Things That Go Bump…On The Head | The Beachside Resident

By Judy Forney

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A few years and a couple of states ago, I went through a scrap-booking phase.

You see, at the time, all our family pictures were thrown willy-nilly into a box. They needed to be organized and I was the gal for the job.

Now, I wasn’t looking to put together anything too cute. No pinking shears, glitter, or multi-hued gel markers for this girl. I wanted something more utilitarian. I figured I’d buy four or five big, cheap, chunky photo albums, and divide our cardboard housed mess of memories between them; you know, baby books, vacation books, holiday books, that kind of thing.

I spent one entire weekend sorting, labeling, and…going mad over the enormity of the task. So much so that on Sunday, I heaped all the snapshots back in their cubbies. What can I say? It was a short-lived phase; only slightly longer than the one in which I decided strapping on skates and “blading” around the neighborhood would be fun. That phase ended the day it began, with me on my butt in the road, and my darling children all pointing and laughing.

Anyway, as a failed “scrapper” I am condemned to forever lug around a pile of Polaroids. Right now they’re stacked on the top shelf in the den closet. At least they were until the other day, when I slid the closet door open, and — BOO! I was bopped on the head by a big ‘ole blast from the past!

I think I screamed. I know I plopped down — hard — in the doorway. I recall shaking my head to clear my bumped brain. Then I noticed the ghosts. They were scattered all over the carpet in living color. Each one was about 3 x 5 inches and howling for my attention. I picked one up, and…laughed out loud.

There were the Forney Boys at the beach; probably Ocean Shores, Washington. Two 10-year olds and a 7-year old caught, forever in time, building a fort of wet sand, driftwood, and what looked to be soggy pieces of a smashed Styrofoam cooler. All three are having a great time and grinning for the camera. I remembered that later the same day all three kids got in a fight. The youngest ran off and hid in the dunes, scaring the other two half to death until they found him and wished him dead, too. It’s true what they say: Boys will be boys, but brothers are lethal. The apparition made me feel slightly old, and a little sad, but I had to smile at it.

As I sat there, another phantom wavered into view and I made a grab for it. Oh my God! Look at my husband! What’s that on his head? Why, it’s hair! He’s got tons of it and every strand dark in color! And is that me? Why am I wearing so much eye gunk, and every lash so dark in color? I look like someone straight out of Oz. And I don’t mean Glenda the Good. What was I thinking? All I know is that after this engagement photo ran in the local paper, I ran screeching to a salon to get my face “done.” No way did I want a witchy wedding portrait. Looking at the frightening vision, I also remembered telling my then future husband that if he ever lost his beautiful and bountiful hair, I’d divorce him. That may have been a tad shallow of me. Of course we’re still married, but not for his follicular retention. He’s got other…ah…talents that keep me happy.

I got up then to get a glass of chardonnay. Spirits require spirits, I always say. And I’m glad I have that philosophy, because after I sat back down, the little goblins kept jumping out at me. They splashed in first baths and blew out candles. One pedaled a tricycle, another rode a bike. Others strummed guitars or banged on drums. They paraded in birthday suits, Halloween costumes, and graduation caps. An especially spooky creature kept changing the color of his curls. He went from blonde to blue to green to pink. His message, whispered across the portals of time, seemed to be that sometimes teenagers are weird. I whispered back that I agreed, but that what he didn’t know then, I do now: That particular strange one went from bad to worse to…a young man to be proud of.

Talking to spooks? Sure! I must have sat there for a couple of hours conversing with them, and I felt grateful for the random haunting. I hope this year you’ll be lucky too, and run into a few personal gremlins from the past. When you do, let them go bump in your night. Believe me, it’s really not a bad kind of magic to have memory ghosts fluttering around inside your heart. I’d suggest though, that you don’t let them bash you up side the head.

Happy Halloween!