Notes from a Spectre

Regina may have always been searching for something but never as often as in her new apartment. The first floor of a three story townhouse in Savannah was a big score for her. For the last year she’d been enjoying her job as an assistant and caretaker for a surprisingly self sufficient 93 year old. Her employer, Marie, was a widow and a renown antiques expert in French artifacts and pottery. Marie’s daughter, Pauline, had offered Regina the chance to rent this apartment in one of their family’s properties at a steal. She had been refered to Pauline from her manager at the nursing home that had been her first job. The whole family was very nice and Marie was as sharp as a tack even if her body wasn’t keeping up. She occasionally acted as a consultant for museums and antique dealers all over the world, she had even consulted for a popular antiques show.

The streets here were beautiful and quiet, not like the neighborhood Regina grew up in. She sometimes missed the energy. The music blasting from cars and the occasional sirens that were somehow comforting. Even with the culture shock, she’d never felt so optimistic for her future as she did these days.

Now if she could only find her keys. That’s the thing, Regina was one of the most organized people anyone will ever meet. She had an uncle, her moms identical twin, who suffered from mental illness. She’d always had a nagging fear she would inherit his condition, which was compounded by these recent events. Worse than going missing was where things ended up. Once her phone ended up in an empty cabinet she couldn’t even reach. At some point her mind began to drift from one fear to another... ghosts.

Regina was leaving her shift on a Saturday night. Her sister Samya was coming to stay over and they planned on a fun night. On the bus on the way home from the resort-like retirement community where Marie lived, she was filling in important bits of info in her small black notebook. She liked dealing in paper rather than glass screens, there was something about the sound and the feel of a pen on moving paper she really loved.

Later, her sister and her started off at a quaint old bar with a recent upgrade making it look swanky. By eleven that night, she had cried almost all of her makeup off laughing so hard. Her sister had a way of pulling in everyone around her. She was like a beacon, unfortunately a beacon for all types including the bad ones. Tonight she was harmlessly the life of the party, engaging in silly conversations with other patrons.

It was most enjoyable for someone like Regina, thoughtful and quiet. She would never be a match for her boisterous and enchanting sister, but she didn’t mind at all. They were both tipsy when they got home around 2am. Regina grabbed a throw to tuck around her sister who was asleep on the couch, when she noticed something on the coffee table. It was a weathered, leather-bound book that she hadn’t seen before. Absentmindedly, she grabbed it and carried it with her.

She set herself up in bed to look at her find. The first page had a gilded logo, JMD Investments, all the other pages were blank. The feel of the paper was amazing. She grabbed a pen from her nightstand and wrote her name, the gel ink pen glided over the fine paper with a very satisfying sound. Still feeling the drinks, she became a little reflective and decided to keep this as a journal, a vision board of sorts. She started by asking herself some questions which ended up on the first page;

Am I in the right place?

Should I go back to school?

Will I ever meet someone?

She slowly drifted to sleep. In the morning, the book was gone.

“You know there’s writing on the glass part of the door, this must have been a business.” Samya had commented. “What?” Regina had been stirred out of a reverie. Just then a car pulled up and, after a quick hug, Samya was gone. Regina had never noticed the old etched outlines on the door and she couldn’t make them out. She just then realized how much the whole building looked like a lawyer’s office or something of the sort.

Monday was a busy day for Marie, she had a doctors appointment and Regina was waiting for her in the small lobby. An elderly gentleman, dressed impeccably and sitting in a chair across from her, suddenly glanced up and smiled. She smiled back, he reminded her of someone but she didn’t know anyone who looked like this stately gentleman.

She woke up the next morning at 5:55. The willow outside her window was swaying gently and the old book was on her nightstand. When she opened it, there were her questions, only now with replies. They were written in the most impressive writing she had ever seen. There were ink blots which she knew could only be from fancy old pens.

Am I in the right place? We surely enjoy you being here.

Should I go back to school? Nothing is more important than a fine education.

Will I ever meet someone? You have already met plenty of perfectly respectable people.

All of the ramifications of this brush with the supernatural seemed to hit her at once. She wanted to call her sister but she wasn’t sure if she would call ghost busters or call her crazy.

Then news came, her mother was frantic, she had been notified of foreclosure on her home if she didn’t pay a large sum of back taxes. Unfortunately, her mother had chosen to ignore this issue rather than confront it and it was almost too late. Reginas mom hadn’t been able to work for years, a former seamstress, she had developed severe arthritis in her 50s. After a few odd jobs she lived mostly from the disability income paid for her brother who had always lived with them.

