• Keith A. Kenel is an aging cyclist, amateur actor, failing triathlete, prolific poet, terrible singer and ponderer of ideas large and small.

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Tag Archives: Ghosts

Something Wonderful

29 Wednesday Aug 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Poetry

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Fears, Ghosts, Queen Mab, Regrets, Three a.m.

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Wondering where I’m going,
seems drifting’s what I do best;
rise early in the morning
after insufficient rest.
Wide awake at three a.m.
I’ve abandoned good Queen Mab,
wish I could go on sleeping
but my mind won’t let sleep stay.

Drowning in word flow torrent
that assaults my tired brain
my psyche is defenseless
‘gainst word river that’s my bane.
All my sins of omission
taunt for what I have not done,
drown in sea of inaction,
my regrets boldly blazoned.

Soul searing is the regret
over things I just let slide.
It’s not evil that I’ve done
that makes my soul toxified.
It’s the heft of inertia,
weight from which cannot break free,
ton of pain from might have beens
that torments at hour three.

I need a single candle
to illuminate dark night.
Weight of eternal nightfall
is a darkness I can’t fight.
Three a.m. is witching hour,
it comes not at midnight’s strike!
Midnight finds me fast asleep
dreaming I’ll doze till daylight.

I’ll capture thoughts and feelings
with my hand that slowly writes
remorse sea’s got me won’dring
if I’ll drown in tears tonight.
I’m battered, sad and lonely
in my palace opulent,
I’ve more gifts than I deserve
for a life sadly misspent.

Sunrises in an hour,
know I’ll hold out till the dawn,
long for something wonderful
but feel mostly woebegone.
Wondering where I’m going,
seems drifting’s what I do best;
rise early in the morning
after insufficient rest.

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Vanishing Point: Nineteen of 101

27 Tuesday Mar 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Ghosts, Harper Mann, Interlachen Elementary, Stacie Shannon, Suzann Layher

PART NINETEEN

Despite the increasing mystery swirling around Caleb, the enigmatic specter from the playground, Stacie’s interaction with Jim Lance had returned her spirits to their pre-run-in with Marti Kohnen level. “Serotonin, anyone?” she asked herself with a self-deprecating smile, rounding the corner and entering Interlachen’s main office.

With Stacie’s arrival, Suzann looked up from her desk and held up her left index finger. Just before winter break the coffee colored woman had rhapsodized about her upcoming trip to Kingstown, Jamaica where she’d spend a week with her eldest child and two granddaughters. “Granddaughters?!” Stacie had blurted without thinking, “I had you pegged for thirty, max!”

“Oh! You flatter me,” Suzann had responded, her usually muted Caribbean Island accent bubbling to the surface. “I have a daughter about your age and two lovely grandbabies. I’ll be half a century come winter.”

Even though she now knew better, Stacie still had a hard time reconciling the sleek, toned Jamaican born woman’s apparent age with the actual age of Interlachen school’s secretary.

“Okay, Leigh Ann,” Suzann said into the telephone, “thanks for checking in. No, no, don’t worry about a thing, the sub did just fine. Get well and maybe we’ll see you on Monday. Okay. Bye-bye,” she said into the phone before hanging up.

Looking up to Stacie, Suzann smiled and said, “That was Leigh Ann. Poor thing. She’s awfully concerned about missing these last few days of school. And what’s up with you, Miss Shannon?” she asked, broadening her smile.

“Is she doing okay?” Stacie asked.

“Oh, I think so. Doctor tells her she should be able to come back to work next week but she’s just not sure if that’ll be Monday or not. I told her that we’ve got things covered and that she needs to relax and recuperate but sometimes it’s hard to release the reins. What brings you to the office late on a Friday afternoon? I’d have figured you’d be heading out for the weekend.”

“Oh, right!” Stacie chuckled, “You know me, Miss Party-hearty. I’ll probably paint the town red tonight. Uh, why I stopped though is that stranger incident on the playground at this afternoon’s recess? I just needed to get some info from you.”

