An Alaskan ghost story
Because we are spiritual beings having a physical experience. And because Halloween.
Merchant’s Wharf is an old building constructed around the days of the Alaskan Gold Rush. It’s an old wooden building built on pilings now covered in mussels and barnacles and frequented by harbor seals and, now, a bazillion tourists off the cruise ships.
Once a hangar for float planes, it houses businesses selling ice cream and tourist curios and restaurants. One of those restaurants is the Hangar on the Wharf. It is full of replicas of small float planes and craft beer, and, apparently, ghosts.
Before it became the Hangar on the Wharf, I would come here to perform as one of the sled dogs for the Lady Lou Review, which grossed me out because the building always smelled like piss, and we weren't sure if anyone ever washed the red long johns we wore as costumes (how could they with three shows a day?) and we all shared the dog masks that literally sat in our mouths. (Did anyone wash those? Who knows?) And my knees got bruised from scurrying around like a dog for hours on the hard floor… but hey, it was a job, and a paying one, too, and I was only twelve… so anyway.
Fast forward thirty years. I’m at the Hangar killing time downtown with my mystical autistic daughter, who lives on a spiritual plane that is not of this world. And while that makes her art magical, her edges and angles don’t line up with those of school or colonial time. Anyhoo…
We’re at the Hangar, and she goes to the bathroom. I hear her singing there. And I mean, you have to hear this girl’s voice. It’s like something beyond her young years has come inside her body, and she is singing the story of the earth, of souls before her. It’s something else.
So she’s singing with a voice that belies her age, and I’m giggling and thinking I should check on her. I come into the bathroom, and there she is, singing into the mirror. I love to hear her sing so much and I’m giggling with joy, and I ask, “Is there anyone else in here with you?” Because if there is, they’re totally getting an earful right now, as there is no more space for anything other than her voice here. And did I mention the acoustics?!
But just as I ask, Is there anyone else in here with you, the door to the first stall in the bathroom bangs shut THREE TIMES.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
And guess what? No one else is in there. And there was no earthquake or other vibration that would cause that.
I feel a shiver go up my spine, but I’m not scared because obviously the spirit listening who answered me is totally entertained, as am I.
Can you spot the ghost?
This is spooky,I loved the feeling of the singing in the story. The ghost is amazing too! Does anyone else see the feline fire-cat he is calling out of the pumpkin?
What a great story!! Those old wharf boat houses are unlike anything else. The wooden floors with decades of spilled fish juice and boat motor gas. Rusty everything. Then they remodel them for the tourists but under those spackled walls are the archetypal residue of the old Alaskans that spent their lives loading, unloading, fixing, cleaning, stacking, welding, tieing, buffing, sanding, grinding. Yeah, those salty spirits are happy to hear a young girl sing!!