When you look at me, you see a seasoned and successful banker. Not only that, but I seem to look happy. In truth, I have many blessings to count. I have the reputation of being a good father and a pleasantly doting grandfather. In addition to the work I do for the bank, I give free financial counseling to needy people who experience difficulties in making ends meet. However, until recently, I was little else than a successful banker. More important, I was not a happy man. The reason for my unhappiness was that I was living in terror of what I can only call a ghost.

This ghost took on different forms at different times, but I always thought of it as the same ghost, just as I am the same person no matter how much I change. For years and years I blamed this ghost for ruining my life. In the end, I learned that I had nobody but myself to blame for my ruin. For all those years, it never occurred to me to blame myself. With a little logic, I could have thought of the possibility. But I was not logical when it came to knowing how to live my life. How many times did a customer blame the bank for a clerical mistake when he was the one who had not balanced his book properly? But like the customer, I knew I was right, that the checkbook of my life was balanced perfectly, and the world just wasn't giving me the proper credit.

It all started when I was a boy. I don't know how young I was; that doesn't much matter. Somewhere along the line, I got into the habit of balancing life's checkbook in such a way that I knew I was right. There was no dramatic event such as what you might put on stage that started me off in this way. It's just that, somehow, I stopped thinking that my parents loved me. Once I had done that, of course, there was no way they could have convinced me they did love me, even if they had tried. By hindsight, I would say that they weren't like Tobias and Mabel Honeysuckle who really do seem to have been unloving. The problem was in myself. I had reached the point where everything my parents did and didn't do, proved to me that they didn't really care for me. When they gave me nice presents for my birthday and Christmas, it was because they wanted to pay me back for not loving me. If I had the toys I wanted, that meant I could play with them and stay out of their hair. You see, I knew I was right. Unfortunately, they both went to their graves without my finding out anything different. I so wish that, after turning a new leaf, I could have returned to them and, quite possibly experienced love from them after all. Not only that, but they probably would have appreciated my telling them that I loved them. I fear that they died, thinking that their own son had rejected them in spite of their best efforts.

By this time that I had convinced myself that my parents didn't love me, I also convinced myself that none of my friends liked me either. That attitude feeds itself, of course. I know that now. If they approached me, it was because I had better toys, better comic books, or better candy than they did. If they stayed away, that really proved my point. I remember arriving one year at summer camp with the biggest stack of comics of any kid in the cabin. Boy, did the other kids start paying court to me! It was the comics they cared about, of course, not me. I turned the whole thing to my profit by charging a nickel's rental for the use of each comic book. After that, it was clear I was right. The other boys didn't like me at all. But at least I had extra coins jingling in my pocket so I could buy more comics and make more money on them.

So now you have some idea of what I was like by the time I was about eleven or so. I suppose I knew, sort of, that I wasn't a perfectly nice kid, but I also knew other people weren't so hot. That just meant I had to find some way through life. I was off to a good start. I was becoming rich, not just because my parents had money, but because I knew how to make the most of what I had.

By the time I got home from camp that year, I was feeling pretty good about myself. After all, I was seeing through people pretty well. If my mother referred to another kid on the block as "a nice boy", I wouldn't say anything, but I always knew better than she did. I knew how kids pretend to be nice to grown-ups so that they can get something from them. I had gotten pretty good at that myself. I was well-behaved, even grown-up for my age. It paid off.

Then it happened. I came home one summer evening after playing baseball with a few other boys. One of them had paid me a fifty cents to borrow my old first-baseman's mit. I don't know if my rental policy had anything to do with what happened or not, but now that I am wiser, I suspect it did. I waltzed into my room. It was getting dark but there was still a little light outside, so I didn't turn on the light switch. I found a boy sitting on my bed! At first I thought somebody was playing tricks on me.

"What are you doing in my room, Jerry?" I asked. You see, the boy looked a bit like a boy I knew of that name.

"Playing," answered the boy.

He jumped off the bed, did a somersault, and landed in a pile of comics I had stuffed in a corner. He picked up the comics, one at a time, and threw them all around my room.

"Free comics for sale!" he announced for all the world to hear. "Come and get them! All you can read for the price of nothing!"

"You stop that!" I cried.