Suzann’s easy-going levity was swept away, and her brows narrowed in concern. “Oh? Everything okay? Did one of your students say something?”

“Well, yes. Skylar Kisor did. She said something that was a bit disturbing that I feel like I need to follow up on.”

“Disturbing?” Suzann asked, rising from her desk and moving closer to Stacie. “Is this something we should bring Doctor Mann in on?”

“Well, no. I mean, I don’t think so. At least not yet. Uh, let me tell you what I know and then we can bother her if you think that’s warranted.”

“Oh, Stacie,” Suzann said, her voice filed with conviction and compassion, “don’t ever feel like you’re bothering Harper with goings on here at school. She’s busy, but safety of students and staff is her top concern. So, what did Skylar say? Did the stranger approach her?”

“Not that she mentioned. She said that she and Sara Kohnen were playing together, and they noticed the man. Jim Lance said the stranger’s name is Caleb?”

“That’s what he told Jim, but of course Jim didn’t ID him. Oh, hang on,” Suzann added, checking a notepad on her desk. “Yeah. Caleb Heald. That’s the name he gave Jim.”

“Right. Jim was pretty sure he remembered Caleb but couldn’t come up with the man’s last name. Anyway, the strange thing is that Skylar was sure that the stranger is her father. Her dead father? And the freaky part is that her father’s name was Caleb as well.”

“You’re kidding,” Suzann answered, mouth pursed, brows nearly touching, and head tilted both downward and to the side. “That is odd on a lot of levels but let’s concentrate on the name thing. Skylar Kisor told you that her father’s name is Caleb Heald?”

“No, not quite. She said that her father’s, her deceased father’s, name was Caleb Morse. Caleb Ezra Morse to be quite specific. She also said that she and her mother went back to Karla’s maiden name of Kisor after Caleb’s passing. She was pretty upset, and I promised her I’d look into it and get back to her so that’s what I’m doing. What do you think? Is this something we need to confab with Dr. Mann on?”

Suzann exhaled sharply, raised and lowered her eyebrows quickly, smiled and shook her head. “Well, strange as it is, don’t you think we should at least fill her in on what we know just so we can watch her reaction?” she asked with a wink of punctuation.

Vanishing Point: Thirteen of 101

21 Wednesday Mar 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Ghosts, Interlachen Elementary, Karla Kisor, Louise Henagar, Shawn Ewell, Skylar Kisor, Stacie Shannon, Wildcat Warren

PART THIRTEEN

With the departure of the bused students, control of releasing the third-graders reverted to Miss Shannon, MS Ewell and Mrs. Henagar, all of whom stood just inside their doorways and called on individual students to be dismissed. “Rob, John, Nancy and Nikki?” Miss Shannon asked, “You may head down to the Wildcat Warren for after school.” The students stood and began to make their way toward the exit when Stacie added, “And be sure to walk. Nikki and Rob? I want to hear good things from MS Deidra tomorrow!”

John elbowed Rob in the arm in response to the teacher’s admonition to his friend and Nikki answered, “Okay, Miss Shannon. We will,” as the quartet exited toward the school’s gymnasium.

Stacie stepped across her room’s threshold and called to Shawn Ewell. “Shawn? Skylar mentioned that there was a man roaming around the front of the school during today’s recess; is that true?”

Shawn diverted her attention from her students and asked, “Pardon? Oh! Yes. There was a man out at the playground fence. I called up to the office while Jim went over and spoke to him. Why? Do you know who it was?”

“Oh, no. Or at least, not so far as I know. Skylar has this idea that the man is her father.”

“Really? She did speak to me about him just as recess was ending but she didn’t mention that to me. Is there a, I mean, does he have parental rights? I’ve only seen Skylar here with her mother, uh, Karla, right? Does her father live with them?”

“Well, that’s exactly what I asked, but Skylar’s answer was very odd,” Stacie looked over her shoulder and checked on her students before stepping across the hallway and speaking quietly to Shawn. In a very subdued voice she added, “Skylar said that her father has been dead for quite some time now and when I pointed out that the man must just look like her father she insisted that, logic or not, he actually was her father. I promised her I’d follow up.”

