The Haunted Traveler Vol. 1 Issue 1

18
Kay squirmed a bit and said, “Certainly, aspects of the supernatural
have yet to be defined.”
By the time I finished chewing and swallowing my Swiss
cheese, I realized Bruce waited for my input. He wasn’t about
to let anyone “go along for the ride.” I felt he noticed my immediate
response to his opening comment.
He pushed me a bit more when he asked, “What do you
think about it, Jeff? Are we or are we not haunted?”
I detected a challenge in his tone. Perhaps it was there because
Annette was there. Brown nosing or ass kissing, as it was
called many years ago, was still very much part of academia’s
political scene. Bridge College was no exception. Besides, at
that time I did not have a PhD, the requisite union card to be
an acknowledged academic, though I had been teaching at
the college for fifteen years and for all of that time, except the
last two years, in the English Department. Now, much like
a specter myself, I floated. Attached to no particular department,
I teach an assortment of odd courses that fall under
the aegis of Multidiscipline Studies.
My hesitation irritated Bruce to the point where he asked
the same question in a slightly different form. “Well, what’s
your opinion, Jeff? Are we or are we not haunted?”
I glanced at Annette, who was now munching on a carrot,
before I asked, “How do you define ‘being haunted?’” I was
still looking at Annette when I spoke. Because I did not possess
the requisite union card, a PhD, my answer would lack
the proper intellectual provenance.
Bruce answered with, “Haunted as being haunted by
ghosts, spirits and the like.”
I laughed. “Aren’t we all?” And before he could answer, I
said, “Annette has a Mayflower ancestor. Howland, I think
his name was. And I have–” I let that hang in the air and
watched her face go from its naturally palled color to something
resembling a blush. Not full red, but pink. As if she
couldn’t stoke up the necessary fire to match whatever emotion
she felt.