MRS.
KRANTZ
Most people say I imagined seeing Mrs. Krantz, then they give me a funny look when I keep insisting that I did - but what other reaction could be expected? Anyone who fervently believes that they've spoken to a ghost is usually considered a weirdo. That doesn't bother me because I know it's the gosh darn truth. Besides, everything worked out well for me in the end, so who cares? Say, am I rattling on? Let me start my story from the beginning. My
name is Melvin Moshnick. Right up to last year, I lived all my life
in the same third floor apartment in the Besonhurst section of Brooklyn,
New York. I was twenty-eight years old, so that was a long time to stay
in one place. But what the heck, the rent controlled apartment was all
mine after my parents moved to Florida, and it was conveniently close
to the bank where I had a position as a teller. Up to then, my routine
was simple; I worked, met with friends, and dated. It
was on a warm morning in June when I had my first strange encounter.
I was kind of late for my job and had gotten into the elevator when
I met Mrs. Krantz, a nice old white hair widow who had lived in my building
for many years. She
gave me a pleasant smile. “Hello, Melvin, how very nice to see you again.”
Suddenly she looked upset. “Oh sweets, you didn't shut off the gas on
your stove after making your breakfast. Better go back and do it right
away. You never can tell what might happen.” How
she knew that I hadn't shut off the gas, puzzled me. I thanked her and
pressed the button to return to my floor as she briskly exited into
the main lobby. A moment later it suddenly dawned on me that Mrs. Krantz
had died a year ago! * * *
I'll
bet you think I was frightened - actually, not at all. I rationalized
that somehow I had conjured up this grandmother-like figure to remind
me of my forgetfulness. The incident was totally dismissed, but a month
later I saw Mrs. Krantz again in the morning. She was sitting on a folding
seat next to the entrance of the apartment building as I came outside.
The ghost was solid in form, and her voice was loud and strong. “Melvin, why don't you have gates put on the windows where your fire-escape is? Someone could easily break inside and rob you.”
“Yeah, I'll do that,” I answered, anxious to leave.
As I crossed the street, Mrs. Krantz screamed out, “Melvin, Pay attention and look where you are going!”
I had crossed against the light and didn't see a fast-moving car heading straight at me. I jumped back and missed being hit. If not for Mrs. Krantz's warning, I would have been a goner.”
Later
that evening while still away, someone did break into my apartment.
Luckily, nothing of too much value was stolen. The following day gates
were put on the fire-escape windows. I began believing that for some inexplicable reason, I had communicated with a benevolent spirit who was watching over me - sort of like a fairy godmother. When I told my friends about it, they laughed and called me a cuckoo, warning me to cut down on the booze.
That comment annoyed me. I didn't need a ghost telling me whom to date. But like it or not, Mrs. Mrs.
Krantz was correct. A week later, Dolores dumped me after meeting her
former boyfriend and making up with him. From then on, I kept bumping into the specter day after day. She began giving me all kinds of advice: “Melvin, you should go on a die t - you're getting a bit heavy.”
“Melvin, why aren't you wearing a jacket, it's chilly today, want to catch a cold?” “Melvin, you should . . . ” On
and on she went. The entire situation was beginning to upset me. I resenting this ghost, who was constantly advising me like some naive child. Finally, when I felt that I couldn't handle the situation any longer, I decided to move out of my apartment and get away from her clutches. One of the last times that I saw her was in the laundry room when I was washing out some clothes.
“Why don't you move to Staten Island, Melvin? There are some nice condominiums near Highland Boulevard.”
Of
course she was right on the mark. I found a lovely garden apartment
in that location and moved in within the month. About
a week after settling in, I met Phyllis, a cute brunette with a super
fine figure. She was getting out of her car in the parking lot and had
dropped her keys. I picked them up and handed it back to her. We began
talking and really hit it off, so I invited to take her for dinner.
Our relationship quickly intensified. Only eight months later we became
engaged. A few days before the wedding I was in my fiance's apartment helping her pack. We had just purchased a lovely new house in Long Island. Margie was in the kitchen when I spotted her family album on top of a carton. I took a break and skimmed through it. The poor woman came running in when I let out a loud moan.
“Is
something wrong, dear?” she asked, seeing my agitated state. I
excitedly pointed to a photo in the album. “That's, that's Mrs. Krantz!”
“Why,
yes. Mildred Krantz was my maternal grandmother. Unfortunately, she
died last year from a sudden heart attack. Did you know her, Melvin?”
All
I could do was keep nodding my head over and over again like some total
idiot.
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