’t September, I must be Augustus in August!” He chuckled to himself. His laughter lifted him like a hot-air balloon towards the ceiling. He brought his emotions back under control then floated out of Donna’s room.

In the living room, he practiced pushing the power button on the television remote control. On-Off. On-Off. On-Off. On-Off. 

Donna watched a succession of flashes on the wall outside of her bedroom door. “Don’t wear out the batteries.” She murmured under her breath.

She hadn’t heard him make a sound, of course, but she had pretended to be asleep when he’d entered her bedroom. You suck at being a ghost, Mr. Ghost- you obviously don’t realize you glow like a light bulb in the dark. 

She was just starting to drift off when the scent of buttered popcorn wafted into her room. Oh, great- now he’s figured out how to use the microwave. 

Donna sighed loudly, tossed the covers aside and got out of bed. She walked heavily towards the kitchen, hoping he’d hear her coming: thump, thump, thump…

She was surprised that her Guest had been able to open a box of microwave popcorn and remove the clear cellophane wrapper from its package. She watched the bag of kernels grow as it moved slowly around the glass turntable. There were 4 seconds remaining on the microwave’s digital clock: 3… 2…1…Ding! 

Donna crossed her arms and tried not to laugh while peering into the living room. Mr. Ghost was apparently trying to hide, but doing a lousy job of it- he must have put himself into a seated position on the floor, because she could see two little ghost–feet sticking out by the far end of the couch. He’d have an awful time trying to win a game of Hide and Seek, she mused. 

She took the bag from the microwave and opened it. She emptied the popcorn into two plastic bowls, setting hers on the coffee table, and his on the floor near his feet. She went back into the kitchen, grabbed two straws and a can of diet cola from the refrigerator, then walked back into the living room and turned on the television. He must have become quickly absorbed in the movie she’d chosen to watch, because fifteen minutes after it began, he floated over and sat down beside her on the couch. 


Donna woke up alone on the sofa. She’d been covered with the colorfully knitted afghan that usually hung over the back of her reclining chair, with no memory of putting it on herself. She carried the two empty popcorn bowls into the kitchen, started the coffeemaker, then went into the bathroom to take a shower. 

After she was dressed, she checked the time on her watch and realized she had to leave soon. A local author was having a book-signing in town from 10 to 11 a.m., and she’d been looking forward to attending the event all week.

She slung her brown leather purse over her shoulder, then stared at the hook by the door- her car keys were missing. 

She searched high and low, but couldn’t find them anywhere. She became increasingly frustrated as the day wore on. Early in the afternoon, she grabbed an armful of cleaning products and scrubbed the bathroom and the floors until her anger dissipated; thankful that killing germs was not an indictable offense.

Sweaty and smelling of chlorine bleach, Donna took another shower, then decided to put on a load of laundry before starting supper. It was close to 4 pm when she put her cleaning supplies away- where had the time gone?

She was gathering the last of her laundry to put in the washing machine when she saw her keys laying at the bottom of the dirty clothes hamper.

She’d had a feeling that her houseguest had something to do with their disappearance- not having seen him anywhere in her house for the entire day made him her prime suspect. 

Instead of eating supper in the kitchen like she usually did, Donna carried her bowl of homemade beef stew into the living room and set it on the coffee table. She brought in utensils, a napkin, a soft buttered dinner-roll and a mug of hot tea, then turned on the television and sat down. She was sopping up the last of the gravy when the evening news came on.

Her eyes grew wide and she covered her mouth with her hands as if in prayer while she stared dumbfounded at the screen. The image of a ten-car pile-up at the intersection in town left her speechless. Tears streamed down her face while she read the words printed at the bottom of the screen.

At 9:35 this morning, a car collided with a pickup truck in the middle of the intersection in the town of Berwick. As you can see, many other drivers weren’t able to stop in time to avoid hitting each other. Traffic was backed up for five hours, until police and emergency personnel were able to clear the scene. Twenty-three people were taken to the hospital, many in life-threatening condition. There’s no word yet on fatalities. The police are on-hand, continuing with their investigation, and have asked the public to avoid the area if at all possible. We’ll keep you updated as information becomes available. This is Jim Collins reporting to you live from KTRL News.”

Donna Fullerton grabbed a handful of tissues and dried her eyes. She sat unmoving for a long time. 9:35 a.m.- that’s exactly when I’d have been driving through that intersection…

Whether Donna’s ghost intentionally or accidentally misplaced her keys, the result was the same- he’d saved her life that day.

The next day, at Donna’s request, her ghost scrawled his name in black marker on the wall underneath the key hook. She wrote back to him on the same wall in blue marker.  My best friend in elementary school was named Augustus- I read in the newspaper that he passed away not long ago: I wonder if you’re him…

Even though time and inclement weather has caused some damage, Maynard, Wilhelmena and Downey continue to haunt what’s left of the old farmhouse. Barnaby has since moved on to parts unknown. Donna is retired now, but she is not alone. For, inside her quaint yellow home with the white picket fence, she enjoys spending time with her best friend, Augustus. They live there still.

Susan Cleveland is a returning author to the Academy of the Heart and Mind. Her adventure stories and poems have been published in the Scarlet Leaf Review, and in many of the In The Fog anthologies with Partridge Island Publishing. When she’s not writing, Ms. Cleveland enjoys spending time with her grandchildren and being walked by her dog. She lives with her family in Atlantic Canada

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