A MDNW Original Design.


On Harry’s last visit, Norma Dinnick wore a flaming red wig and served sherry in crystal glasses.

Meet Harry Jenkins, Toronto lawyer.

Meet Harry Jenkins, Toronto lawyer.

Despite her advanced age of eighty-seven, she chatted brightly about the stock market and the roses in her garden. Hearing loss seemed to be her only trouble.
Arriving at her apartment house, he prepared himself for another loud, but lively hour of banter. He rapped sharply and waited.

“Go away! My mind is filled with holes,” she cried out from behind the door.

He frowned. “It’s me, Harry Jenkins, your lawyer. You asked me to come.” Straining to listen, he heard the awkward shuffle of slippers on the bare floor. Her tiny whimpers made him think of a frightened, caged animal. The door handle rattled, and metal scraped on metal until the door creaked open. Just above the knob, suspicious eyes peered out.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

Meet Norma Dinnick, Harry's client.

Meet Norma Dinnick, Harry’s client.

“For heaven’s sake, Norma, it’s me, Harry.”

“Where’s your beard then?”

“What? I’ve never had a beard!” Without thinking, Harry rubbed his chin and pushed back the strands of his thinning hair from his forehead.

“Are you the plumber? Show me your card.”

Sighing, Harry took his business card from his suit pocket. “It’s me, Harry Jenkins, your lawyer.”

“We have an appointment about your will,” he reminded her. Suspicious and confused, she stood before him in a faded green housedress stitched up at the shoulder with black thread.

“Well, come in then.” She backed away from the door, giving him just enough room to enter.
Harry stood speechless as he surveyed the apartment. A naked bulb swayed gently from a broken fixture and cast shifting shadows across the once elegant living room. He saw the outlines of her furniture, now draped with dingy bedsheets. Oddly, all the lamps had lost their shades and, in the dining room, the mahogany buffet sat buried under piles of old newspapers.

Once seated, Norma seemed to forget him.

“Norma, what on earth’s happened?” he asked. She occupied herself with picking fussily at the arm of the settee, as if to remove creatures visible only to her. Sitting beside her, he asked gently, “Are you all right?”

She tilted her tiny face upward to the light and gazed out the window. “I think it’s safe to talk now,” she whispered.

“Safe? Is someone listening?”

Pointing at the ceiling, she said crossly, “You should have come in the back way. Now they’ve seen you, they’ll be quiet.”

As far as he knew, Norma had only one remaining tenant: a shy and silent man named Grieves. Last year her investments did so well that she decided to close the other five suites, not needing the income or the worry.
“And they’ve not paid one cent of rent!”
Harry dutifully made a note. “You mean Mr. Grieves?” he asked.

Norma shook her head. “No. The ones directly above me.”

“But that apartment is empty.”

“And furthermore, they listen in on my phone.”

Sadly, Harry shook his head. Only months ago, Norma’s blue eyes had sparkled with lively intelligence and her knowing laugh accompanied a razor-like wit. Now she rocked back and forth beside him, glassy-eyed.

“How do they listen in?” he asked. Although the paranoid delusions of the elderly held little humor, Harry struggled to suppress a smile at the absurdity of imaginary tenants. He knew a lucid mind could inexplicably drift without warning into madness.

She seemed lost, focusing on the flickering shadows at the window.
“How many tenants are in the building?” he asked, although he held out little hope that his client’s problem could be solved by a Landlord and Tenant court application.

She shook her head fiercely. “Just the ones above me!”

“Have you seen them?”

“No! But I hear them every night, carousing like drunken sailors.” Again, her fingers chased the invisible creatures running amok on the arm of the settee. When she glanced up at him, he saw a glimmer of the old intelligence in her eyes.

“Do you think Archie’s causing all the trouble?” she asked. “I think he’s trying to drive me mad so I can’t change my will.”

Harry, who did not want to worry her, spoke reluctantly, “Actually, Archie called to tell me not to come today. He claimed you didn’t want a new will and that you didn’t have the capacity to make one.”

Her eyes flashed in anger. “Of course! That greedy lout will suck me dry. He even wants the shares my Arthur left me.”

“What shares, Norma?” He couldn’t recall any share certificates in Arthur’s estate.

“George Pappas-that dangerous animal-is after them too!

“Who is he?” Although the name was unfamiliar, he dutifully jotted it down.
“Vicious,” she shivered, drawing inward like a shrinking flower.

Harry took her hand.

When she resurfaced, she asked, “Will you come upstairs to see where the trouble is, Harry?”


Norma owned the nearly empty six-plex.

“Are the tenants in?”

“I don’t think so.”

Fussing with a jumble of keys, Norma teetered to the top of the narrow stairs. At the door, Harry knocked sharply. He could hear the accusations in court. Unauthorized entry by landlord, with her solicitor in tow. With exasperated sighs, Norma worked one key after another until the door swung open into the silent room.

Light flooded through the extraordinarily large bay window. Harry set his briefcase down and drew in the cool, musty air. He looked through the living room, dining room and on into the kitchen. His view of the apartment was entirely unobstructed by rugs, drapes or furniture. Dust motes floated in the light and the silence was broken only by laughter of children playing in the street below. Norma stood off to one side, dwarfed by the cold and empty fireplace.

“Please, Harry, you must get them out. They’re driving me mad.”

“But Norma,” he said quietly, “I don’t see anyone.” He edged closer to her.

Her face puckered with annoyance. He thought she might stamp her foot. “Of course not! They’re only here at night.”

“But I don’t see any furniture, either.” Harry knew that his client was at least partially delusional. Fortunately, the law recognized that you could still make a will even if you saw the occasional apparition.
Norma’s lower lip trembled as she muttered “Those cursed shares! Must I pay for them forever?”
Gently, he touched her shoulder and felt her whole body shaking. “What shares do you mean, Norma?”

“Please. You must get the tenants out. I can’t stand it any longer.”

“All right, Norma.” He put his arm around her. “I’ll try my best,” he concluded doubtfully, wondering how to give legal notice to a phantom. 







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