The Ghost Repellent Bags

The task of going through our parents’ (mostly Mom’s) collection of old photos and memorabilia somehow fell on me. Among the many treasures in their stuff was something Mom had written — a manuscript about events that took place, I’m guessing, around 1968 (based on the ages of the “two boys”, the youngest of us four). My recollection is that this was about the time she decided to start college. Though Mom was valedictorian of her high school class, she insisted on raising her family before embarking on her college career.

I’ve taken the liberty of transcribing her manuscript so that it might be saved and shared. The heading suggests she may have submitted it for publication. I have no idea if it was published or not. Interestingly, she chose to use a pen name for the manuscript — Caroline Cashion — her middle and maiden names. It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

In three weeks the two boys were going to visit Uncle Joe. He did like boys and teasing them had always been one of his pastimes. He had to get his supplies ready for the boys’ visit. He had popcorn and a popper, new and old movies with a movie projector and screen, cots in the garage for sleeping, and an idea for a unique treat.

The boys, six and ten, finally came to visit. After dinner Uncle Joe told them he had a very special treat. “As soon as it’s dark,” he said, “we’re going to the cemetery. I have three ghost repellent bags and I want to see if they work.”

The bags were handmade, three-inch squares of red and green satin (red on one side, green on the other). In the middle of one side was a small bead. The bead was the secret. It had to be kept away from the body in order to completely scare the ghosts away. If you don’t think this is hard, try walking and keeping a small bead out in front of you.

John, the six-year-old, said, “I’ve never been to a real cemetery before. What can we do there, Uncle Joe?”

“We can sit quietly there, John, or we can roam around to read what’s written on the tombstones,” Uncle Joe reasoned.

Jim chimed in, “Sounds like a great idea to me.”

John was uneasy about the adventure and wanted to know, “Why do we need ghost repellent bags? Are there real ghosts there?”

Uncle Joe answered slowly, “Welllllll, there weren’t any the last time I was there. I don’t think there will be anybody except the three of us. The three of us will be moving around but nobody else will be doing anything.”

“I’ve heard lots of guys talk about playing around in the cemetery before,” Jim interjects. “I’ve always wanted to do it. Let’s leave John here if he’s scared, Uncle Joe.”

John piped up, “I didn’t say I was scared, did I?”

“Sure sounds like it to me,” Jim retorted.

“I just wonder if we couldn’t do something else tonight and try the cemetery trip when it’s daytime. Besides, I don’t have a sweater to wear.”

Uncle Joe offered John an oversized sweater of his, but John refused it. He had his doubts about this so-called treat that Uncle Joe had planned. He found himself wishing that his mother wouldn’t let him go, but she had already said it was okay with her.

Jim, the big, brave ten-year-old, kept insisting, “Let’s go right now so we can stay a long time. I don’t think we even need the ole ghost repellent bags.”

“Oh, yes, we need those, Jim. If Uncle Joe did all the work to make them, we ought to use them,” John answered.

Uncle Joe couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Yes, Jim, we do need the bags — just in case we see anything unusual there. And, John, we’ll come home whenever you say the word. Let’s at least walk over there and see if you don’t think it’s fun.”

Couldn’t we see a movie tonight and have popcorn?” John reasoned. This was his final offer for an alternative to the cemetery trip. How he hoped it would work.

Jim and Uncle Joe wouldn’t back down and John reluctantly agreed,” Okay, I’ll go, but we won’t stay very long ’cause I don’t want to get cold. Where’s my ghost repellent bag, Uncle Joe?” John thought to himself, “I can’t act scared if Jim and Uncle Joe are such brave men.”

The walk to the cemetery was fun, but slow. Chatting about boy things is always fun and Uncle Joe was himself a 60-year-old boy. The three sauntered along casually.

“Jim, did your big brothers ever tell you about their pet rabbit that died?” Uncle Joe questioned.

“Nope, sure didn’t Uncle Joe. Where did they bury him?”