By then I knew that whoever that boy was, he wasn't Jerry. I ran to that boy in a rage and grabbed him. My hands went right through him! Not only that, his hands moved right inside of mine. I don't know how else to describe it. I could feel him pulling at me, trying to pull me into himself. I wouldn't let him. It would have killed me. My heart was beating wildly. He laughed, that little monster. He laughed, and then he was gone.

From that day on, my life was spoiled. I couldn't talk to anyone about the ghost, of course. Who would understand? They would think I was crazy, and I didn't want people to think that. But since the ghost had appeared once, I reasoned, it followed that it could appear again. For several weeks, I lived in constant fear of that ghost. I was afraid it would pop out of my school locker, or meet me in my room, or even wake me up in the middle of the night. I dreamed of that thing chasing me down endless corridors. It never caught me but it kept me running.

Time passed and nothing happened to give new life to my fears. I was finally beginning to feel safe when it happened again. One of my classmates ran up to me in a panic just a few minutes before the bell was about to ring. He had forgotten to bring my social studies text book to school, and he still had to read the assigned chapter. I already had my hand on my copy to hand to him when I remembered that this was the chance to get the money I needed for some geometry tools I needed. So, I offered to lend the book for a three dollar rental fee. He gulped, but he was desperate. He didn't even have time to run and ask somebody else to lend the book for free. So, he got to read his assignment and I got for myself an extra three dollars.

That same afternoon, I was walking home from school, minding my own business, when that horrid boy jumped out behind a tree holding a book in his hand.

"Here!" he cried, offering the book to me. "It has all the answers!"

I started to reach for the book, but, of course, he snatched it away from me. He offered it again, and again I reached. It was a blatant game of Keep- away. He was only pretending to offer me his book. I didn't even know if I wanted it or not. It was all like one of the silly dreams I had been having. Finally, I got tired of feeling so stupid. I folded my hands and, feeling quite grown-up, told that boy he could keep his worthless book if he wanted to. The boy folded his arms in mimicry of my gesture, and told me I could keep all the books I wanted. He laughed, and he was gone.

All I can say is that I was ashamed that such a thing should happen to me. Here I was, a child who had given up childish things at an early age, and yet I had to suffer such a secret humiliation. By then, everybody, especially teachers, respected me. Everybody knew my worth except for that worthless ghost. I had to make sure none of them knew my secret. Many times I asked myself who this ghost could be and why he haunted me, of all people.

I sat down to think things out. There was no easy way of getting rid of a ghost, especially since there was no police force that specialized in that sort of thing. But I was resourceful enough to come up with the solution. I just wouldn't worry about it anymore. I knew that sticks and stones could break my bones, but names could never hurt me. Well, ghosts couldn't hurt me either. Why should I pay any more attention to him than I would any sassy kid in school who took to teasing me? I was wise enough to know that the best way to stop worrying about something is to do something that gives you other things to think about. I also had caught on to the fact that, like it or not, the things I was learning in school really would help me gain success in life if I took the trouble to do the work. I was a whizz at mathematics, and that skill has been most helpful in my becoming a leading banker. As far as dealing with this ghost of mine is concerned, I stopped worrying about its jumping into my life. I spent my time thinking about my schoolwork and what jobs I would do later. When he did appear, and he tried his tricks from time to time, I learned to ignore him. There were times when I had to be really patient about it all. If he threw my math papers around my room, it didn't do any good to yell at him about it. He only laughed in a devilish way. I had to just do some history or something until he went away and then calmly pick up the papers and finish the math later. When this ghost found that he couldn't get my goat, he went away sooner or later.

My scheme was not fool-proof, however. That ghost found another way to torment me. It started innocently enough when my mother told me that the mother of one of my classmates had told her how generous I was to her son during an illness. I said nothing, but the truth was I hadn't even thought of visiting the boy. I wondered, then, for a moment if it might be a nice idea to do the deed I had already gotten credit for doing, but thought better of it. If I did, the boy would think he had to do something in return. I did not want to pressure people like that. It would be best if we didn't really owe each other anything. The strange thing about it all was that the next time I went to my room after that little conversation with my mother, I found that my horde of candy was depleted and several comic books were missing.

