Today, I had to use another bathroom because the one I usually use has a clogged toilet; and I remembered that, many years ago, the witchdoctor told us never to use the door to that bathroom because it is a doorway to the spirit world. My sister was having a little ghost problem and she suspected one was in love with her: She once took a photo of herself and a ghost-like figure was clearly clinging to her. That bathroom had two doors (two rooms share it) and I could have gone to the other room to use that door, but I know we live in Euclidean space, and that door could not have been a portal to anything else apart from the only unclogged toilet that I had access to. Considering the clogged toilet, the only portal to Certain Doom anyone needs to be aware of is the door to my bathroom.
My friend M. supposes she has the ability to smell other dimensions because sometimes she smells people who are not there. She has a supernatural nose, which is similar in mechanism perhaps with a supernatural eye, but it smells ghosts rather than sees them. It has the benefit of not being quite as frightening as seeing as ghost, tho smells can be just as scary, if they are smelly enough. Do ghosts emit smells? We have an unqualified preoccupation with seeing ghosts, sometimes even hearing ghosts, most of the time both, and, under the most dire of circumstances, even touching ghosts, but never smelling ghosts, or, as a matter of fact, tasting ghosts: The paranormal institutions of our age simply neglect these two senses, tho they can, as my friend shows, just as well pick up transmissions from ghostly realms.
Not to say her other senses weren’t as potent. She described to me once how a ghost visited her, and she could hear it, telling her commit evil. She knew if she opened her eyes, she would be able to see it, so she didn’t; and then it just disappeared. I didn’t ask her how this ghost smelled like because it didn’t seem appropriate at the time. How, in any case, is that supposed to go? Imagine a paranormal investigator from Vienna: Bald head, goatee, hair all white, lean figure, expensive brown suit, standing in a room with a pentagram drawn using blood on the wall, threats of child sacrifice for Satanic rituals written in small cursive on notes scattered around the room, candles dripping everywhere, and when told of the particulars of the scene, he then asks: “No, no, but what did it smell like?”
Imagine the poor concerned mother, whose child walked up the walls like a spider with her joints contorted in unnatural ways, the voice of which now resembled how would imagine Satan sounds like, deep and booming voice, the child’s eyes bleeding and her projectile vomit the consistency of frozen pea soup: “What? My child smells awful.”
“Yes, but before?”
“I’m not comfortable with all this talk about smells, professor.”
“Madam,” the professor says. “I am a ghost detective from Vienna with a white goatee. I demand you treat me with respect!”
The house in which I live, in any case, has been called haunted many times. House helpers tell me that when my family is away, they hear some type of party going on in the kitchen. Sometimes they hear voices calling them. My family members talk of spirits grabbing their feet while going up the stairs. My friend who visited once, A., once told me she felt a “presence” from the living room. I used to find this interesting until I realized that most people have ghosts in their houses. If, indeed, the ghost world intersects with the ordinary world, then ghosts must be everywhere. It just so happens that we are at our most vulnerable when we are at our homes, where we tend to relax. So we are able to more often perceive them, even at their most subtle.
The theory that some people can transcend the boundary between this world and other worlds is interesting to me mostly because it is funny to think that creatures on the other side could be going about their business and we bother them just as they bother us; and on some distant dimension, the Tentacle People of Ar’Garack speak by breathing through the thin membranes of their anuses: “I saw another human!”
“No you did not Spak’La’Mak, you lair, says Bwa’P. “HAMKA, HAMKA, HAMKA,” goes the Ar’Garack laugh, which are, basically, controlled, melodic farts.
“I did!” says Spak’La’Mak. “It was touching a protruding member from its midsection! Very disturbing! Must be a sign of distress because it was writhing and moaning!”
“Humans are strange,” says Bwa’P, who vomits the food he ate earlier for the second round of digestion, their equivalent of having a snack.
Moreover, the boy who, if the exchange was mutual, saw Spak’La’Mak would of course tell his friends; and if the friends ask what he was doing when he saw them, he would respond politely: “Reading Chekov.”
Personally, I do not know if ghosts exists, nor do I have a definite position on the issue. What I do know is that some things exist regardless of whether you believe in them or not; I also know that some things are, at present, unknown, and in my mind there is always space for these things to exist, though we may misinterpret them, exaggerate them, misunderstand them, or ignore them. Every evening I hear creaks throughout the house as well as footsteps on the roof too heavy to have been caused by a cat. I tell this to friends and they ask me: “Aren’t you afraid?” If they have been around me since I was a child and they’ve never come down to meet me, clearly one of us is afraid of the other. Obviously, it is not me.