Lady, Mrs. Smith and her Magical Home, A Ghost Story!

From the time I was a child I was told I was born during the wrong time. I have loved pretty, feminine, ladylike things from a very young age. I was delighted to have an elderly, eccentric neighbor whom took great interest in me. Sometimes I think between that and my Grandfather's dealing in antiques fanned the flames of my mature interests.

Mrs. Smith was my sunbathing, skirt and ballet flats wearing neighbor. She wore slim skirts to the knee and twin sets. Her wardrobe in 1986 was still in the sixties. Her home was stopped in time and it was magical and worthy of a curious, little girl's adventure.
She had a silver tea set on a tea cart. A silk chaise lounge and at that time meant for a lady to read with grace. A black, heavy front dial phone set on a stand attached to a chair...a telephone stand. She served tea in robin egg blue tea cups with wafer cookies. She had drawers of sparkly costume jewelry I rifled through any chance I got. In one of the spare bedrooms set every Caruso record produced. In another bedroom hung a ballerina costume I adored whenever we went perusing the rooms. I would open the closet door and she would pull it out. She would tell me how she once studied ballet and proceed to tell me to point my toe.
Her home was a wood, two story, painted brown. The paint was chipping in spots and the windows were tall and dull. It was old. The inside walls were gray in color and likely were once white. The ceilings 12 feet. It had an old back porch seemingly delicate to any heavy weight. Under the porch was a garage with a battered, white wooden door that slid across. The once cobbled drive to the alley now mostly grown over with grass. It was eerie to outsiders but,  not me because she loved me so much.
Her husband was a scientist but, had been dead a long time. He must have died in his early fifties. I would get bits and pieces about him. He played golf with Henry Kissinger and he gave her husband his clubs. I played with them and his name was on the bag. There was lab equipment with beakers shadowed in cobwebs in the basement. Slivers of silver would roll across the floor and spray neat balls when I stepped on them. I later learned it was mercury from the lab. Yikes!
We spent many days in the kitchen as her bakelite dial television no longer worked. It was a good thing because she was lovely entertainment. The kitchen was a large open room split in the middle with kitchen cabinets. The other side was the dining room. We would sit at the small, square, black kitchen table with wrought iron chairs. I can still hear the chairs nubby sound vibrate on the floor as I pulled one out to sit. She would bring the tea over and always ask, "One or two lumps?" She always spoke to me in a loving way and was so nice to me. She taught me little nuances. Sitting up straight, holding a tea cup and more. I wanted to be just like her. She was fascinating and sophisticated.
During our days in the kitchen she taught me Poker, 500 Rum and German. I was getting an education. She also had a memory game which she always let me win. When I think back I realize she did not have patience but, loved children and my company. She was like the spooky, witch lady in the neighborhood. She liked that because she would not be bothered. It was just me bopping across the road with dinner or something made by my Mom. She would never refuse my gifts. It was a sneaky way to get her nutritional food. All her things I described were beautiful to me but, it's all she owned. She was a lonely, poor woman living on social security in a big house. Our companionship was meant to be.
My parents divorced when I was around twelve and we moved away. It was a hectic time in my life and I was growing up and leaving her. Sadly when I was eighteen I moved back into my childhood home, alone and ready for college. She died a couple years before I moved in. The neighbors next door watched out for her.

This is where the story takes another twist. Mrs. Smith only had her home. Every piece of furniture had it's place. There was never clutter. Think back to some of the things I told you. A lady bought the house during a Sheriff Sale and moved in. She started renovating the rooms. I did not tell her I knew the home quite well. One day I came home from work and there was a Hazmat team. I then found out the silver slivers were mercury. I said nothing about my experience or Mrs. Smith. About a month later the new neighbor was outside and seemed shaken. I walked off my porch and asked her if she was ok. She told me this was the second time she has come home from work and her living room furniture had been moved. I asked her in what way. The set up she explained was the way Mrs. Smith had her furniture arranged. I proceeded to tell her this and her eyes looked like they were ready to fall out of their sockets. I told her I knew every square inch of the house and anything left in it. She told me about the golf clubs, which was no surprise. She sold them to a sports collector. She was unnerved by my information but, I told her she is harmless.

I got a knock on my door about a month later. It was Debbie, the neighbor. She wanted me to come over. She actually insisted. She needed my help. She was panicked. As we walked over she said her music would shut off and she would hear opera or something like classical. I grinned at her as she opened Mrs. Smith's front door. The first time I had been in her home since childhood. I yell out in the entry hall, "Mrs. Smith it's Heather, are you causing mischief?" And I giggled. Debbie was not laughing. I asked her if there were records stacked in the middle bedroom. She said yes and they are still there as she has not gotten to that room yet. We walked up the creaky stairs and I slid my fingers across the long wooden banister as it rounded to the bedroom hallway. She opened the bedroom door and it croaked. The smell of must and warm air hit your face. I picked up one of the yellowed record jackets. I said here is every Caruso record produced. He was an opera singer. Debbie looked pale. She told me the music has been turned off several times. I told her it was no surprise since your tastes are very, very different. Before I left I told Mrs. Smith it was ok Debbie moved in and she wants to make the house a home again.
Debbie suddenly moved out a few months later. Myself or her neighbor next door never saw her on the street again.