Later on, this problem became less innocent. My parents began to get reports from school that although I was almost always exemplary in the classroom, I was occasionally a terror out on the playground during recess. I tried denying the charge, and with good reason. I usually spent my recess time, alone, playing with numbers in order to get ahead in math. If I wasn't doing that, there was some other solitary pursuit of interest to me but nobody else. I knew that games were for the birds. But what could I say to all the eye witnesses who saw me interrupt soccer games by constantly kicking the ball out of the field? According to these reports, I never actually hurt anybody, I just made things difficult for people. How could I be so sober one moment and then so childish the next? That was the question that had my teachers and parents puzzled. I had to suffer the reprimands in silence and then try to figure out what was happening. The only thing I could think of was that my ghost had become audacious enough to impersonate me. What kind of game this ghost was playing I could not understand. Obviously he wasn't all good, but he wasn't all bad, either. My strategy was to force myself to play with the other boys once in a while. That kept the ghost from intruding. My heart was not in that business, but at least the other kids saw only my sober self.

I soon came to think I had adjusted to life pretty well for a kid who was haunted. The ghost however, was not about to give up finding ways to be obnoxious to me. When I became a teen-ager, the ghost began to take on different forms. It is as if the ghost wanted to keep pace with my own growing up and remain a child as well. Sometimes the ghost would be the irresponsible boy who appeared to mess up my school papers or play some other similar prank. Sometimes I would see a teenager about my age. Even in his teen-age shape, he would also do something worthless, such as dance in the middle of traffic to the annoyance of drivers. Occasionally the ghost would try once more to talk to me, but of course, I knew better than to engage in conversation with such ghostly riff-raff.

I reached the age when dating girls was the thing to do, and I did my duty. When there was a dance, or a movie I wanted to see, I would pick out a girl who looked right and seemed sensible, and ask her to go out with me. Sometimes I would even go steady with a girl. But every time I did, the ghost spoiled it for me.

For instance, there was this girl, Judy, who had gone out with me several times. I was starting to look forward to meeting her on the way to school in the morning. One day, I got a late start from home because I stopped to count the money I was making on my paper route. When I reached the corner where I usually met her, she wasn't there. Looking down the street, I saw her walking with another boy! Not only that, but the boy she was walking with was the very ghost who had been haunting me! There she was, laughing away with him as if she was a silly thing instead of the sensible girl I knew. The ghost, of course, acting as if he didn't have a brain in his head by doing all sorts of comical tricks with his hands to impress her and make her laugh.

During the lunch break, she approached me as if nothing had come between us. I tried to work up the nerve to ask her about the other boy, but never did. After a few minutes of a dreary conversation she seemed quite put out with me.

"What are you so serious about all of a sudden?" she asked me.

"I'm always serious," I spluttered.

"Not this morning you weren't," she retorted.

What could I say to that? Although I had been seeing this ghost for years, I had never been so scared in my life. This was the first time I had actually seen my ghost haunt somebody else. I couldn't understand how anybody could confuse that playboy with me, but they were still doing it. I don't know what else I said to Judy at that time. It was the last time we ever talked. It was not the last time that the ghost took a girl away from me.

In spite of being haunted, I continued to make my way through life rather well. I graduated from high school and then college with honors. There were some grumblings about my irresponsible life style early in my freshman year. Being alert to my special problem, I accepted the fact that I had to go out with others when asked to, or the ghost would do it for me and blacken my reputation further. Many were the times when I made myself miserable out of fear of that ghost.

After graduation, I was flooded with many job offers, and I accepted a junior executive position with the First National Bank of Detroit. I even got married, and there was not a thing the ghost could do about it, or so I thought. The point is, I married a nice young woman who had beautiful light brown hair and a sparkle in her eyes. Her name was Jean, same as the girl in the song. I knew she needed a man to provide for her and I was the one. In exchange, she would take care of me in the way a wife should. It looked like a fair deal all round. I was proud to have her as a wife, and prouder yet when we had a baby son with wisps of light brown hair and a sparkle in his eye. We named him Ralph.

For several years I was not haunted until I was began to think I had outgrown all of that vain imagining. I worked hard and long at the bank and increased my paycheck as I rose higher in the system. My complacency in regards to the ghost, however, led to a breakdown of my vigilance. I started working long into the evening at the bank, not thinking that I was giving the ghost a wedge into my life. I should have been suspicious right away when my wife began to mention things we had done together which I couldn't remember. Yes, I had dated her and all that, but I hadn't taken her on long rowing trips. One night, when I complained about her playing records of choral music, she said she didn't understand my problem, since I had enjoyed the same music in concert so much. Still, as long I was getting credit for good things, I didn't bother myself much about the problem.

