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“Sorry, I didn’t know. When did she pass?”
“When I was away at school.”
“That’s something else we have in common. You’re an orphan like me.” My parents and grandmother sprinted through my memories. Then the rocking chair came to mind. “But even after people die, I believe traces of them linger.”
“What do you mean?” As he pushed open the door, he caught my gaze.
“I think their personalities attach themselves to their personal effects…” Struggling to put my thoughts into words, I recalled items in my parents’ home after their car accident—a cigarette waiting to be lit…a toothbrush waiting by the sink. “It’s as if objects hang in suspended animation until their next use.”
“Not following.” Squinting, he shook his head.
“That’s only part of it…” I pressed my knuckles to my lips, thinking. “I believe the more a person uses an object, the more that object absorbs their essence. Or maybe, the more a person uses an object, the more of themselves rubs off on it. I’m not sure which transmits or receives—the person or the object.”
“Are you saying objects become more than just things?”
“Kind of…for instance, the scent of a person’s cologne lingers on their clothes. Chair cushions and bed mattresses sag from their indentations. Carpets get threadbare. Shirt cuffs fray. You get the idea. Objects are affected by a person’s use. But I’m not sure which is the actor, and which is acted upon. Does the cloth on a shirt cuff wear off, or does it fray from being worn?”
“Both. You wear it, and it wears out.” He set Rosie’s bag on the bar. “But let’s continue this conversation over breakfast before the tacos get cold.”
“Good idea.” I set the puppy on the floor, poured two cups of coffee, and joined him at the counter.
He felt his bundled taco as he unwrapped it. “Lukewarm.” His eyes twinkled as he passed the sack of tacos, then opened the salsa.
“Rosie brought enough for four people.” Grinning, I inhaled the spicy scents. “But I don’t think we’ll have any trouble finishing. I’m starved.” I unwrapped a taco marked Egg and Sausage and bit into the tortilla’s fluffy yellow filling with bits of chorizo. “Delicious.”
“But what were you were saying before I interrupted you?” Slathering salsa on his taco, he nodded as if encouraging me to continue.
“We mentioned how objects are affected by use, but what about emotions?”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated to share my ideas before thinking them through. “If materials can absorb scents like cologne or smoke, why can’t they absorb emotions?”
“How?” His face widened in a cynical grin. “By osmosis?”
“I’m serious. What if strong emotions like fear or despair cling to objects?”
“Give me an example.”
“The rocker, for instance. Marianna sat in that chair, rocking her baby every moment of its short life.” I glanced at Teddy. “Like a dog shedding fur, what if she was so heartbroken when the baby died that she radiated that grief, and the rocker absorbed it? Then when something activated it, the chair discharged that energy…as vibrations.”
“Are you suggesting the chair moved of its own volition?”
“Something triggered the movement, and I don’t believe it was air flow.”
“You watched the air currents set it in motion. You felt the force. It’s simple physics.” Shrugging, he lifted his palms in the air. “How can you say it’s metaphysical?”
“I just told you.” Frustrated at not making my point, I smothered a sigh.
“All right, for a moment, let’s assume you’re right—that the chair’s haunted.”
“I didn’t say it was haunted.”
“Okay, then let’s assume it has paranormal properties. If that’s the case, why didn’t I notice anything strange when I stayed in the cabin? For that matter, why hasn’t anyone else noticed anything odd in a hundred and twenty years?” Arms crossed, he sat back, challenging me.
“I don’t know.” At a loss for answers, I pulled my knees together, shrinking. “For some reason, maybe I’m sensitive to it.”
“Have you ever experienced any paranormal activity before?”
