The Haunting of a Ghost

by L. C. Mortimer

  The Haunting of a Ghost

  L.C. Mortimer

  Synopsis

  There is a ghost in Dane’s house.

  It likes Doritos and Sprite and loud music.

  Dane and his ghost get along just fine until Dane buys a strange music box at an auction and brings it home.

  When his ghost is complaining about being haunted, it’s time to take matters into his own hands.

  Copyright © 2017 L.C. Mortimer

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  The Haunting of a Ghost

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  More from L.C.

  Lost in the Apocalypse

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 1

  It’s hard to take Hector seriously.

  He complains all the damn time.

  If he doesn’t like haunting my house, he should just fuck off. Life would be a lot simpler for me, honestly. I wouldn’t have to keep so much soda stocked in the house. It’s bad for me and I don’t like drinking it, but when all that’s around is junk food, I’m going to indulge.

  I might have some self-control, but I sure as hell don’t have that much. Who does, really? You find me one person who can come home after a long day at a boring corporate office and hang out with their pet ghost and not want to eat the Doritos that are sitting on the coffee table.

  Find me that one person and I’ll find you a liar.

  Hi.

  I’m Dane.

  I’m 28-years-old and I have a problem.

  His name is Hector.

  Hector isn’t a bad ghost. He’s quite good, I’m told, at least as far as ghosts go. You never can be too sure. He doesn’t take up much space and he entertains me when I’m lonely, which is basically all the time. You’d think that a guy who never left his home town wouldn’t have a problem finding friends, but welcome to my world.

  Today, Hector is complaining that I was late getting home.

  “Sorry, ol’ chap,” I say, setting my bag down on the couch and dropping a bottle of soda on the coffee table. “But I brought you soda.”

  Hector is silent. He floats just above the coffee table. His image is thin, almost invisible. When Hector is mad, he gets harder to see. It’s strange, really. It’s annoying.

  “It’s cold,” I offer, but these words, too, fall to silence. I can’t please him today, apparently, so I make the conscious choice not to worry about it. If I spend all of my time worrying about making Hector happy, I’ll never get anything else done.

  Hector floats there, glaring at me, and I decide to begin my post-work routine. I head to the bathroom and take a hot shower, letting the water wash away the stress of my day. Eric was all over me today. For an assistant manager, he seems to think he’s an actual manager, and he seems to think that means he has to bitch at people constantly.

  Newsflash, Eric: you don’t.

  I shouldn’t let Eric get to me. I shouldn’t let most things get to me. That’s the problem with reality, though, isn’t it? It’s easy to say, “I shouldn’t worry about this.” It’s less easy to actually push those worries aside and focus on the here and now.

  After my shower, I pull on some sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make a sandwich for dinner. Like most things in my life, the meal is nothing special. It’s ordinary, simple. That’s how I like it, though. I live alone for a reason. I live in a small, affordable house for a reason. I live in Honeyburg for a reason.

  I don’t need much.

  I’ve never been the type of person who needs to travel or see the world to be happy. That’s not my style. I don’t really need to wander out of town or explore to find meaning or purpose. I’m happy just living my life.

  Or at least I was, until I met Hector.

  He lived quite an interesting life when he was alive. I don’t want to admit it to him, but sometimes I wonder if I’m screwing everything up by not exploring more, by not getting out more. Sometimes I wonder if I’m screwing my life up by not being braver.

  Then I go sit on my porch with my sweet tea and look out at the yard, at my flower beds, at the quiet road I live on, and I think I’m doing okay for myself.

  I think everything’s going to be all right.

  Little do I know that tomorrow, my whole world is going to change.

  Chapter 2

  “You’re going to be late,” Hector’s voice rouses me from my sleep.

  “Go away,” I groan, pulling a pillow over my head. Hector responds by taking my pillow and throwing it across the room.

  Stupid ghosts.

  “You know, this would be a lot more fair if you couldn’t pick stuff up and throw it.”

  “That’s how hauntings work, dumbass.”

  “You’re a mean ghost.”

  “And you’re going to be late,” he repeats.

  A quick glance at my nightstand clock reveals he’s right. I’m going to have to hurry if I actually want to be on time. With Eric riding my case all week, I definitely want to be on time. I manage to rush through my shower and get dressed before grabbing a bagel to eat in the car on the way.

  “Good luck,” Hector says, and I know this is his way of showing me he’s no longer pissed off at me.

  “Thanks, buddy.” I wave goodbye and close the front door, locking it securely behind me. Hector can’t get out, so I’m not locking him inside. Nope. I’m keeping other people out. I don’t exactly think there are a lot of people in Honeyburg who will want to break into my modest house while I’m at work, but you never know.

  Shit happens.

  And I don’t really feel like having to deal with reporters or conspiracy theorists who get wind of a ghost story when Hector beats up some intruder and sends them on their way. This is my life and I don’t really want it advertised. I don’t want it noticed. The less people know about me, the better.

