The Haunting of a Ghost

by L. C. Mortimer

  “It was sad for a reason.”

  “And what reason is that?”

  “I don’t know, but it’s not good. There’s a ghost loose in the house, Dane. I can’t see him, but I can sense him. I can feel him. I know he’s here and I know that no good will come of him being here.”

  “What are we supposed to do about it?”

  “Deal with it the best we can,” Hector says.

  “And if that doesn’t work? What? Do we call in a ghost hunter?”

  “We call in whoever we need to Dane,” Hector snaps. “Because this ghost is up to something and it’s nothing good.” He looks around the room and whispers, “Nothing good at all.”

  Chapter 5

  The new ghost is trouble and I sort of hate him.

  I call him Frank because it’s a terrible name and the ghost is sort of a terrible person. Oh, I know I’m not supposed to judge ghosts. I know that’s not fair or whatever, but since when has “fair” ever been a determining factor in how the world played out?

  Never, in my experience.

  Frank has never made himself visible, but he’s also never done anything as tame as making weird sounds or trying to scare us. He’s never been as calm as Hector in that way. Nope. Frank goes right for the jugular and boy, does that sting.

  It’s been a week now and so far, he’s fucked up all the plumbing, broken half of my windows, and destroyed all the mirrors. I keep looking up information on music box murders and ghosts and haunting and anything else I can find, but so far, I’ve got nothing.

  There’s nothing that would explain what kind of ghost this is, where he’s come from, or what he wants. I’ve tried asking and so has Hector, but we haven’t gotten an answer yet. Maybe this ghost can’t communicate well yet like Hector can.

  If it’s a new ghost, like if it’s someone that just died recently, chances are they don’t really know how to navigate the world without a physical body. Oh, Hector can solidify himself, but that’s taken a hundred years of practice to be able to do. Most new ghosts can’t even make themselves visible, let alone solid objects.

  There’s a learning curve for ghosts, apparently.

  And apparently it’s a pretty sharp one.

  One of the biggest problems is that I want to figure out how to get rid of Frank, but I’m not really sure how to go about doing it. It’s not like I can just ask Hector. Hector is bound to my house and Frank is invisible. Anything we discuss could potentially be overheard and that’s basically completely annoying, not to mention dangerous.

  What if we anger Frank and he goes crazy and kills me?

  I don’t exactly want to be murdered by a ghost.

  I’ve taken to spending my lunch breaks looking up information on ghosts, on deaths in the area that involved music boxes, and on Hector’s life. I want to find out how to get rid of Frank for good, but if I can’t do that, I should at least set Hector free. He’s my best friend and the thought of him leaving me is crushing, but I also need to do what’s best for him.

  I need to help him if I can.

  I need to do my very best.

  After work one night, I decide to spend a few hours at the library. Hector knows not to expect me back before eight at night anymore. He wasn’t happy about the arrangement, but he also knows I’m trying really hard to figure out what’s going on, trying really hard to figure out how to get rid of Frank once and for all.

  The Honeyburg Library isn’t exactly up-to-date and modernized, but that’s fine. I don’t need modern. The librarians know me well, albeit because I once pulled a fire alarm on a school field trip, but they trust me enough now to let me look at the old newspapers and microfilms and that’s what’s important.

  I pour through document after document after document, but so far, all I can come up with is that Hector vanished and his family disappeared. No one knows what happened to them or where they went. Unless I can get him to somehow start remembering, no one is ever going to know what happened to them.

  This means I don’t know what he’s supposed to be doing in my house.

  Is he haunting it because he’s supposed to complete some sort of mission?

  Or is he haunting it because he’s somehow linked to the house?

  I don’t know.

  He doesn’t know.

  No one knows, and I’m tired.

  I grab a cup of coffee on my way home and while I’m driving, a commercial advertising a secondhand market comes on the radio. This gets me thinking of the auction I went to with Candice. What if the music box wasn’t the only haunted object sold there? The sale seemed to be put on by some random people at their farmhouse. If the music box was haunted, wouldn’t they have to know that? And what if they had other haunted items they were trying to get rid of? And what if they sent those out to people?

  I realize I need to talk to Candice. She hasn’t been to work in a couple of days, but I have her cell number. I grab my phone and call her as I drive.

  “Hello?” She picks up on the first ring.

  “It’s Dane from work,” I say. “How’s it going?” There’s a long pause, a silence, but then she speaks.

  “Hi Dane. I’m fine. Just battling this cold,” she coughs twice, but it sounds fake, and I wonder why she’s faking a cough for someone who isn’t her boss.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “I just haven’t seen you in awhile.”

  “I’ve been sick.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that.” I turn down the road to my house and slow down, taking my time. “I was actually calling to ask you something, though.” I try not to think about the way Candice kissed me so sweetly. I don’t have time for dating. That’s not something I need in my life right now.

  “Okay, what is it?”

  “That quilt you bought, remember it?”

  “Yes,” she says sharply. “I’m the one who bought it. What about it?”

