“Remember Me.” (Short Story).

“How long has it been abandoned?” I has asked the question slowly as I took a general quick look about the three or four acres of what had once been an old Catholic School. He noted the fact the entire property was fenced in but he doubted it was part of the original design. My over-all impression was that it was a run down piece of property that had been seen better days and looked the run down place that it was. It looked very forgotten was my final opinion.

The other fellow seemed to think about his question, “Been about ten years actually.” The Realtor replied with an unsmiling face. “It’s just been sitting here for ten years and no one wants to buy this property.”

“Why?” I had expected the usual answer; too expensive?

The man grunted as he puffed a bit on his cigar, “Well, ghosts mostly. It use to be a Catholic School; grades from kindergarten to twelth if I remember correctly. It wasn’t a very big school but it served it’s purpose….” He looked about the small three or so acres of property, “There was a church building but it, well, burned down….”

“Burned down?” I responded as anyone would, “Ghosts as well?” I had to ask some obvious questions sometimes as I was the one buying the property for another possible buyer. The other buyers were a local church that was looking for a bigger peice of property to start a new church and they wanted enough room to create a school as well. It was an odd arrangment in the process of buying the property but this was my reason for being at the abandoned property. “What about ghosts?” I have no strong opinion on the subject really?

“ya, twenty-odd years ago there was a suicide. A young girl killed herself in the chapel over there…” He pointed with the cigar lighting the way, “Since then odd things had or may still be happening mostly in the chapel. Students and teachers claimed to start seeing or feeling watched or cold spots or just the feeling of unease mostly in the chapel…” He puffed a bit on the cigar, “Mostly they claimed to see her ghost in that chapel….or use to?”

“I don’t really believe in ghosts.” Thought the look of the property that was fenced in had the look of one that could be. But ghosts? I was not a strong believer in the supernatural and mostly because I simply wasn’t that interested. I simply didn’t believe in such things as haunted places let alone in the actual idea of ghosts. Did I mentioned the playground and the swing yet that I was trying to pay no attention to. It was a light cool breeze for sure but that swing was slightly swaying back and forth just a little too much. It was just a swing and doing what swings are suppose to do and that is swing. But generally as a rule there are people in the swing to make the swaying it was doing. I simply tried to ignore it and rationalize it’s movements.

The pudgy realtor slowly headed toward the chapel, “It’s locked, but I have a key. Though some vandals got in last month and, well, as you can see the whole property is fenced in so they must have really wanted to get into that chapel for some reason. I guess they had intended to burn it all down but didn’t get that far…”

I held up a hand, “Why would they want to burn it down?” I did want to slightly laugh but behind me I could hear the very low sound of that damn swing moving back and forth. I was surprised that the realtor hadn’t noticed it’s movements as we started passing the playground once we entered the locked property.

“It’s bothering you isn’t it?” He looked at me as we continued to walk toward the chapel.

“What’s bothering me?”

The smile came and went, “The swing. People are always commenting on that rusty swing as it never seems to be not moving.” He puffed again on the cigar; it smelled terrible. “I’ve shown this property to others and they all comment on the swing….how it sways back and forth with as little as we are having now….as if someone was just lightly sitting there watching…”

Not liking where the conversation was going of course, “It’s just the wind.” Yes, I know, it was a nervous response but the fellow was getting on my nerves with his calm demeanor about ghosts and swings. “Doesn’t take much sometimes for wind to move things…”

“Yes, of course, the wind.” He continued to smile at my tone, “Yes, let’s first see inside the chapel…”

I tried to joke, “Yes, ghosts and all.” I wasn’t sure why he that should be the first place we were to look into but I followed.

“If the the swings stops we will know she knows we are here.” He said in a low tone, “Maybe she’ll like us and not drive out the vandels as she did with those three lads you when they were found looked as if they had indeed seen a ghost…a very unhappy ghost.”

Humoring the man, “A very protective ghost I suppose.” I could still hear the swing lightly moving back and forth. A part of me wanted to turn around and scream to stop moving! Just stop moving but I didn’t of course. I confess it doesn’t take much to bother me, I’ve been told I am too high strung for the present job. Little things bug me and a swinging swing with no one on it was a sure fire way to upset my nerves.

Olson puffed again on the cigar before responding, “Yes, she does have that history. They claimed everything was fine until, well, they started causing damage…” He seemed to looked about the grounds without turning his head, “It’s the same story with some of them…”

I looked at him puzzled and a little in disbelief, “Same story?”

He chuckled lightly, “Yes, somewhat same story. They entered the property via whatever part of the fence they cut or climbed over. I’ve thought of putting a dog on gaurd but I don’t think the dog would enjoy it…”

I wanted to say something but remained silent.