This news hit Regina hard, she had always expected to become self sufficient and eventually successful enough to help her family. But she was 22 years old, she hadn’t even had a chance. She heard the accusatory tone in her mom’s voice. She thought Regina should move back home and give up her income to support the family. Regina had no interest in the proposition.

The weight of her family issues had overridden any fears she had of ghosts. Staring at her new journal’s mysteriously embellished page, she traced the writing with her finger. She felt a slight indentation at the pen’s strokes. Drifting asleep, she grabbed her own pen and dreamily wrote; How can I make a lot of money, quickly.

That morning she sat down with a cup of coffee to watch TV. As a show opening focused in on an old English storefront window it reminded her... the answer. She went into her bedroom and opened the journal. There was a very short response; Sam’s place.

In the basement where she grew up, there had been an old writing desk. Samya used it to stack up books and pretend she was lending them out to Regina. There was a piece of cardboard taped to the desk, her pretend security label deactivator, and she would slide the books over it. She finished each book off with a tap from an old dry stamp pad. For some reason the “library” had been named “Sam’s Place”.

Sam’s place? Is that even what it meant? It was the first thing she thought of, she had to find out.

After 3 bus transfers, she got to her mother’s house just as it was getting dark. Luckily for her, her mom was asleep, a common occurrence these days. Her uncle put up no fight at all, she wasn’t even sure if he recognized her. The only way to access the basement these days was a padlocked Bilco door since the steps down from the kitchen had long ago fallen apart. She grabbed the key on her way outside.

There was so much more down here than she remembered, she hadn’t ventured down since her childhood. A tiny, thick glass window was the only source of light, a streetlight lined up with it perfectly. She was somewhat surprised to see the desk was still there. She opened a slim drawer toward the top of the desk. A ledger, this was her grandfather’s bank book. He must have used this for their personal accounts. Most of what was listed were essentials, fabric, food, school supplies. He was so detailed, maybe she had inherited some of these traits from him.

Her grandfather had purchased the house. He had worked as a butler, housekeeper, and handyman, for a wealthy family in the 1940s and 50s. Regina didn’t have a memory of him, but she knew her grandfather had been a good provider.

The largest drawer was partly pulled out of the desk, a makeshift cardboard lid had been taped onto it. She easily pulled off the dry-rotted masking tape and found a wrapped bundle of old fabric. Inside was a most peculiar porcelain doll. When she started hearing some conversation upstairs, she quickly tucked the bundle under her arm and made her way out, dropping the key in the mailbox and resolved to taxi home.

The next day she brought the doll to Marie who got out her lens. Goodness Regina, I think this is a Rochard doll!” The doll was pretty but Regina couldn’t make sense of how it ended up with her family. “Take the scope and look into the jewel on her necklace, get in the light!” Marie directed her. “It’s a building!” “Yes, it’s the Viennese Opera, it’s definitely a Rochard, the miniatures are his technique, we’ll have to get it verified of course. This one also has an inscription that could increase the value.”

Regina didn’t know how to react, she began to tear up. “Marie, I have to tell you something” and she told Marie the whole spooky story.

“My father’s name was John Regenault, he was a banker and an investor in Savannah. The apartment you live in now was his office” “I’m not surprised he’s been talking to you, he threw a mirror once when my former tenant and her husband were fighting. We come from old French stock, our ancestors were healers, the spirits of the departed are just as important to us as the living” “I’m glad he came to you, you must have needed help, that’s when these things happen” “I do” said Regina as she thanked Marie.

It turned out the doll was dedicated to The Empress Carlotta of Mexico when was she was in France. The gift, from the famous doll designer with his hidden miniatures, was dedicated to Carlotta from Napoleon and his wife. Marie had traced it back to an auction in early 1900s New Orleans. Regina’s mother had a porcelain doll collection as a child, it’s likely her grandfather’s employers had gifted them, this gem being mistaken for something of little value.

The doll’s unusual inscription had bolstered the value so much that it fetched just over half a million dollars. Marie had organized the auction and would take nothing for the transaction. Regina was able save and refurbish the house and set her uncle up with the care he needed. She moved into the beautifully appointed upper 2 levels of the townhome with her sister Samya as a roommate.

One day when Samya was out Regina had pulled out the old book, in it she wrote simply “Thank you”. The next day in a beautiful swirling reply “Well deserved, apologies for all the mischief- Yours in servitude, JMD”