  Okay, so the quilt is a sensitive subject. Fuck. Why is she being so uptight and tense about a damn blanket? Unless it’s haunted, like I suspect. That’s why Candice is being so weird at work and why she’s being so weird in real life.

  “I was wondering if it’s been doing anything…um, unusual. I know that sounds like a really crazy question to ask, but I was wondering if you’ve noticed anything strange about your quilt.”

  Candice hesitates for a very, very long time. Her breathing changes and I think she sounds nervous, uncomfortable. Anxious.

  “It’s very pretty,” she says finally. “And looks nice in my room. Goodnight, Dane.” Then Candice ends the call without so much as a “goodbye.”

  And I have my answer.

  Something is going on with her blanket. My music box wasn’t the only item that was haunted. That’s got to be it.

  When I get home, I rush inside and tell Hector I have to talk to him. He follows me into my room and I close the door. It’s not secure. It’s not super quiet. It’s not anything but the illusion of privacy, and for now, that’s all I need.

  “What did you find?” He asks.

  “Not a lot,” I tell him. “The library was basically a complete bust.”

  “Then what’s with the pomp and circumstance, Dane?” He motions to the room. “Why am I in here instead of playing a video game?”

  “Because the music box wasn’t the only haunted item that left the sale that day.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I called Candice and asked her about the quilt.”

  “And she told you it was haunted?”

  “No, but she got really weird and quiet about it, like she didn’t want to talk about it.”

  “So you think it’s haunted because she was feeling quiet?”

  “No, I think it’s haunted because she’s never missed a day of work before and she’s been out most of the week.”

  “Maybe she’s sick.”

  “Yeah, sick from her haunted blanket that’s giving her nightmares.”

  “It’s possible,” Hector finally concedes. “Perhaps the seller
s knew perfectly well what they were getting rid of that day. Perhaps they were trying to rid their home of its belongings before it was too late.”

  “What do you mean, before it was too late?”

  “A haunting can’t last forever, Dane. Sooner or later, something has to give.”

  “You mean the ghost has to go away.”

  “Or the person does.”

  “I’m not being chased out of my house by a damn ghost.”

  “How about two ghosts?”

  “I’ll find a way to stay. I love this house. You love this house. This house is incredible.”

  “Fuck the house, Dane. You need to leave.”

  “He’s annoying. He’s not dangerous.”

  “Really?” Hector leaves wordlessly and I follow him down the hall and into the bathroom. “Take a look.”

  I push open the bathroom door and that’s when I realize that maybe he’s right.

  That’s when I realize that maybe Frank has taken things too far.

  That’s when I realize that maybe, just maybe, living with two ghosts isn’t something that’s sustainable long-term.

  That’s when I realize how completely fucked I am.

  Chapter 6

  The great bathroom incident has left my tub smashed, my toilet in pieces, and shit all over the room. Like, completely all over the room. I don’t have the energy to deal with it or to try to understand what kind of message Frank is trying to send.

  There are beetles crawling in the room. Not like horror-movie-all-over-the-walls beetles, but there are more than there should be in any one person’s bathroom, and it’s grossing me the fuck out. I don’t want to deal with it. I can’t deal with it, so I just go in my room, shove a towel under the door so no beetles can wander in, and go to bed.

  I’ll call an exterminator and a plumber tomorrow. I have no idea how I’m going to explain the damage or what I’m going to say, but that seems like a problem for a different day, and that day is tomorrow.

  For an hour, I lie in bed. Sleep won’t come, and I don’t blame it. I wouldn’t want to come to my house, either. My life is in shambles. My love life is non-existent, my relationship with my best friend is strained, and there’s a third party trying to insert himself into our lives. Only, none of us really wants the third wheel around.

  And it’s not like I can politely ask a ghost to leave.

  He simply won’t listen.

  Finally, I manage to pass out. When I wake up, I realize I’ve overslept and there’s no time to deal with plumbing or getting rid of bugs unless I’m going to miss a day of work. With Candice gone, missing work isn’t something I can easily do.

  The next day, all of my kitchen forks are laid out neatly on the counter, along with the knives.

  After that, my bowls and plates are broken on the kitchen floor.

  The day following that, all of my hats are arranged on the living room floor in weird shapes, like a triangle and a circle and an octagon. The worst part is this doesn’t scare me. It just makes me wonder why I own so many hats. It doesn’t seem appropriate for a man of my age to own that many.

  Then somehow, and I’m not pointing fingers, my coffee table is covered in paint.

  I’m really, really, really sick of Frank.

  Candice still hasn’t come back to work and Eric is still giving me trouble about everything. Somehow, he got wind that Candice and I had a thing, which isn’t even remotely true. I didn’t tell anyone about the kiss, so there’s no way he could know about that. I think he just wants someone to blame because she didn’t come back to work and I’m an easy scapegoat.

  Still, he’s blaming our alleged breakup on her avoidance of work. I’m not sure if Candice is officially fired or if she’s taking vacation days or what. All I know is that we currently don’t have a receptionist, so the tech team has been taking turns trying to run the front desk. It’s been completely disastrous and I think the office is just going to have to replace Candice or risk ruining our business indefinitely. We really can’t seem to survive without her.

