We've Got Poletrgeist or a Family History

So we’ve got this poltergeist in the house or as my wife calls it, “George’s drunken delusions”. Daya’s limited faith in ole faithful aside, we’ve got a freakin poltergeist. You see I work at home and hear the damned thing all day some days and then not again for days weeks or more. But I do hear and experience it enough to have learned to live with it. It started shortly after moving in when the thermostat would turn itself up to 90 degrees in the middle of the night. Daya blamed a sleep walking mina. But I’m a light sleeper with Mina;’s bedroom feet away from ours. On moree than one occasion I lay awake, completely aware of what’s going on the fact that no one was wandering the halls on at least two occasions when the thermostat, an old rotary dial type wall mounted unit turned itself up to 90 degrees. Daya alternately blamed Mina’s sleep walking and my drinking, which I rarely do and some rude remarks about crazy Irish and haunted houses in New Orleans. She clearly doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about ‘cause my Irish relatives are the drunks and the Cajun ones are crazy. Both have, I admit, been known to spout off a few haunted house legends.

But anyway, back to us. So Daya and I are home alone sitting on a sofa opposite the porch door when we hear the very distinct sound of footsteps climbing the stairs to the deck outside. Not surprising as Daya’s Uncle and cousin live behind us and occasionally visit. We watch the window that is at the head of the stairs. The steps grow closer, all the way to the toip and nothing appears in the window. No sound of descending. Nothing. Daya shouts, “Did you hear that?”” “Yeah but I’m descended from drunken crazies” “Shut up and go check”, she demanded. She sits clutching a pillow. I obey the South Asian mistress. It’s broad daylight. No one is on the deck, the stairs in the yard anywhere. “You heard it right?” Daya demands of me. “Yep, all the time”

A few weeks later, home alone together, Daya decides to take a shower leaving me on the sofa reading. On her way to the shower, she lowers the thermostat on the hall wall, just opposite the bathroom door to about 65 degrees. A few minutes later, she exits the bathroom and shouts an angry, “George!” “What?” I answer not looking up from book reclined on the sofa I haven’t left since she headed for the shower. “That’s not funny. I just lowered this!” “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about dear”, my usual response to shouts of ‘George!’ “You raised the thermostat!” “I did not” I protested. “Then how’d it get to 90 degrees?” she demanded. She does a lot of demanding. The dead are cold and like it warm” I surmised with a shrug of the shoulder. “That’s not funny!” Daya, clearly nervous shouted back at me. It went on for a bit with accusations of crazy drunken prankster attached.

It was then that I learned that when George sees or hears something supernatural, he’s a drunk and crazy. When Daya sees or hears something supernatural, George is a drunk and crazy.