The_Ghost_and_Mrs._MuirIt all started with a knock on the bathroom door.  Occupied at the time, the man within hollered, “I’ll be out in a minute,” and heard footsteps heading away, down the hallway.  When he finished his business and emerged, no one was there, so he rejoined the gathering in the living room and announced that the bathroom was free, for anyone who needed it.  No one needed it.  No one had needed it.  No one had been anywhere near the bathroom, and most definitely, no one had knocked on the bathroom door.

The next day, my dear friend and the owner of said house and bathroom, called me in a bit of a state.  “I think I have a ghost.  Can you check?”  Which I did, and she did.  We scheduled a ghost busting and got to work.

Her ghost was a young man, nicely dressed, tall, built like a tennis player, and dead since 1947.  He had been lurking about her house ever since, claiming that when you die, you go to the happiest place you know.  That house was it for him.  He was a bit of a troublemaker and rabble-rouser, raised in affluence on the East Coast, but sent to her house in the Midwest as a teenager, to live with the original owners, in hopes that they might “straighten him out.”  Which they did.  The young man either was, or became, best friends with the boys of the house, and the house grew to hold many happy memories for him.

We tried, with mixed results, to find out his name.  He kept yelling, “Call me Charlie!” and laughing, and I wasn’t sure how to take this.  Names can be difficult to come by in readings with the dead, because names aren’t important to them.  When we die and assume our spirit form, we know one another by our energy, our essence, and our connections to other spirits.  Names are temporary; those things are forever.  By the end of our time together, I was pretty sure his last name was Chase, and thought him to be a Jonathan Bartholomew, not a Charlie.

Jonathan was charming, confessing to many girlfriends but no wife, and his tales of being a sailing-enthusiast and rascal won both my friend and I over.  By the end of the ghost-busting, my friend didn’t really want him to go.  Jonathan loved the “stick around awhile longer” plan, and agreed to her demands and restrictions.  And that’s how I left it: my friend in a real-life “Ghost and Mrs. Muir” situation.  It seemed the right thing to do at the time, in the moment, but I have regretted it many times since.  Even a friendly ghost is still a ghost, and their presence in your home is not a good thing, even if they are well-intentioned and respectful.  In all of my encounters and work with the un-ascended spirits of the dead, Jonathan is the only spirit I left un-ascended.

I pride myself on being able to help any wayward, Earth-bound spirit to finish their unfinished business, release their guilt and regret, make their peace with their life and death, and prepare to ascend in two hours flat.  But the truth is, there are spirits out there that need more time and attention in order to be fully resolved and at peace.  I believe Jonathan was one such spirit.  I felt I let my friend down by not ridding her house of this rascal when she first called me, but she didn’t feel that way, and I must let my regrets go and allow that space to fill with gratitude instead — gratitude for her willingness to deal with this imp.  She confessed to liking having him around, to talking to him on a semi-regular basis, and I could see that he benefitted from both her attention and her challenges to him to get ready to move on.

It has been two years, but last week my friend sent me an email, saying she thought it was time.  Time for Jonathan to go.  And earlier this week, we did just that.

Upon re-acquainting myself with Jonathan’s spirit, I found him to be more settled, more honest, more ready.  He gave straight answers this time around, and cleared a few things up.  First off, he was really proud of the bathroom incident.  Second off, he said that his middle name was actually Horatio — a name his mother thought beautiful and he thought positively horrible.  And thirdly, he confirmed that he was a Chase of the Chase Bank variety, but explained that his father had been disowned or dis-inherited right before the company took off.

And then, Jonathan was finally ready to tell how he died.  Jonathan was stabbed to death, and his killer was known to him.  The two travelled in the same social circles, but their encounters were usually confrontational.  World War II ended two years before Jonathan’s death, and the friction between them stemmed from the fact that the other man served overseas, and Jonathan did not.

Jonathan’s killer was a bully when he joined the army, terribly arrogant and not well-liked.  And his tours of duty did not change him for the better — he came back from the war an emotionally damaged, bitter, self-righteous, violent man.  His view of the situation was that Jonathan was a sissy and a spoiled rich kid who bought his way out of service to his country.  Jonathan’s view of the situation was that some of the country’s bright, ambitious young men needed to stay behind and prepare to run the country, in case the casualties of war in their generation were heavy.  He did not pull any strings, but also did not protest when his vision was deemed insufficient for combat.

On the day of his death, the two men confronted each other at a picnic.  Jonathan expected this to be like every other shouting match they’d had, but the other man came armed with a knife and a plan.  Young men from his platoon joined him, sheltered him from the view of other picnickers, and refused to identify him to police.  Jonathan did not elaborate, but said the man was not caught or prosecuted, and did not think killing Jonathan was a big deal after killing so many people during his service in the war.  But, as Jonathan put it, “Karma got him eventually.”

Telling his story cleaned his energy in preparation for ascension, and he was ready.  He and my friend said their good-byes to one another, I opened a portal to the other side, and up he went, greeted by his very loving mother.  As impatient as I had been to see him out of my friend’s house and safely ascended, the timing was, for him, just right.

And, for you, my Most Haunted House Contest is in its final days — entries must be in by this Sunday, February 14.  Entering is easy (just email me a picture of the outside of your house), and the prize is a good one (a free ghost busting).  You may have your own Jonathan — send me a picture and find out!

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