I flicked through the three pages stapled together of the wikipedia article I'd hastily printed out and stood at the podium. Whichever of my family members owned a podium and brought it over(seriously!) I had no clue, but I didn't have time to get caught up on something like that. I cleared my throat and tried to take charge of this thing.
"All right folks, everyone grab a candle and light it. If we can get this done in like an hour, we'll be able to go to the diner for the early bird menu."
Aunt Janice(actually about my age but still my aunt), who had been struggling with her two children(aged two and four) since they arrived, shot me a look. "Even the kids? Seriously? Fire?" She whipped around to grab the wrist of her older son, stopping him from wailing on his younger brother for at least thirty seconds. "ERIC! DON'T HIT SHAWN! HE'S YOUR BROTHER!" Eric and Janice both gave me exasperated glares. Shawn, at least, seemed to enjoy the fugacious reprieve from violence.
I flipped nervously through my papers. The procedure they outlined was pretty vague. I decided I was allowed some discretion. "Give 'em a candle, but don't light it."
This answer seemed to satisfy them. But I had to regain momentum. "All right. Join hands. Stand around the piano."
My cousin Danny piped up. "Join hands? We're holding the candles."
I was becoming agitated. "Okay, forget the joining hands part. Come on. Circle up."
Eventually, everyone gathered around the piano. Improvising madly, I raised my candle. "Grandpa, friends and family have gathered here today to help you. You were loved in your lifetime. You accomplished a lot of great things and touched many hearts. You need to move on. Abandon this cold hard world and embrace the warm, bright afterlife you truly deserve. Go, with the blessing of all of us. You need not linger here and watch over your family. We take care of each other, in your memory, and out of love."
It was silent. We waited. Nothing happened.
I tried a different tack. "All right, Grandpa. Enough dicking around. Quit haunting the piano."
The candles went out suddenly. A chill blew into the room. The keys began to dance on their own. There was no piano roll inside, but the piano began to play. Thing is, Grandpa was never actually much of a pianist. Cheerily, the tune "Camptown Ladies" filled the room. The assembled guests looked at each other, frozen in place.
I pressed on. "Seriously, Grandpa. Cut it out. We're selling the piano to the Thompsons."
It started to play "Baby Elephant Walk." It was not a good rendition.
"Don't make this harder than it's gotta be, Grandpa. I got Father Simon down here. He'll exorcise the shit out of this piano. Priests can do that, right? If that doesn't work, I'll get one of those voodoo guys."
Father Simon looked very upset. I tried to shrug at him apologetically. The piano launched into "Chopsticks". I was undeterred.
"Yeah man, a witch doctor. So give it up."
More "Chopsticks." Louder. But I had a secret weapon. I brandished a hacksaw I'd grabbed from the garage on my way in. I brought it closer and closer to a leg of the piano, but it kept on playing. Grandpa was calling my bluff, and the Thompsons weren't going to buy a piano that was missing a leg.
I threw up my hands in defeat. "You got me, Grandpa! It's out of my hands now. Wherever you end up, don't blame me!"
The family was already halfway out the door. It really was a good early bird menu.
The whole ordeal turned out to be moot, of course. As luck would have it, as soon as I put up the "haunted piano" posting on Craigslist there was a handful of interested parties. Ended up getting a decent chunk of change for the old thing.
Anyway Grandma, this letter took way longer than I expected it to. Sorry I sold your husband's ghost to a weird couple in Michigan. See you at Thanksgiving.
With love,
your grandson
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