Shawn tilted her head and looked at the young teacher from the corner of her eyes, “Stacie, honestly! Follow up? On nonsense? Every year a small minority of students take up a majority of a teacher’s time and Skylar Kisor certainly falls into that category for you. Goodness. What are you going to do? Hold a séance? I suppose you should follow up with Suzann, as ridiculous as the whole thing obviously is.”

“Yes, I was going to. Speak with Suzann that is. I’m sure Jim got the man’s name?”

“I’m sure Jim asked the man’s name,” Shawn replied acidly, “whether the man told the truth or not is another story.”

“Did he mention the man’s name to you?”

“Yes? I think so. It was right at the end of recess and once the man left I was concentrating on herding children. Something with a K? Or maybe a C? Caleb maybe? I don’t know for sure. I’d ask Jim or Suzann, I’m sure Suzann made an incident report.”

Stacie’s eyes got big and her face grew pale in response to Shawn’s announcement. “Stacie?” Shawn asked, sincere concern in her voice, “Are you alright? You look like the devil’s chasing you!”

“I, I don’t know for sure. If not the devil, then maybe a ghost. Let me talk to Jim and Suzann and I’ll fill you in on what I learn, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Better get back to your class; dismissal waits for no one, either living or dead.”

Vanishing Point: Eleven of 101

19 Monday Mar 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Caleb Ezra Morse, Ghosts, Interlachen Elementary, Sara Kohnen, Skylar Kisor, Stacie Shannon

PART ELEVEN

     “I’m sorry, Skylar,” Miss Shannon said quietly. “I didn’t realize that your father was dead; that must be very difficult for you and your mother. So, when you say you saw him, you must mean that you saw someone who looked just like him?”

     Skylar shook her head. “No’m. That’s what I thought at first, but he looked so much like my daddy that I think he really is him.”

     “I see,” the girl’s teacher said gently, nodding her head three times slowly. “And how would you explain that? Seeing your father on the playground even though he’s passed?”

     “I don’t have a explanation, I just know that the man I saw had to be my daddy.”

     “Sometimes we see people that remind us of others. I’ve had it happen to me lots of times. Did anyone else see this man?” Miss Shannon asked.

    “Well, yeah. Sara did. And so did MS Ewell and Mr. Lance. Mr. Lance was talking to him and when I asked MS Ewell if she knew who he was she said she didn’t and told us to go line up and the more I think about it the more I think it was my daddy.”

     “Mr. Lance spoke to this man? Where was this exactly?”

     “Just outside the fence. Me’n Sara was over playing foursquare.”

     “Honey, I know it must be hard moving as much as you and your mother do and that you must miss your daddy terribly but if he’s dead it just couldn’t have been him; right?”

     “Well, I’m not stupid. I know that if he’s dead he can’t be out walking around by the playground, but I know what I saw. You can ask Mr. Lance who it was. Him and MS Ewell were on the walkie-talkies talking about him.”

     “And how would you know that?” she asked gently. “That they were talking about this man who looked so much like your father? Were you standing so closely that you could hear them?”

     “No’m. But I saw them looking at him and then whispering to each other and then I saw MS Ewell looking at my daddy and talking on the walkie-talkie and then Mr. Lance did the same thing after he talked to Daddy.”

     “I see. Well, that is very strange, and from what you’ve told me I’m sure it couldn’t have been your father, but I’ll be happy to talk to Shawn and Jim about it later. And I’ll ask Mrs. Layher as well. If there was a stranger lurking around the playground during recess I’m sure they were letting Suzann know about the situation.

     “Listen, honey, I know it’s hard, but can we try to just put it on hold for now and get back to work? I promise I’ll follow up later but for now we have work to do.”

     “You promise?”

     “I do. I absolutely will.”

     “Okay. Thanks, Miss Shannon. I know you’ll do it if you say so.”

