Jimmy – A True Ghost Story

When I first moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, I lived in one of the three old stage coach depots located here. The two others were owned by Burl Ives and the French Consulate, respectively.  I can’t speak for those, but I can tell you about my experiences in the one where I lived.

I lived there for five years and it was totally charming. It had been designated as a guest house on the property, next to the main house. It was built with grey native stone and it looked like a painting by Currier and Ives. The perfect Santa Fe retreat, right? Or, anywhere, for that matter!

But a ‘caretaker’ came along with the place, although I did not know that until after I moved in.

The first fine morning at 4:00 a.m. he announced his presence, although I would soon learn that his appearances were anything but rare. This particular morning, I noticed that the lamp in the living room was flickering a bit. As I had been traveling extensively, I was on Australian time and, fortunately, felt quite alert at 4:00 a.m.

I, promptly, began to investigate. Wondering about the condition of the electrical current, since the house was such an old structure. I turned on other lights to see if they would also flicker. They didn’t, so I checked the relatively new lamp.

Jiggling it, shaking it and using various, and assorted other manipulations, to make it flicker, didn’t do the trick. Hmmm, I thought. Is this possibly an otherworldly entity? I was soon to find out that, indeed, it was not of this dimension, when for several consecutive mornings at the same time, 4:00 a.m., the same lamp would flicker a few times.

Finally, I introduced myself, and the lamp flickered! The lamp was in the front window next to my wingback chair. And, then, I was having a conversation with my chair. It went something like this, “Well, you seem quite benevolent, but what are you doing here?”  The lamp flickered again. Although I could feel a presence, I had no fear. So, I became bolder. I asked, “Do you live here?”  Again the lamp flickered. Finally, in exasperation, I said “Well, for now I guess you can stay, but you eventually need to move on. Oh, and don’t bring any of your friends here.”

If the dead can’t rest in peace, how on Earth can the living? ~ Cheri Revai

I later determined, as is so often the case, that this soul had no clue that he had left his physical vessel decades earlier, and had remained in spirit to take care of the place as he had done when he was alive.

I didn’t know his name at the time.  However, I was soon to learn that an elderly lady had owned and lived in the main house on the property. It had at one time been a grocery store, like an old-fashioned convenience store, and had also housed the local post office, liquor store and gas station. Her grandson had lived in the old stage coach depot which had been turned into the charming guest house.

While I lived there, he came and went as he pleased. The owner of the property had encountered him on numerous occasions, as well as the housekeeper, and the gardener. Sometimes he was spotted while appearing to walk through doors ‘in the flesh’.  Other times, he would open windows or turn on the irrigation system when it was pouring rain. A few times, I woke up to find him staring at me from a few feet away. Standing up looking at me in a cocky way – wearing his cowboy hat, jeans, starched shirt and western boots with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops!

Since I had grown used to his presence, it was not a big deal.  However, when it came to guests that were visiting, it was something else entirely. He especially loved to ‘haunt’ them with his mischief. For example, he would make sounds like ‘crumpling papers’ in the bathroom adjoining the guest room – in the middle of the night. One guest, who had initially come to visit for several days, was gone when I woke up the next morning. Until then, he had been a very close, long term friend. Yet, I haven’t heard from him again to this day!

An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself ~ Charles Dickens

Still, no one knew exactly who this ‘caretaker’ was, much less his name. That is, until one fine day when I called a handyman to fix the back yard gate lock. His name was Ben. When he arrived he stated, “Oh, I used to spend a lot of time here. I would come here to pick Jimmy up on our way to town on Saturday nights. He would sneak a fifth of whiskey from his grandmother’s store shelf on our way out. Yeah, Jimmy was such a lady’s man.  I would go along just to watch him show off for the ladies.  Then, I brought him home one Saturday night, after one of our night’s out on the town, and he was fine when I left. When I woke up the next morning, I was greeted with a phone call to tell me that Jimmy had put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. He had committed suicide, during the night, after I had dropped him off at home here. In fact, they found him right there where your wing back chair is now.”

I haven’t lived there for decades now. The place has been sold to new owners. However, I feel confident that Jimmy has stayed on as the ‘caretaker’ for a place that is no longer in need of his care. I hope that, although this often happens when someone passes in a violent manner, someday he will be able to move on to the dimension where he belongs, and will no longer be stuck in-between.

And, sometimes, I actually miss Jimmy and his mischievous antics.