Strange and Beautiful ...Part 3

What do you do when your house is invaded by a spirit who is after your precious treasures?

Since my monitoring system was no help, I decided to stay awake and catch the phantom.

But best laid plans often go astray and by midnight, I had dozed off several times—each time jerking awake with a start.

Fortunately, I could see nothing had altered the placement of the articles in the glass display case.

I was tempted abandon my plan and go to bed, but knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep for fear my treasures would be tampered with or stolen.

I heard the grandfather clock softly chiming in the hallway and just as it chimed three, I saw a dim figure in the room.

The French doors had been closed and I had no idea how the person gained entry, but nevertheless, the figure was standing before the glass display case, intently peering in.

I was about to flick on my flashlight when my blood froze.

There, standing before me, outlined in moonlight, was an Egyptian woman.

The room filled with the perfume of Susinum—the fragrance of lily, myrrh and cinnamon.


The ghostly lady was dressed in a light, linen sheath dress.

The rectangular cloth had been folded and sewn down one side to form a tube that extended from her ankles to just below the bust. It was held up by two straps wide enough to barely cover her naked breasts.

The moonlight silvered her skin and highlighted the sheen of her black hair.

I got out of my chair and approached her. She was about to reach toward the vitrine but my shoe stubbed against the coffee table, causing her to turn and stare directly at me.

I could see the Kohl eyeliner and her painted lips. Her eyes widened as she gazed at me. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

Suddenly, I inhaled the fragrance of sun and sand, of rose petals and rain. A deep longing filled me as I looked into her dark, silent eyes.

I felt my soul was a bird fled into the dark recesses of a wood.

We were drawn to each other—I to her beauty and she to my devotion to her treasures, I suppose.

I felt a tender compassion flow from her to me and then, she dissolved into a dark mist.

The next thing I remember is waking, curled up on the rug on the floor of my front room.

When I checked the alarms, there was no video evidence—no alarms triggered—no physical trace she had been there. But I saw her.

Who she was, I don’t know.

I often spend nights now staying up and watching the moonlight and the widow square slowly travel round the room. It’s peaceful in the nighttime, in the dark.

There’s not enough reality—not enough actuality. The frontier between life and art blurs.

I wonder if she were ever real or where the world is hiding her.

I stare at my vitrine, my window into the past. Is that the portal through which she came?

I used to think Egyptian ladies were two-dimensional figures in cartoon colors painted on a wall.

Now, I know they are sensual and alive with the scents of the Nile and the desert and the loneliness of moonlight. They are lovely and fragrant and their gaze torments the soul.

Jerrod’s stopped asking about my women and I’m relieved he has.

How could I explain the longing for moonlight or the endless passion of dreams?

I’m sitting up nights hoping to inhale the fragrance of myrrh and to look into the dark silence of eyes.

Her face comes back to haunt me.

Sometimes the longing becomes unbearable—at nights at 3 a.m.

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved.

Photo: https://goo.gl/images/xZxP6k