     “I will. Oh! And what’s your father’s name?”

     “Caleb. His name is Caleb.”

     “Okay, let me just write that down. ‘Caleb Kisor.’ Got it.”

     “Oh, no’m. My daddy’s last name is Morse. My mama and me went back to being Kisors after Daddy died. Daddy’s name is Caleb Ezra Morse.”

Vanishing Point: Ten of 101

18 Sunday Mar 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Florida, Ghosts, Interlachen Elementary, Jim Lance, Sara Kohnen, Shawn Ewell, Skylar Kisor, Stacie Shannon

PART TEN

The girls had barely begun to play when Mr. Lance blew his piercing, hundred plus decibel, Fox referee whistle long and hard. Skylar startled visibly at the sound and Sara grabbed the red-rubber-ball that the pair had been bouncing back and forth in a lackluster, lackadaisical, anemic two-person pantomime of Four Square. “Come on,” Sara commanded her friend as she started walking to the shaded area where the ball crate rested. “We’d better take our ball back to MS Ewell or she’ll ball us out for sure.”

MS Ewell took the ball from Sara in a perfunctory way, her mouth twisted in a sneer that was likely intended to be a smile, and nodded to the girls in a silent, dismissive gesture.

“MS Ewell?” Skylar asked.

Startled from her silent staring MS Ewell minutely shook her head before taking her eyes from the distance and looking down at the young girls in front of her. “Yes?” she asked quietly before remembering to be gruff and demanding, “Yes? What is it, girls. You need to go line up.”

“Yes’m,” Skylar acknowledged. “It’s just that man you’re staring at looks right familiar to me an I saw Mr. Lance go over and speak to him. Can you tell me who he is?”

MS Ewell flared her nostrils, tilted her head to the side, squared herself toward the children and stated, “No, I’m sure I couldn’t. Now please go line up. Recess is over.”

“Yes’um. It’s just that-”

MS Ewell did not find out to what Skylar’s, “It’s just that-” referred as she interrupted the girl with the command, “It’s just that it’s time to go line up. Now!” she punctuated her dictate with a pointy fingered, arm fully extended, gesticulation toward the space where Miss Shannon’s class was queuing.

For a single second Skylar stood, mouth agape, until Sara grabbed her friend’s shirt sleeve and tugged on it. “Come on,” she whispered forcefully, her eyebrows rising as she jerked her head in the direction of the line where her class was gathering. “Let’s line up.”

The girls entered the queue and stood silently. Mr. Lance’s regimented release of each class from the playground was predicated on still and quiet students standing in straight lines. Skylar and Sara knew this but frequently caused their class to reenter the building last but seeing the man that markedly reminded Skylar of her deceased father made her immotile with melancholy. The gym teacher looked down the dozen columns of sweating students, moved to the front of the Miss Shannon’s room’s line and said, “Miss Shannon’s class is dismissed.”

Entering the building, the children found Miss Shannon standing just inside the entryway, her arms hanging loosely, her hands gently enfolding one another and her face wearing a small yet sincere Mona-Lisa esque smile. She nodded to Monika at the front of the line and waited for her class to pass before following in their wake. As they neared a water fountain Miss Shannon said, “Monika? Stop at the water fountain please. Anyone who would like a drink, now’s the time to get one. Everyone else, you may continue into the classroom.”

Less than a quarter of the class waited for water at the fountain. Though the fountain cooled the water it still held the omnipresent, unpleasant mineral taste shared by central Florida’s municipal water supply. Miss Shannon followed her class to her room but waited just outside the door where she was able to monitor both groups. Most of the children in the classroom pulled bottled water from their desks and sipped on that while the children who either forgot or could not afford bottled water took varying amounts of semi-refreshing H2O from the tap. Sara, who had bottled water at her desk, took a small sip while Skylar, who did not, took a long pull on the unpleasant, though potable, potation.