“….I have a feeling the dog would eventually become friends with the ghost and then, well, I don’t need a doberman controlled by a ghost…” Grunting, “Sounds like a bad King story if you ask me, but anyway. They claim that at first nothing happens…though his story, “Room 1408.” is fairly good…”

“No wind pushing a swing?”

The slight gruff smile came and went, “Oh, they noticed it, they couldn’t help but notice the swing moving back and forth. But being young kids they did what all kids do, laugh, make jokes and pretend it’s funny or a joke somehow. But they saw it as clear as you are seeing it.”

Again I said very little except to agree with him it was slighly moving because of the breeze.

“Well, breeze or not, Mr. Thompson, they chose to ignore her warning. The swinging is a warning that she is aware they are there…she at least warns people she is aware of them before deciding what to do about their trespassing on her property…

“Her property?” I for some reason looked back at the playground briefly, “How is it her property?”

Olson stopped suddenly, “Look, she’s here, she’s been here since she killed herself, she’s been haunting this school and now this property and those who tresspase on her property are closely watched. She didn’t like the kids who came that day to burn down her chapel…” He seemed troubled by something, “The swing has stopped.”

I of course turned around and it was very still; too still? “Okay, it’s not moving.” I wasn’t impressed and I made sure he noted my tone of not being impressed, “It’s just less breezy, Mr. Olson…” I

“Sure, sure.”

I wasn’t going to admit a very obvious fact, I was getting the impression of being watched? Yes, I can admit it to myself that something odd was happening as we stood there taking note of an empty playground and a swing sitting very still; too still as if someone was sitting there watching? I didn’t like the feeling but to admit to it to the man puffing away and with that look of the knowing the obvious wasn’t going to happen.

Olson pointed toward the chapel, “Shall we look into the center of the haunting the chapel?”

“It’s still standing despite the attempt to burn it down by those kids…” I noted as we slowly headed toward the center of the two very faded and weather-worn buildings that were once the classrooms with the chapel sitting in the center of it all. As we walked toward the chapel I took in a better idea of the landscape of the two three story buildings with the small chapel in the middle. At the far end was what I assumed were the church or school offices; also looking very weather-worn and I’m surprised hadn’t collapsed. Behind us the playground still sat now in very loud silence from a swing no longer moving. The over-all property did have the look of age and no longer being used and oddly enough, no signs of vandalism?

“I’ve noticed something…”

He laughed under his breath, “Yes, no sign of vandalism, yes, I know. As I said, Hannah protects her property…”

“Hannah, her name is Hannah?”

“Hannah, if my memory is correct it was Hannah Madison. I do believe that was her last name. It’s been a while, but Hannah is her first name.” He coughed a bit, “I really need to stop smoking these things, but hey, you don’t live forever….well, as a living person anyway. But she was a pretty girl of course but something drove her to such a drastic action…hangng herself and all in the chapel.”

“How do you know she was pretty?”

Without a thought, “They usually are.” He puffed again, “And besides that was what those kids said she looked like…” He looked about, “It’s odd how quiet this property is. Have you heard any noise….other than the swing, but no birds, not even a stray cat is on the property.” Under his breath, “I guess Hannah doesn’t approve of cats, maybe?”

“I wasn’t paying that close attention. What about the kids?”

“Well, they got to the chapel and broke in and that was the wrong thing to do. I think she wouldn’t care if you walked about but to violently enter her last place she was alive is not allowed.” He seemed lost in thought as he slowed his pace, “They entered bent on destruction and they didn’t get too far. They claim it started the moment they entered the chapel…”

“Okay.” I agreed to be polite.

“They claimed she was standing at the poduim staring at them with such a look….her eyes they kept saying, her eyes were all wrong they kept saying….rage was one word they used. They said the door wouldn’t open and the chapel became terribly cold…”

“Well, it does get cold in Minnesota.”

Grunting a smile, “It was July at the time and these dummies decided to do this during the day.”

“Okay, Okay, it got cold in the chapel and they thought they saw a ghost.”

Shaking his head with a look at the chapel and back at me, “They had frostbite, Mr. Thompson. They were suffering from frostbite…they almost froze to death in the middle of July in the chapel.”

I had to laugh at his story as we approached the stairs that lead up to the chapel door, half-heartedly I asked a dumb question, “Any other ghosts I need to worry aout?”

He took the question in stride or indifference, “Other ghosts?” He also looked at me puzzled by the question, “No, not really,” He seemed to be trying to avoid stepping on the first step, “Hannah seems to be the only one around here. After all she was as far as I know or remember is the only person to have died on the property. But she was a sad suicide like all of them.”

