Handling this house of spirits

Spirits are not for me. I see you nodding your head knowing what this wino prefers, but I’m not talking hard tack.

I’m talking real spirits; the see-through kind that can walk through doors and go bump in the night. I’m talking ghosts – and I have one in my home. Roll your eyes all you want: I’ve seen him.

The first time I glimpsed him he walked from my room into Daughter’s. Wondering what Son was doing in her room I went to look – only her door was closed.

Daughter saw him slouched in a lounge chair and stopped to greet whom she thought was Brother – only it wasn’t. He simply disappeared. We’re used to ghosts in our House of Spirits.

When we moved in we had a little girl playing peeka-boo who only really got upset with nonbelievers by spinning whatever is close to them frantically. She’s moved on with some help, but I know she wouldn’t have hurt a fly. Not this one. He’s black – and getting blacker by the day.

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And naughtier, flicking off switches in broad daylight, throwing around the balsa wood cat that has, for years, been silently standing in a corner, never moving. But, wait for it, Son got a hearty slap on the back. Hard. He lost his balance. That’s when I decided it’s him, or us. He must go.

And that’s when I learnt what many cynics believe. They’ll question the existence of a higher power, but with spirits they don’t argue. I got holy water from an agnostic – I kid you not – an evil eye to wear from an atheist, herbal recipes and even a bag filled with dill “to wear over your heart”.

I’ll stick to my usual, thank you. I know the drill and it works for me. We’re throwing out everything – and I mean everything – that’s been standing around belonging to some far-off family member who died a year ago.

Swap a chair and a couch to change the energy and then my Weapon of Vaporisation: good old mpepi. I’ve already rolled my tight little bundle of mainly sage, ready to smudge every room.

“Remember to chant while you’re doing it,” my Mother Earth friend reminds me. No chanting needed, thanks. I’m smoking him out.