Then, one morning, Jean took me to task for the way I had been the life of the party the night before.

"What party?"

"The party last night. Don't you remember?"

I did not. I didn't even remember our being invited out. At first I wondered if I had had a blackout. That can happen if you drink too much. But I was not a heavy drinker so I doubted that was the problem. Then I remembered the evening. I had worked very late at the bank that night. By the time I returned, Jean was out and a sitter was taking care of our son, Ralph. Ralph was in bed, of course. By then I had caught on to what my ghost was up to. I laughed slightly to show I understood her irony and told her she didn't have to be so sarcastic with me. I picked up my brief case, and started off for work. Once I was alone, that clammy feeling came over me. The ghost was intruding on my family life.

The ghost had more tricks up its sleeve. When Ralph was about six or so, he started to babble about having an imaginary friend. Needless to say, I subjected my little son to a long talk on the non-existence of such creatures and the importance of living with reality. How else could he grow up to be a successful man as myself? Ralph went away in tears, and Jean reminded me that it was common for children to have imaginary friends and that the best thing to do was to be tolerant and gentle about bringing Ralph out of his fantasy.

I did not learn my lesson well. One night soon after, Jean was out for a choir rehearsal. She sang in a community choir that gave two or three concerts a year. I thought I had Ralph safely in bed, but I started to hear noises, and then voices. I tip-toed up the stairs and sneaked up to Ralph's room. I opened the door, and there was that ghostly boy, the one who had haunted me all my life, menacing my son. I ran up to Ralph and grabbed him by the arm.

"He'll go away!" I promised him. "He won't come back." By then, the ghost was gone. Ralph was wide-eyed with fright. I had to comfort him, and I did. I told him over and over again that he hadn't really seen a ghost; he was just imagining things. I wasn't just saying that. I had come to believe that the ghost in my life had been imaginary and that imaginary beings were not worthy of attention. By the time I had finished explaining matters to my son, he was crying, but he understood, and I thought he was relieved. I gave him sound advice for preventing such a thing happening again, the same advice I had given myself years before, and then left him to go to sleep.

After that, things went well. The ghost seemed well under control. Then suddenly, I was winged by the shotgun of fate. To put it simply, my wife left me. She took the kid, too. I don't blame her for that. I could never have taken care of Ralph on my own. Needless to say, it turned out that my ghost had done it all. When Jean told me why she was leaving and filing for a divorce, she accused me of being Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde with a vengeance. I would be cold and unfeeling, but sober one day, and warm and cheerful but irresponsible the next. For two or three years she had tried to cover up for what I was doing during these drunken spells. Two windows I had broken during parties had been paid for out of Jean's own spending money. She had smoothed things over with her choir director when I crashed a concert and, half-way through the concert, he heard somebody singing off-key in the tenor section: me! The final straw was the night before when she came home to find me chasing Ralph and several of his friends through the house as if I were a boy myself. I was quite drunk at the time so it was no wonder I didn't remember any of it. How could I explain what I knew to Jean? The result was, I had to live my life all alone. At least I still had my job at the bank, and I was rising to the top.

The strange thing is that I did not feel that my life was empty, and yet I know now that it was. Actually, life had become as satisfying as lifting a drink to my lips only to find the glass empty. But I can see why I couldn't face the truth of my situation. It would have hurt too much. I didn't see Jean, of course. I hardly ever saw my son. The agreement was that Ralph would spend every other weekend at my house. I don't see how he could have enjoyed his visits. I was often busy with work I had taken home from the bank. There was little for Ralph to do that he liked. He hardly ever talked to me when he came. So I left him alone. Besides, a little bit of loneliness would build character. One has to learn to be self-reliant in life.

I should have asked myself why Ralph seemed willing, even eager to keep visiting me. He seemed happy. It was the same old pattern, but with a twist. On a Sunday morning, he would come down in his bathrobe and slippers and babble about what a wonderful time he and his friend had on the hike we had together the day before. I muttered approval. More ominously, he thanked me for giving the two of them their first taste of wine. He pretended to be drunk and I pretended to laugh at his childish antics.

Even stranger, it seemed that every time, after Ralph's visit, I would start to hear a stirring upstairs or in the basement while I was working. I would think it was Ralph until I remembered he wasn't there. I was imagining things again. But one day I heard the thump of footfalls coming down the steps. There was that boy again, bold as brass, coming at me!

"Where's Ralph?" he asked me. "I've been looking for him."