Had to ask, “How old was she?” I ignored his comment about the suicide of Hannah. I also noted the chill in the air but then again it was late September so a slight chill would be normal. I refused to take any of his story seriously; too many holes in his story to do so. Ghosts were for other people and I wasn’t all that concerned that the property was really haunted except by memories. Yes, the place looked the type of place that would be haunted but what place doesn’t when neglected for so long.

He slowly answered my question after briefly thinking about it, “Hannah, um, I believe she was seventeen, I think. Not really sure on that part of the story. Some people say she was nineteen…” He looked about the property, “It was a pretty place when it was up and running as a church and school. A happy place back then…”

“You sound like you were here at that time.” I asked.

He again grunted, “Yes, but long before Hannah’s time here.” It was obvious he wasn’t being completely honest in the statement but I decided to not press the issue.

I noted also he was avoiding being too close to the stairs that lead up to the chapel, “Do they know why she killed herself?”

Olson seemed again lost in thought before answering, he spoke with a moody tone, “No one knows, She simply killed herself in the little attic in the chapel. Hung herself from one of the roof beams…it took a while to find her.” There was a sadness in his voice that almost seemed to want to shake, “Poor kid, hung herself up there all alone. Something drove her to it.”

“And no one asked why?” It made no sense to me, “A young girl kills herself and no answers are found why?”

He puffed again on the smelly cigar, “I’m sure someone did but it was never discovered the why of the suicide. She simply climbed up into the attic and hung herself and left no note that I am aware…not a note was found.” He backed up a bit away from the chapel, “It’s her sacred place I think. She simply haunts this property, mostly of course the chapel.” He looked up at the chapel, “It’s in good shape considering how the other buildings look.” He returned to looking at me, “No, I think she is the only ghost that haunts this place…it’s all hers.”

I questioned one of his statements, “She left nothing as to why? Nothing?”

He gave me a look of some kind of understanding before answering, “Well, there is a story that there was something written but it wasn’t a note. It was written on the window,” Pointing at the lone window where the attic sat, “The words are gone but it was written on that window, no one knows who put it there…maybe her some people said…there are many stories of what people found when they finally located the poor girl. But most of the stories always state there was no suicide note.”

I was insistant on an answer, “What about the wrtting on the window?”

Olson seemed to grow even more moody, “I’m beginning to wonder why you are really here, Mr. Thompson. Been wondering it for a bit now.” He studied me slowly as he puffed some more on that smelly cigar; it never seemed to grow smaller that thing just worse in smell. “You do seem to be quit interested in the chapel more so than the rest of the property.”

I’m calm, “I’m interested in the property as I. But yes, I’ve heard the stories of this property.” I returned to my question much to his moody stare, “What was said on the window?”

“Why do want to know so badly, Mr. Thompson?” He glared back a bit, “Are you really here to buy this property or what is up?” He puffed again rather agressively, “I’m the caretaker of this property and I demand to know why you’re so interested in this property?”

I of course knew I couldn’t keep up the act too long even as I write this brief interraction I knew it wouldn’t last long. I decided on a new tact, “Why are you do afraid to be close to the stairs?” I probably knew the answer but I was asking to get him to srop with his questions. It wasn’t his business why I was really there. So, why was I really there?

“I’m respecting her wishes.” It was a blunt answer.

“The ghost again?” Over the years I have learned to read people fairly well. I also know when to lie even to myself to make sure my true motives aren’t guessed.

“Yes, Hannah, doesn’t seem to care where I go unless it’s near her, well, last place she was alive…”

“Doesn’t mind that cigar you puff on so agressively, I would think the smell you annoy her…”

“One would think that, but I also don’t leave the stubs lying about…”

As he talked and explained himself and looking about the grounds I heard the sound behind me; it was a faint sound but I could hear it. I would have smiled briefly but that would have generated questions I had no intention on answering; not could I?. It was a soft melody that I recognized.

“Look, why are you really here?” Olson demanded again. “Who are you?”

The piano played on from inside the chapel, “What did the message say on the window?”

He grunted again and stared at me as if I were disturbing him with my questions, “Look here, I demand you tell me who you are and why you want to know.”

Before answering I looked about the landscape of the old school and could still see things as they were before the place had been abandoned and haunted by Hannah. I decided as I looked and remembered the property as I rememebered it and tried to not show I knew more than I was saying; sometimes that is easier said than done. I briefly noted the very soft playing of a piano behind me; she could always play so well. There I said it and admit it, I knew her!