Once finished the children walked to the classroom where Miss Shannon greeted each with an inviting smile. Sara smiled back, entered the room and took her seat. Skylar stopped at the door way and said, “You know what, Miss Shannon? I think I saw my daddy outside by the playground.”

Miss Shannon tilted her head to the side and said. “Your father? I don’t believe I’ve ever met your father before; just your mom. Does he live with you?”

“Oh, no’m. My Daddy’s dead.”

Vanishing Point: Nine of 101

17 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Ghosts, Interlachen Elementary, Jim Lance, Sara Kohnen, Shawn Ewell, Skylar Kisor, Suazann Layher

PART NINE

By the time the girls got to MS Ewell she was having a whispered discussion with Mr. Lance. “Well, he could just be out for a walk,” she said to the gym teacher. Pulling a walkie-talkie from the hip-bag playground monitors carried she added, “Why don’t I talk to Suzann up in the office while you casually walk over in that direction?”

Mr. Lance bit his lower lip, nodded and said, “Yeah. I think I will. I’m sure it’s nothing but I don’t like strangers hanging out by the school. Especially during recess. And he is smoking on school property. I’ll be back,” he added.

Skylar and Sara waited until the two teachers were through talking before Sara asked, “MS Ewell?”

MS Ewell held up her spindly finger and declared, “One minute.

“Suzann?” the fifty-something, ultra-thin Latina with jet black dyed hair said into her walkie-talkie, “We have an adult male just outside the school fence. Jim is waking over to investigate.”

After a short pause Suzann Layher’s voice cackled back over the walkie-talkie. “Ten-four, Shawn. I’ll keep my eye on them. Have Jim buzz me back when he’s through please.”

“Will do, Suzann. Out,” MS Ewell declared into the walkie-talkie before redirecting her attention to Sara and asking. “And what did you want, Sara?”

“Just a foursquare ball please, ma’am.”

“You mean a red-rubber ball? Fine,” she said grabbing a ball while watching the stranger and Mr. Lance conversing by the fence. “Just be sure to bring it back when recess is done.”

“Yes, ma’am,” both girls intoned. Sara started to walk away but Skylar remained rooted at MS Ewell feet staring at the two men by the perimeter three-foot-tall chain link fence. MS Ewell, noticing that the girl was still there demanded, “Is there something else you need, Skylar?”

“Uhm, no. Uhm, I mean, no’m. Thank you, MS Ewell.”

MS Ewell looked down her nose at the girl, wrinkled her brow and shook her head before returning her attention to the approaching Mr. Lance. Skylar walked a few feet away and bent to tie her shoe as Sara rejoined her friend a few feet from where the two teachers stood in powwow. “Are we going to play?” Sara asked. “Recess doesn’t last very long.”

Skylar shot her friend a furtive glance, pantomimed shushing and ticked her head in the direction of the two teachers. MS Ewell looked at the girls, tilted her head and demanded, “Is there anything else, girls?”

“No’m,” Skylar said, standing up and brushing off the knee that had been in contact with the ground. “Thank you.”

Sara strode to an empty four-square grid and turned quizzically toward her friend who lagged yards behind. “Skylar! What are you doing? Recess is almost over.”

Skylar shuffled slowly to Sara, her head pivoting between her direction of travel and the whispering MS Ewell and Mr. Lance. “You sees that man over by the fence that MS Ewell and Mr. Lance keeps looking at?”

Sara glanced at the stocky, brown haired, brown eyed, late twenties-aged man standing just outside the playground’s perimeter fence. “Uh-huh,” she responded with gravelly voice, head tilted to the side in impatience.

“Well, he looks exactly like my daddy.”

“Oh. So?” Sara asked.

“I mean I’d swear he is my daddy. Except my daddy’s dead.”

Specter

20 Monday Nov 2017

Posted by keithakenel in Poetry

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Banshee, Ghosts, Gossip, Nanny, Phantasm, Poltergeist, Specter, The Beatles- Bathroom Window

Came in through spare bedroom window,
foul specter borne upon chill air.
Did not heed warning to bar it;
left window raised, without a care.

