The Ghost of Mr. McNabb

Every once in a while, we will hear a strange noise or a door will open or slam shut all by itself. Invariably, if some one asks, 'What was that?' Chris or I will say, 'That was just Mr. McNabb.

Our house was built by Mr. and Mrs. McNabb in 1940. They raised two daughters in the house. Mr. McNabb worked in concrete, and we benefit from many of his clever creations, including a cement couch and porch swing hung from a drain pipe pillared shelter in the back yard.

Mr. McNabb was a smoker and an alcoholic. In the later years, the Mr. and Mrs. didn't get along very well. The two had separate rooms. The ceiling of his was yellowed from the cigarette smoke, and burn marks were on the hardwood floor where his cigarettes would drop when he would doze off into a drunken slumber.

The story goes that one evening, Mr. McNabb had a heart attack in the bathroom. Mrs. McNabb called the next door neighbor to come help. When the neighbor came over, Mr. McNabb was already dead and cold. Our neighbor was under the impression that Mrs. waited to be sure Mr. was dead before she called for help.

I am just thankful that it was Mr. McNabb that died in the house and not the Mrs. I have the feeling she is what drove him to drink. She must have been one of those grumpy nit-pickers. She wouldn't allow kids to play in her yard, and once called the cops on a boy who's basketball accidentally ended up in her shrub.

I am almost sad to say that every door slam we've experienced can be attributed to air pressure and every strange noise to mice or regular house settlings. I think Mr. McNabb would have liked us.