"You leave my boy alone!" I cried.

The ghost leaned over the bannister and peered at me as if he were imitating a stern teacher giving a child the "family look."

"You don't own Ralph," said the ghost. "Why doesn't he stay here much anymore?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Do you?"

That was too much. In spite of all my years of self-conditioning, I failed to ignore the ghostly boy. I ran up to him to give him such a hard shake he would never forget it. In my anger, I did more than that. I slapped the boy across the face. This was more punishment than I had ever inflicted even on my own son. But there was no face to hit. My hand ended up inside the ghostly presence and once again I was caught in a life and death struggle to free myself. The boy fought back as if were fighting to the death, fearing that he would die if he did not absorb me. As I fought, I felt sharp stabs of pain as I thought of Jean, and Ralph, and then people I had known earlier in life. The faces of a young couple who had been refused a loan came to haunt me. Then the faces of an older couple who had received the same treatment haunted me as well. It seemed that this boy was trying to make me suffer for everything that went wrong in the world. I wouldn't let him. I won the struggle in the end. I broke free and felt ever so much better from the relief. That I was still a lump of shaking flesh did not matter. That discomfort, too, would soon pass.

But the haunting did not stop. It just took a different, more vicious, line of attack. All this time, I had been safe from the ghost at work. But no more. One day the president questioned a loan I had approved the day before. It was made to a young couple with no credit rating. I cooly asked the name. It was not the couple I knew I had turned away. I denied having ever approved that loan. I did not know who the people were. But the president showed me my signature on the papers. There was no denying it. In the end, I apologized and promised to be more careful. Secretly, I remembered that I had stepped out of the bank for a hour to buy a birthday present for Ralph. My ghost must have taken advantage of the chance to do me in. After that, I made sure that I never left the office at any time for anything, not even lunch. I ate right at the desk and kept on working.

So life continued to pass me by. I lived for my bank and served it well. My son stopped visiting me for those weekends and, as a result, the ghost stopped looking for him at my house. I never gave the ghost a chance to wedge his way into anything. If I got invited to an office party, I went, even though I hated it. After a while, I thought I had everything in hand. I was wrong again.

Before I knew it, I received a notice of my son's high school graduation. I dutifully bought a present to send, but I didn't think to go until the last minute. In a sudden panic, it occurred to me that my ghost might appear if I did not. It was a Friday night, so I could drop everything and drive the two hundred miles to my son's school. I was late. I slipped in just as the principal was announcing a Barbara Johnson. My son had already received his diploma. That was not so bad. What did that specific moment matter anyway? What was so special about seeing Ralph take a piece of paper in his hands?

However, it turned out my whole trip was in vain. After the ceremony, I started to approach Ralph and congratulate him. But as I wove my way through the crowd to get to him, I saw the back of another man who had an arm around Ralph. I thought it might be Jean's new husband whom I had never met. But then the two turned around and it was that ghost again! He my age, but he acted like the little boy who had haunted me so mercilessly all these years. I could not bring myself round to making my presence known. I fled the school.

Ralph went on to a good college and for about two years I was safe. What I mean is, nothing happened to give new life to my fears. But then, out of the blue, I received the strangest letter from Jean. She had never written me since the divorce. She hadn't even sent me a Christmas card. That was fair enough. I hadn't either. So why did she have to disrupt the arrangement? When I opened the letter I knew. Ralph had just left school to enter treatment for drug and alcohol abuse. She did not have enough money to pay for the program that would help Ralph the most. Moreover, it was my fault he needed the treatment because I was the one who had been appearing from time to time during the past two years to take him out to a bar for an evening of drinking. My ghost had done it again! I sent the money of course. I had to face the fact that I was a sitting duck for any blackmail the ghost might try on me. The treatment seemed to do the trick. After about six months I stopped receiving the tersely worded requests for money. Ralph returned to school and graduated with honors. Needless to say, I did not risk another ghastly graduation ceremony.

Life passed me by some more. I was used to the way I was living. Nothing hurt as long as the ghost did not angle in on me. If he continued to visit my son, he was no longer able to lead him to drink. Ralph had reformed. He got married within a year of his graduation. There was an important banker's convention the same weekend, so I couldn't even consider going. I figured that my ghost would have been better company for Ralph and the bride anyway.