  That’s my motto.

  The drive through Honeyburg takes only ten minutes. Then I arrive at work. Life in a small town is usually dull and boring and ordinary, but that’s part of the appeal. I like routine. I like simplicity. I’m not one for mixing things up. I’m not one for adventure.

  Oh, I know plenty of people who seek out the rush they get from taking risks. Some of my buddies from high school went on to climb mountains and bungee jump. I know one guy who went skydiving. Hell, I even have a friend who moved to a foreign country just to see what it was like.

  But that’s not me.

  I pull my battered Hyundai into the Logical Questions, INC parking lot. LQ is the technical company in town. It services two counties, so our techs actually have to drive to other towns to help fix computers, routers, and other electronics. I’ve been working at LQ since I was in community college and I love my job.

  Couldn’t be happier.

  Couldn’t ask for more.

  But then I see Eric, and suddenly, my positive attitude dissipates. I ignore him as I stalk across the parking lot. He’s far enough away that he might not notice me. I might be able to get inside without having to talk to him. I might be able to sneak past his questions and insults today.

  “Dane!”

  So much for being sneaky.

  “Eric,” I paste a smile on my f
ace. It’s tight, but it’s a smile, so that counts for something. Yeah, it totally counts as being polite. Definitely.

  He hurries over to me, carrying his briefcase and waddling slightly. He’s just a smidge overweight, but for some reason, Eric walks like he’s never done it before. He’s slightly shorter than me and balding, but I still feel bad for disliking him. Maybe I feel sorry for him. I don’t know. All I know is that right now, I want to be at my desk, doing my work. I don’t want to be making small talk in the parking lot with the guy who can’t stand me.

  “I noticed you left work a few minutes early yesterday,” Eric says as we head toward the building.

  “I did not leave work early yesterday.”

  “Oh?” He raises an eyebrow and his voice gets a little squeaky, like he thinks I’m lying to him and it’s stressing him out. “I went by your desk at 4:55 and you weren’t there.”

  “That is correct,” I say. I really don’t feel like explaining myself to someone who isn’t even my direct supervisor, but Eric is inserting himself fully into my life and making it nearly impossible not to. I plan on staying at my job for awhile, so I really shouldn’t go around making enemies.

  “The end of the work day is 5:00,” Eric says.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, which is why I went to help Alicia with her final paperwork before the end of the day.”

  Eric doesn’t say anything for a second. We reach the building and I swipe my key fob to open the door. I motion for him to enter ahead of me because, hey, I’m a polite guy. He walks on in and then stops and turns to me.

  “Well, see to it that you’re at your desk at 5:00 from here on out. It wouldn’t do for upper management to think you’ve been sneaking off early.”

  I can’t resist. I have to say something this time. I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. The need to fight back is too strong. The urge to make sure Eric knows how not-important he is to me is overwhelming me.

  “Why would upper management think I’ve been sneaking off? Their offices are upstairs, so they wouldn’t have any idea I was helping Alicia yesterday. That is, unless you decided to start a rumor about me, Eric. That’s not something you would do, though, is it?”

  “Uh, oh, um…no. No, of course not. Just be at your desk.” Eric gets flustered and walks away. I resist the urge to punch my fist through the ugly floral wallpaper that covers the lobby walls and I head past the receptionist and over to the first-floor offices.

  “Good morning, Dane,” she calls out.

  “Morning, Candice,” I say. I swipe my keycard this time and head into the cold, smelly room filled with cubicles.

  It’s not nice or fancy or respectable, but it’s my job, and aside from Eric, it’s really not a bad job at all.

  Not bad at all.

  Chapter 3

  Candice, the receptionist at LQ, is really quirky. At first, I thought she was just weird, but I think quirky is a nicer word and offers a much more reasonable description of Candice. She’s got frizzy red hair and wears big glasses, but she also always wears a smile. She’s always kind. She’s friendly. When I get to work, I never feel like I’m bugging her or just another person in her day. She goes out of her way to say hello to everyone she sees, and it’s nice.

  So when Candice invites me to a vintage garage sale and auction, I can’t really refuse. I don’t have any other plans and even though I’d rather go sit around my house and read a book, maybe going shopping will be beneficial to me.

  After work, we meet up at the estate. The property is located about 10 minutes outside of Honeyburg, which isn’t too bad. It’s not far enough out of my way that coming to this auction is going to eat up my entire afternoon or anything like that. When it’s over, I can simply return home and continue on with my daily routine.

  I park my car next to Candice’s. There’s a dilapidated house and a rotting-away barn that looks like it’s going to crumble at any moment. Despite being a bit out of the way, the property is crawling with people shopping for bargains, and after a brief bout of small talk, Candice and I head over to join the throngs of people searching for treasures.

