Every year, Middle Daughter covers the altar with foods I loved when I was alive.
And every year, she discards the uneaten food each evening of the festival.
Youngest Granddaughter is concerned. “Why didn’t Papa eat?”
Middle Daughter tries to explain the ritual, but Youngest Granddaughter cannot grasp the concept.
I was greedy once. Now, I try to atone.
Youngest Granddaughter says, “We should give him something different.”
She leaves bowls beneath the altar since she can’t reach the top. Cereal and cracker crumbs. Dried out rice. Unwanted deli meat.
I wish I could eat her offerings, given out of love and concern. She believes my hunger is literal.
Families feed Hungry Ghosts for many reasons. One is so we will not possess the living.
The teachings were more specific once. We will not possess living humans.
Youngest Granddaughter does not know the difference between human and mouse bites.
“Mommy! Papa ate my turkey!” Youngest Granddaughter holds up a scrap of meat.
Middle Daughter’s response catches in her throat. She recognizes the bite marks. She stoops and finds the discarded food beneath the altar. And the mouse droppings. “We’ll put some turkey on top of the altar tomorrow, okay? No more food underneath.” She eyes the phone, thinking of exterminators.
Middle Daughter sees the ritual and the obligation. Youngest Granddaughter sees the magic. The latter is what matters.
Next time, I’ll possess the dog, who already eats from the table. How can he be blamed for following his nature?
Dawn Vogel has written for children, teens, and adults, spanning genres, places, and time periods. She is a member of SFWA and Codex Writers. She lives in Seattle with her awesome husband (and fellow author), Jeremy Zimmerman, and their cats. Visit her: historythatneverwas.com or Blue Sky @historyneverwas.