I smiled at the him, “What did she write on the window pane?” Behind me the music suddenly stopped with a strange sound I didn’t or couldn’t recognize; a sigh maybe? But the piano’s voice was quiet and the silence seemed to be very cold as if she finally realized who I was. Yes, you know who I am but I was still demanding my question to be answered. Why? Why was that so important to me of late? It’s true that lately I have been feeling a strange drawing of some reason to return to the old school and church I had attended. It’s true lately that I seemed to always be returning to this place and reacting as I did seemed also strange. Nothing lately seemed to make sense; and I noted that I always seemed never to be able to feel not cold.

He studied me before answering, “If I remember correctly she simpy wrote or someone did, ‘Remember Me.’ It was all it said…” He puffed again on the cigar with some private thoughts, “There’s some reason you’re here, um, Mr. Thompson, if that is really your name…”

I rolled the words outloud, “Remember me.” Yes, yes, and I did.

More to myself than to Olson, “I did remember her, I never stopped remembering her, how could she think I would forget her…” I looked away at the chapel and smiled and took notice of the old chapel and it did look as I remembered it? Slowly, more to myself of course, “How could she think I would forget…” The air of course seemed to cool and a slight breeze kicked up, it was getting cloudy as well. Strange that the other fellow didn’t seem to notice this or why he wasn’t reacting to most of what I was saying as expected. Very Strange.

“Who are you?”

“Is the chapel unlocked?”

Annoyed of course as his questions were being ignored, “It’s usually locked, but then she unlocks it….” He again seemed to be trying to stay as far away from the chapel as he could get, “It’s her chapel, I don’t enter it.”

I could see he had more questions but was refraining from asking, but he asked one, “So, are you really here to buy this property?”

All I could feel was the cold; it has been like that for a few weeks now. But then the strange need or drive or was it need to return to my old school I ran away from so long ago? Though to be honest it does seem longer than I think it was or is that just me? “It’s cold today…” Not sure why I said it but I felt I had to say something.

“It’s always cold here, Mr. Thompson, it’s always cold.” The tone was different; strangely different as if repeating something, “It’s been cold for a while hasn’t it.”

I turned around and faced the man who seemed amused by something; the sudden change of personality jolted me a bit. Even the smile seemed to jolt me a bit.

“What do you mean?” I noted that he was studying me with a caring look, it was a joting look of a face strangely different than the gruff one I had been talking to.

Olson seemed to again understand the situation better than I did, “It’s that the ghosts of this place either just walk about and others, well, they keep repeating themselves…” He stared at me with a pleasant look; the cigar smoke still waffting in the light cold breeze.

“Again with the ghosts?”

He camly folded his arm, “You’ve been hearing the piano music having you from inside the chapel?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s a soft melody, a strange melody of someone feeling lost.”

His odd behavior was putting me off and certainly the last few weeks have been off but this was getting unpleasantly off. “Why don’t you go into the chapel?”

“Well, as I said, it’s her chapel.” He seemed again lost in a thought before continuing, “You haven’t answered my question, why are you really here? Why are you so interested in what she wrote on the window pane?”

I simply turned around and started my journey up the stairs; the piano music softly, sadly coming from inside the chapel. I knew it was pointless to explain all the questions he was probably thinking. But to be polite I commented as I slowly headed toward the door I hadn’t seen in a long time. “She left the writing on the window pane for me to find and I did.” I stopped at the top of the stairs and felt his questioning eyes staring at me, “She thought I had left her, she panicked, she reacted and well, she climbed up to the attic and well, hung herself…” I still heard the melody from inside the chapel; always soft and full of young girls emotions. “I was late, such a cliche but it was true, work held me over longer than usual…but I was late….she simply panicked and thought the worse…I, well, she was quite gone when I showed up…finally showed up.”

The fellow behind me was either very confused or not buying it. Did I care about what he was thinking anymore? I probably didn’t care but just being polite?

“The thing is, I should have done something other than running away, I was also young and stupid…” I looked briefly back at the man who stared back with a look? What was that look? Understanding? Confussion? Both? I didn’t feel the need to ask. Maybe I knew the answers to his expressions long before he did. I returned to the door of the chapel. “I remember finally noticing the message on the window pane, I thought about erasing it but I lost the nerve and maybe it was a sense of guilt. I remember screaming at her hanging lifeless form that she should have waited. I said I would be back! I cursed her and then I felt the panic really get in. What if they thought I had killed her or something; the mind of a young man in full stupid panic mode…twenty years is a long time to be afraid of her ghost…”

The gruff voice came from behind me, “Ah, so you do believe in ghosts.”

I sensed I was either being mocked or laughed at. I reached for the door handle and stood there a bit, “I ran away, I remember glancing back at the writing and feeling a terrible lonely dread over come me….she had written it for me to find.” I closed my eyes and pushed the door open, I spoke up as I entered the chapel and felt the sound of the music and her voice saying hello, “It’s me, Hannah…”I did remember you…”