Ghost Story

Ten years ago, my wife's cousin Vanessa was killed in a car accident. She had a bunch of kids, many of whom were in her station wagon that night. She went the wrong way on a freeway entrance ramp. She was killed instantly, but the kids were OK.

We drove down to Iowa for the funeral. I spent much of the actual funeral driving around in our car with our months-old son sleeping in the back. When he awoke, I went into the basement of the church, where the parish was feasting and remembering.

Her kids were sitting around, dazed and confused. Quiet and bored. Un-kidlike. I rounded up a bunch of them, gave them some change, and taught them how to pitch coins. I'd done it growing up, and was intent on showing them the thrill of a deftly tossed coin leaning up against a wall or step.

I showed them technique, and explained that the winning pitch is the one that hits, and remains closest to, the wall. Winner take all. None of them had ever pitched coins before, so they were pretty psyched.

The group was small at first, but it grew in size and volume. At its peak, it was about 16 kids, the youngest of whom was Vanessa's four-year-old son, James. After about 20 minutes, some of the adults gathered around to watch. Some even reached into their pockets and provided spare change sustenance to the losers.

James got hot and won four or five in a row. At one point, all of the kids and many of the dead mother's friends, siblings, sons, daughters, aunts, and uncles were chanting, "James! James! James!" so loud you'd have thought you were at a Vegas craps table.

We drove home to Minneapolis the next day. It was around this time of year, with the cold wind howling, like it is tonight.

After my wife and son had fallen asleep, I spent the night reading Women and Ghosts, a collection of female-penned short stories about spirits, poltergeists, and the afterworld.

It was around midnight. Just like tonight. When I finished reading, I got up from my chair, turned off the light, and, as I made my way across the room, I felt a coin drop out of the front pocket of my jeans.

I turned the light back on and bent down to pick it up from where it had landed. It was a quarter -- leaning up against the base of the wall, a perfect winner.