“Oh, he was buried at their Grampa’s garden. They put him in an old shoe box and took a shovel to dig the grave. They had some pretty yellow flowers to put on the grave, too, and we sang, “Onward, Christian Soldiers. I guess that’s the first time they had seen anything die. Have you seen anything die, John?”

John awoke from his trance, “Jim shot a bird once with a slingshot, but he didn’t mean to. Jim and I cried when we knew the bird was dead.”

“I didn’t either, John. Who would cry over a sparrow? I just told Dad I didn’t mean to shoot it, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I have a good aim with my slingshot.”

“We buried it, though,” John replied, “down deep so the dogs wouldn’t dig it up. Is there a bathroom anywhere, Uncle Joe?”

Uncle Joe had forgotten about six-year-olds and their fear-bathroom syndrome. They walked three blocks out of the way for John to make his stop, at a gas station.

Back on the path again, John asked Uncle Joe, “Are we sleeping in the garage tonight? If I get cold, could I go in the house and sleep?”

“I don’t know, John, the house may be locked when we get home, and I didn’t bring my house key.”

“Where can I get a drink of water if I wake up thirsty, then?” John wondered.

“We can drink from the garden hose.” It’s all the same water,” Uncle Joe explained.

All the talk about water made Jim incurably thirsty. He couldn’t wait until they were back home before getting a drink. There was a water fountain back at the gas station which had the bathroom. Oh well, another three blocks out of the way didn’t matter. The boys didn’t seem overly anxious to reach the cemetery anyway. It took 45 minutes to get there.

Once the three got to the cemetery, the tone became serious. “Ghost repellent bags in place, men?” Uncle Joe shouted as they walked through the big black iron gate at the cemetery entrance.

Once inside the gate John forgot his fears and Jim found the cemetery as much fun as he’d heard. The beads on the bags were obviously about face as the three wandered over every inch of the cemetery. As they wandered about, they tripped over numerous tombstones. They had flashlights but didn’t want to use them needlessly. They had to be sure that the bags worked, and if they warned the ghosts with light, they couldn’t be completely sure of the effectiveness of the bags.

Conversation was scarce in the cemetery. Walking and watching in every direction required concentration. The decision not to talk was unanimous without being stated.

After about an hour, Jim thought he saw a big shadow moving behind a large gravestone. “Was it Uncle Joe?” he wondered. “Nope, it’s too big to be Uncle Joe,” he decided. “Who is it then — a caretaker? But why is he behind the tombstone? He’d have a flashlight if he were a caretaker, I think. Where’s John? Where’s Uncle Joe? Where’s my ghost repellent bag. Is the bead in front of me?”

John saw the same shadow and stopped right where he was. He knew it had to be Uncle Joe playing games and he would just sit and wait for him to say it was time to go home. He wouldn’t fall for any more of Uncle Joe’s t ricks. There was nothing to be afraid of in the cemetery. He didn’t know why he hadn’t wanted to come when it was first mentioned. He’d do this again any time. Tomorrow night even, if the other two guys wanted to.

If the boys had only known that Uncle Joe, too, saw the same big shadow, they might not have been so brave. Uncle Joe thought that Jim and John were teaming up to scare him and he sat quietly, too. As soon as the shadow disappeared, Uncle Joe announced that it was time to go home and have an ice cream cone. He didn’t ask the boys if they were playing tricks, and they didn’t ask him either. Firmly convinced that the bags were effective, the three started back toward Uncle Joe’s house. All three kept their beads facing front. No point in being careless now.

The trip home took only 20 minutes. When the three walked into Uncle Joe’s house, all their faces looked very pale. They all gave the same reason: “The walk from the cemetery was long, and tiring.” None of them mentioned the mysterious shadow they had seen.

The local paper had headlines about a robbery the next day. Two older men had robbed a small restaurant safe and had hidden in the local cemetery for two and a half hours before their capture. The two thieves had guns. They wouldn’t have needed to use weapons on Joe, Jim, and John. All they would have needed was a simple “BOO!”

THE END