But a few years later, my whole life crashed. My health had been perfect for all these years, but suddenly I experienced sharp pains in my abdomen. I was put into the hospital and had to suffer an operation for cancer. Nobody came to visit me. I didn't expect it. I hadn't told anyone except my colleagues at the bank. The surgery was successful, but it did some things to me.

I remember waking up from the surgery with a terrible pain in the abdomen and a dread of the ghost coming to haunt me. I couldn't stop worrying about that. Every time I heard the soft steps of a nurse I feared that child was waltzing into the room. Because of that abiding fear, I had to do some thinking about the ghost who had ruined my life. I started to think of all the evil it had done: there were the broken windows and the way it had led my son into alcoholic dependance. It had given out that loan which I would never have considered. Then I thought again. Maybe the ghost had no head for business, but it seem it was trying to do somebody a good turn. Then I remembered the times it had visited sick people. That really scared me. It might visit me! I almost screamed when the doctor came to check up on me.

I was released from the hospital soon enough. At home, I couldn't get around the house very much. I laid myself out on the couch and spent my time catching up on the newspapers I had missed. The doorbell rang. All my fears jumped in me at the sound. I felt I was being summoned to some unmerciful judgment for being the kind of person I was. The bell rang a second time before I could answer it. I flung the door open and cowered before the ghost who was about to attack me.

"Father!"

I almost collapsed with relief. It was Ralph with his wife Mary Ann and their son Charles. Somehow, they had found me out. They had their arms full of baggage and groceries. Obviously they were going to stay a while and take care of me whether I liked it or not. I had never seen Mary Ann or Charles but I felt I knew them well. They treated me as if they had seen me many imes. I must admit, Mary Ann was a pretty woman and there was something irresistable about the smile on Charles' face. He was a cute six-year-old, or maybe he was seven. I had lost track. He ran up to me, kissed me, and thanked me for the wonderful toy dog I had sent him for Christmas. I had sent the toy, but how could this little boy presume to know his grandfather when he had never seen him before?

I led my son and his family into the living room and eased myself back on the couch. Charles jumped on me and I cried out in pain.

"Charles!" barked Ralph. "I told you your grandfather is not feeling well. You must control yourself."

"That's okay," I found myself saying when I saw the hurt and contrite look on the boy's face. "He didn't mean any harm. Just sit quietly with me."

So Charles sat next to me and put his arm around me. Only then did I start to see the ghost in his face. Once more, the ghost was starting to sink into me. This time, I was helpless. I didn't have the strength to fight it any more.

Ralph and Mary Ann sat down and spoke comforting words to me as if they were used to joking with me. I squirmed. The conversation became hopelessly sentimental. Ralph started to talk about the wonderful camping trips we had had together. He described one camp site so well I could see it in my imagination and I even felt I had even been there. He made a few gentle remarks about how I kindly I had supported him when he was taking treatment. He had been deeply moved by the way I had taken the blame for his problems. I had to pretend that I knew what he was talking about. The strange thing is, as Ralph spoke, I began to feel that I had really done the things he talked about. The memory of visiting Ralph at the treatment center and of the heart-to-heart talks we had had became my memories. Mary Ann said something about how much Charles had appreciated the time I took him to the zoo. Instantly, Charles' mouth was flapping with a report about lions and tigers and bears. I remembered each animal as Charles talked about it as if I really had been there. As he talked, Charles was shuffling through the newspaper I had left on the floor when the family had come in. When the little boy crumpled up a page and tossed it across the room, I felt that I was reliving some event from my own childhood. Mary Ann told Charles in no uncertain terms that he was not to mess up Grandfather's newspaper. Before I knew it, I found myself telling them both that there was no harm done. Perhaps newspapers were best used as toys anyway.

They dispersed for a little while, leaving me to myself.  Ralph was bringing things in from the car, Mary Ann was putting groceries away in the kitchen, and Charles was upstairs playing.  I felt a glow inside of me.  I was not the same person I had been.  I squirmed, but there was no getting round it.  I had been trapped by the ghost after all.  A flood of warmth went out to Ralph, Mary Ann and Charles as I thought of them.  I listened for the sound of the ghost chattering with my grandson, and I heard him, laughing with Chuck over something. I picked up the crumpled newspaper and found my place.  That is when I realized one of the ghost was laughing inside of me to the extent that I felt I was upstairs with my grandson.  I knew then that the ghost would never again come and haunt me.

 Proceed to Interlude the Third

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