The House

I never would have purchased the house if I’d known that it was haunted. Haunted yes, but not in the traditional way, with the ghost of a jilted lover or a murder victim lurking in the halls outside my bedroom. This house is haunted with old actors and actresses acting out their most famous roles.

The first day I woke up in my new home, I put my housecoat and slippers on and descended to the kitchen to prepare some breakfast. You can imagine my surprise, when seated at the table were James Cagney and a blonde actress who’s name escapes me. They were playing out the scene in The Public Enemy where Cagney takes the grapefruit he is eating and promptly rubs her face with it. I stood in the doorway dumbfounded, but just couldn’t contain a chuckle. That scene always did make me laugh.

I headed to the sink and put on a pot of coffee. When I turned around Cagney and the blonde were gone, replaced with Marlon Brando and Vivien Leigh acting out a scene from A Streetcar Named Desire. I sat down with my coffee, juice and toast and watched the two of them go at it. I suddenly felt an urge for popcorn. This was crazy, why were these people hanging out in my house?

I went back upstairs and showered, walking into my bedroom just as Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton started in on each other, in a scene from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf? If I had to have ghosts, couldn’t they at least be from MGM musicals instead of dramas.

I seemed to be able to determine the movie genre, because when I dressed for work and descended to the first floor, I was almost knocked over by Gene Kelly, Debbie Reynolds and Donald O’Connor singing and dancing to “Good Morning” from Singing in the Rain. Well, this was an improvement over the drama. I picked up an umbrella, just in case, and headed out into the morning air.

It all started to make sense now. No wonder the previous owner had been in a hurry to sell the place. Probably wasn’t a movie buff. I passed away the hours at work, wondering what would greet me when I returned that evening. MGM musicals were a favourite but so were all those romantic movies. I tried to put it out of my mind and returned to the work at hand.

It was a long day and I was glad to see it end. I stopped at the local grocery store to pick up a few things and then wearily walked up the steps to the front door of my house. I turned the key in the lock and gingerly opened the door. No dancers in the hall, I guess they were out having dinner or maybe rehearsing their lines. I hung up my trench coat and placed the umbrella back in the stand. I turned in the direction of the hall to the kitchen and almost walked into Errol Flynn. My, he was a good looking man! He walked right through me into the arms of Olivia De Havilland. Ah, yes, it must be Robin Hood and Maid Marian. I continued to the kitchen and started preparing myself some dinner. I was jolted back to reality by the sound of moaning. I turned to find Sir Laurence Olivier with his head bent down crying. He looked inconsolable and I stopped for a moment stumped. Then Merle Oberon walked into the room in a fancy ball gown and I knew where we were. It was Catherine and Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights. I sat down, mixing spoon in hand to watch their performance and almost burned my dinner. This was getting out of control!

For weeks this went on, every night another performance, every night a surprise or two before I could get to sleep. How long would this go on for? Would we eventually run out of movie titles? Would I ever get a peaceful night’s sleep without worrying about who I might find in my bathroom in the morning?

Today had been a terrible day. Work was crazy and then to top it off I locked my keys in the car just as it started to pour. By the time I got home, I was in no mood for movies, of any genre. Thankfully, I was able to make and eat my dinner in blissful silence. After washing the dishes, I decided that a quiet evening reading in bed was just what I needed to get past this day. I changed into my pyjamas and slipped into bed. No sign of actors or actresses of any stripe. Fine by me, I was feeling worn out by all the drama.

I awoke with a start to find Harpo Marx sitting on my bed, honking his incessant horn. Not the Marx Brothers! Sure enough Groucho, Chico and Zeppo were not far behind and soon my bed looked like a scene from A Night at the Opera when all of them crammed into an ocean liner stateroom and then started ordering room service. That was it, the last straw; I screamed out “Uncle” and pulled the bedcovers over my head.

That’s why tomorrow I’m setting it on fire.