Ghosts, Posts and T1 (Stephen) – Part II

Both distinctly and vaguely remembering Pat thumb through the guest list makes me laugh to this very day. I truly believe he thought the ghosts would check in by their names, room numbers, and identify themselves as ghosts: Casper, Donner, Blitzen, Bill, Past, Present, Filepe….(we had to be politically fair….ghosts are not confined to being American). Even as strangely off beating with a beer track, if you will, I recall looking at Pat with a sort of confused and whimsical smile, thinking, “what in the hell are you doing?” Never the more, I respected his thoughts, inquiries, and seconds of painstaking research this young man had placed forth during this challenging day of drinking, dancing, celebrating a wedding, and ultimately spotting a ghost.

We tip toed, (staggered) down several hallways and corridors seeking something which may create a story only our grand kids and everyone else knows we would be lying about. It was glorious! Pat had that look in his eye. You know the one; the one kids apply when looking for ghosts. He wanted to catch one and beat the dead hell out of it for scaring him as a youth. Me? I was just gathering drunk material. Seconds went by, literally, (when seconds go by hunting for ghosts, it feels like years) and we found nothing, zero, bagel! It was a sad midnight. Pat was melancholy. I was relieved. Yet, although finding no ghosts, there is, indeed a happy ending.

In this quaint hotel, many guests did not have bathrooms in their own room, including ours. So, as many naked people do, they adorn themselves with these ridiculous customary white robes provided by the haunted hotel. Pat, my good friend and nephew, would witness these living humans walking, or as he stated “floating”, peacefully to the “john” or “bath”, pointing a finger at them screaming, “LOOK! GHOSTS!!!”. These friendly patrons would become mortified witnessing this red haired (looking like it had been scorched from hell) crazed man (Pat) and sprint to their rooms. Then, we’d share a good chuckle and adjourn ourselves to our own haunted room.

Peacefully, we all fell asleep at midnight only awakening to Steve’s Three o’clock a.m. internal Kramer alarm. “C’mon, We gotta get on the road!”. Not wishing to argue with a man who can kill you with one flick of the fist, we reluctantly, and literally rolled out of bed. Funny thing was, Steve, who looked remarkably stupid in his white ghost robe, was prancing around the room, repeatedly saying, “Hey! This carpet is all wet. Why is this carpet so wet? This is weird! Maybe a ghost came in here and pissed! Cool!” At that point, my most trusted brother, Tom, looked at me with those father like eyes and quietly said, “You pissed in here in the middle of the night, didn’t you?”. My reply? “I don’t know? Probably, but don’t tell Steve”. I must have been too damned afraid to go to the head down the hallway myself, so I just happily urinated on the haunted hotel carpet. Or did I??????????

That’s a stupid ending. Sorry, Steve, I couldn’t hold it.

Post Ghost Syndrome: Pat slept the whole way home, Steve pondered urinating ghosts, Tom wondered how he had subjected himself to such idiots, and I was merely happy Steve didn’t know he was walking in my piss.

Truly…..I think.

Benjamin J. Gannon

Ghosts, posts and T1 (Stephen) – Part I

Being terrified of ghosts is not necessarily a weakness in a man, if you can call me that.  Yet, I don’t wish to see a ghost, have dinner with a ghost, high tea with a ghost, fly in an airplane with a ghost, or receive vaccinations from a ghost.  This is something I am neither proud nor ashamed of, just the fact, man. They simply scare me, and I have no faith in swinging like a wild man with fists which fly through the opponent whilst frightening the benjesus out of me.

My brother, Steve, however, fears nothing, (or at least that’s the way I wish to think of him)….including ghosts.  He’s the Spokane version of Chuck Norris.  Steve is the only man who haunts ghosts.  As a witness to this, I can also attest to it while staying in a hotel with him, my brother, Tom, and Steve’s son, my nephew, Pat.

The three of us ventured to the McMenamin’s Edgefield hotel in Oregon because it is supposedly haunted.  Coincidentally, my brother, Mike, was also getting married in the same city….. at the same hotel’s ballroom.  We paid homage to my brother, Mike, and his sweet bride, Brenda, by attending the celebration because we love them both, and there was free beer.  Our main quest, however, since on the way, we could not find the elusive Sasquatch was to find a friendly ghost at this exclusive hotel. Keep in mind, my fear of ghosts, goblins, demons, and Sasquatch remains, yet in the presence of Steve, I’m not really afraid of any of those supposed myths.  To this very day, I believe the reason we didn’t witness any of these conundrums was because they were just too afraid to witness him.  This is a sad point because he is one of the most affable and funny earthlings I have ever met.  Sasquatch and a ghost would be ever most happy to meet and have a beer, or 200, with my brother.  They just have to be good bartenders and not steal from him.  That’s the point where he taunts, haunts, and scares.  Additionally, it’s the reason why I’ve only stolen (a fifth of good whiskey…and I have an excuse) from him once.   Lessons are learned quickly from Steve.  We are very close brothers to this day.  I’ve just moved to a different area code.

Now the quick story begins.  As curious and inebriated gentlemen do, they seek ghosts in hotels claiming their existence.  Tom, the least gooned up and most logical man at the time merely scoffed at the presumption.  Steve just wanted to go to bed and didn’t care if a ghost crawled in with him and kissed him goodnight.  Pat, my nephew, was definitely on a quest and didn’t care if the poltergeist was the size of the Statue of Liberty.  I followed him because one: I was intoxicated and, two, he is the son of Steve.

Chapter T2 will have to follow.  Concerning Steve’s life, it is like Star Trek…continuing and continuing and continuing……but in a wildly fun, inspiring, and personally memorable way.  Live long and foster.  This story is close to being finished.  Others may provide different perspectives.  None of which, other than mine, will be accurate.