Numerous were those who warned me,
whispered cautions ’bout ghostly life,
I’d just smiled in condescension,
refused to give in to such tripe.

“Flat For Rent,” the sign had proclaimed,
two bedroom need the space could fill.
Landlord showed top floor apartment
and it precisely filled the bill.

Lovely main and galley kitchen,
spacious master and small spare room,
stunning view from sweeping balcony:
No doubt flat would be swept up soon.

Luxuriously appointed,
feared price would be beyond our means.
Rent required on the low side,
a space lifted from my daydreams.

‘Fore you can say, “Bob’s your uncle,”
moved in with toddler son and wife.
Seemed we’d found sweetest perfection;
seemed we were living a charmed life.

Not too long ‘fore neighbors spoke up
filled our heads with tale of sorrow.
Tale about a former tenant
who to death had jumped far below.

“She still haunts the space around here,”
heard from our neighbors left and right,
“You can feel her spectral visage
Trying to enter in the night.”

Paid no heed to silly gossip,
paid no heed to warnings dire.
Loved to sleep with windows open,
felt secure as we retired.

Wished we’d listened to the warnings
or that I’d found a different space,
because at the stroke of midnight
apparition entered our place.

Poltergeist commenced to pounding,
she made a racket slamming doors,
loved to swirl about apartment,
her favorite room was our boudoir.

For three nights she terrorized us
but on the fourth night, don’t you see,
damn ghost stopped her terrorizing
and spoke to our whole family.

“I’ve heard the idle gossip
proclaiming dashed out my own life,
and I’m bloody here to tell ya
that gossip’s tale of a fishwife.

“Any fool who says I jumped
is merely spreading filthy lies,
it was in service to ‘nother
that I fell to my demise.”

Turns out banshee was an angel,
a spirit who longed just to live
and that most maligned phantasm
entered our home looking to give.

Now the specter is our nanny,
throughout the night watches our son,
she’s content, and oh so willing,
if he’s in need to us she runs.

What an unexpected blessing
to rent a flat with live in help;
we’ve acquired mirage nanny,
spirit who helps with our fine whelp.

Came in through spare bedroom window,
specter who helps with child care.
Did not heed warning to bar it;
ghost is a heaven sent au pair.

Too Good 23

17 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by keithakenel in Fiction

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Casualty of War, Desert Shield, Dojo, Gabrielle, Ghosts, Memorial Day, Momentary Muscle Exhaustian, Tae Kwon Do

The heavy bag in the spare room was beckoning and Gabrielle was anxious to heed its call. After disconnecting with her erstwhile lover she returned to the bedroom she shared with her husband, listened to his breathing, ensured he was still sleeping, closed their bedroom door and then after returning to the spare room cum martial arts dojo closed that door as well. “Whole lot of door closing going on around here,” she said, slipping on her tae kwon do mitts. “What have you got to say to that big brother?” she asked as she jab, jab, jabbed and then roundhouse kicked the bag. “I could use some help down here,” she sobbed as she moved on to the speed bag.

“You know, it was tough enough losing you and then Mom and Dad divorced, I literally fuck things up with Adriel and Bruce and now it looks like I’ll be on my own down here pretty soon.” She alternated between the two bags and then demanded, “Any words of wisdom big bro?”

Pulling off the mitts she moved on to the pull-up bar and did six quick pull-ups, fell to the ground and did fifty pushups before collapsing to catch her breath. Sixty seconds later she did dips to momentary muscle exhaustion and after recovering from that punishment fell to the mat and worked her core with both straight line and oblique crunches and various exercises to strengthen her lower back. Bathed in sweat she relaxed by stretching all of her major muscle groups and then repeated the sets.

“Well, thanks for listening. You always were the strong silent type, weren’t you? Your grave seemed well maintained when I came out in May. Of course we both know that they put those flags out just to please us once a year visitors. Don’t worry! I’ll come see you on your birthday, just like always. Love you, Bill. I gotta’ get another shower. Goodnight.”

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