  We walk up and down aisles of tables that have been set up. I pick up a couple of items, but put them back down. I really don’t need to purchase anything. I should be saving money: not spending it. Still, some of the items for sale are pretty unique and interesting, and they all seem pretty affordable. I see a glass figurine that has to be at least fifty years ago and hand-crafted. There’s also an entire collection of bottle caps for sale.

  “Look at this,” Candice holds up an old quilt.

  “It looks handmade.”

  “It is. Look at the label. It says it was made in 1987.”

  “Seems like it’s in good condition for being so old.”

  “I’m going to buy this,” Candice says, pointing to the price tag. “It’s only ten bucks. That’s a steal.”

  It does seem pretty cheap. Then again, so does everything at this sale. I guess they want to get rid of everything fast. Either that or they simply don’t know what their items are worth. I bet Internet resellers would have a field day at a sale like this.

  The garage sale portion of the event is in front of the old Victorian house. There are several tables set up with various items for sale, including snacks and water bottles. There’s an old woman sitting in a chair by the front porch. She’s obviously the person collecting the money, as she’s holding a large metal money box.

  The auction part of the sale is happening in the barn. Candice isn’t really interested in that part, but I am, so I leave her with her quilt and head to the large red barn to the right of the house. I can hear the auction from outside. That’s how loud it is. When I make my way inside the barn, there are about twenty seats set up in the center of the room and each one is filled. About a dozen people are standing around at the back of the seats, ready to bid on any item that looks good.

  Right now, the auctioneer is showing us a beautiful glass vase. It’s about two feet tall and would be perfect for holding umbrellas, I think, or maybe some sunflowers. I’m not sure. I’m not really an interior decorator. A woman in the front row bids a hundred dollars and wins the vase almost immediately.

  Interesting.

  Next up is a set of old books, followed by a tea set. I’m getting bored and I’m about to head out of the barn to go find Candice when something catches my attention, and I turn back to the auctioneer.

  “Next up is this beautiful antique music box,” he says. “Hand-crafted and hand-stained, it is unique in that it plays not one song, but three.” The man keeps talking, describing the box, and I can’t take my eyes away from it.

  I want it.

  I need it.

  I’m not one for impulse purchases and I certainly hadn’t planned to buy anything today, but something about the box calls to me. Something about it is incredible. Something about it makes me want it.

  Need it.

  I raise my hand when the bidding starts and don’t bother putting it down. I spend too much money on the box. Fifty bucks might not be a lot to some people, but to me it’s a week’s worth of groceries, and I hope I’m not going to regret buying this when I see my bank statement.

  “Check it out,” I show the box to Candice. She opens it and a sweet, high-pitched song begins to play.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “There’s something kind of weird about it.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird that I never bought one before,” I say. “It’s amazing.”

  “It makes me nervous,” she says.

  “Your quilt makes me nervous.”

  “Does it?”

  “No. Don’t be silly.”

  “I’m never silly.”

  “Sometimes you are.”

  Then Candice does something weird, something unexpected. She steps forward and kisses me on the cheek, softly, briefly, and then steps away. She smiles up at me brightly and I’m not sure what to do.

  “I’ll see you at work,” she says, and t
hen Candice heads toward her own car and I’m left staring at her as she drives away. I’ve never really thought of Candice in a romantic sort of way. I don’t think of many people in a romantic sort of way, but I like the way she kissed me. I like the way it made me feel.

  I wave goodbye, although I’m sure she’s not staring in the rearview mirror watching me fade into the distance.

  Then I look at my music box.

  It’s small, only about four inches wide, and rectangular-shaped. I want to open the top of the box, to hear the song play, but I don’t. There will be plenty of time for that when I get home, but right now, I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. It’s time to get back home. Hector will be wondering where I am, anyway.

  I hop in my car and by the time I get home, I’ve completely forgotten about everything except how hungry I am. I head inside, drop the music box on the coffee table, and hurry into the kitchen to throw together some dinner.

  “I’m back,” I call out, but Hector is silent. That’s fine. Sometimes he gets in his moods. Right now, I assume he’s pissed because I didn’t come home right after work and he was lonely. Being a ghost isn’t easy and to be honest, sometimes I feel a little bad for Hector. I’m basically his only friend. It’s not like his other buddies from when he was alive can drop by to visit.

  Nope.

  He’s stuck with me and anyone I happen to bring home, which is no one.

  I don’t bring anyone home.

  I’m not sure if this is because I’m afraid of what Hector will do if I bring a friend home or if I’m afraid of what my friend will do if Hector comes out to play.

  “Do you want some food?” I yell, trying once more to entice my buddy. “I can make mac and cheese. I’ll use extra cheese!”

  Still, nothing happens.

  There’s no noise.

  There’s no whoosh of air as Hector glides invisibly past me.

  There’s no oooooo sound as Hector tries to scare me.

  There’s simply nothing.