  After work, I don’t go home. Something has to change. I haven’t been able to figure out how to get rid of this damn ghost, so I’m going to go to the source.

  I’m going back to the couple who held the auction.

  I throw on some tunes and breeze out of Honeyburg. I remember exactly where the sale was, exactly which road to turn on. When I reach the dilapidated farmhouse and falling-down barn, I’m caught off guard by how empty and abandoned they look. Without dozens of people roaming around and a yard filled with cars, the place looks spooky, almost desolate.

  I park in front of the house and get out of my car. The old farmhouse looks worn beyond its years and I wonder exactly how many generations have lived here. The paint is peeling and the grass in front of the house is dead. I stare for a minute as several ravens fly past the house. For a minute, I wonder if the people who live here are ghosts themselves. That’s stupid, but the thought plagues me more than it should.

  Finally, I step up on the porch. The wood creaks beneath my weight and dips. I hurry across the porch and press the little white button to the side of the screen door. I hear the melodic sound of the doorbell echo throughout the house, followed by silence.

  There’s nothing.

  I press it again.

  Finally, I knock, but nothing happens.

  There’s no one here.

  I look around, but there’s nothing outside to indicate anyone actually lives here, I realize. There aren’t any cars or bicycles outside. There are no shoes by the door. On impulse, despite knowing I shouldn’t, I open the rickety screen door and turn the knob on the wooden door.

  It opens.

  It’s unlocked.

  No one is here.

  “Hello?” I call out into the house. “Is anyone here?”

  Stupid, I think, as soon as I do it. Why would I announce my presence in case someone is here?

  Oh, probably to avoid being shot if someone happens to be lurking around with a shotgun. Okay, maybe calling out wasn’t so dumb, after all.

  The first thing I notice is how dusty the house is.

  The second thing I notice is that it’s empty.

  Completely, utterly empty.

  All right, so I guess the sale really was the last line of defense. Did they move? I walk through the house.

  “Hello?” I call out again in the empty kitchen and the empty living room and the empty dining area. “Is anyone home? Anyone at all? I need to talk to you.”

  There’s a staircase and for a second, I wonder if I should go upstairs. At this point, I know no one’s home, but maybe I can find some answers. Maybe I can figure out what’s been going on.

  I reach for the railing and am just about to step when I hear a voice.

  “There’s no one here.”

  “You’re here, obviously,” I turn around, trying my best to stay calm. I didn’t see or hear anyone, but I’ve lived with a ghost long enough to know the tricks of the paranormal.

  “I am here, but I am only one.”

  “What do you know about the people who lived here?” I ask, looking around. This ghost is invisible. Maybe she’s recently dead or perhaps she’s just not up for becoming visible right now. I’m not sure.

  “I am one of them,” she says. The feminine voice is strong, albeit a bit shrill.

  “You’re the old woman?” I ask, curious.

  “I am her daughter, but my mother is gone now. She has left me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s hard to move on when you’re constantly reminded of the past,” she says, and then the ghost appears. She shimmers for a second, glittering in the fading sunlight that’s streaming into the house. Then she appears as a young woman, and there’s no doubt in my mind this is what she looked like as a human.

  “What happened to you?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she shakes her head. “What matters is that you have come with a problem. You’ve come searching for answers.
That can only mean you purchased something from my parents, something they knew was haunted.”

  “So it’s true.”

  “Not everything at their sale was a paranormal item,” she explains, moving around the room. She’s floating about a foot off the ground. That’s something I’ll never quite get used to. Ghosts go to all this trouble to look like humans, but can’t be bothered to keep their feet on the ground. Typical. “But having an estate sale enabled them to rid themselves of several items they no longer had use for.”

  “And what items are those?”

  “The quilt my sister Jenna was wrapped in when she died,” the ghost says. “The vase that holds the spirit of my brother, Liam. There was also the figurine belonging to my sister, Ella.”

  “And the music box?” I ask, hoping she’ll at least give me some answers. I don’t know what the hell happened to the children who lived in this house, but something tells me the “parents” were monsters.

  Not at all the way parents should be.

  “My brother Frank.”

  I knew it!

  “What happened to Frank?” I ask her.

  “The same thing that happened to all of us.”

  “Tell me,” I say, even though I don’t really want to know. My heart clenches as I wonder what horrors befell these children. What things happened that caused them to be locked as ghosts in their own mortal possessions? What could be so terrible that they weren’t even allowed to flee to the celestial world? What happened that caused them to be trapped on earth in bodies they can’t control?

  “They killed us.”

  “But why?”

  “Because it’s what monsters do, Dane.”

  “How do you know my name?” I whisper.

  “I know a lot about you. I know you aren’t here to hurt me, to hurt my brother. I know you’re looking for answers.”

  “Answers aren’t as easy to come by as you would think.”

  “Anything worth knowing is worth searching for. You, of all people, should know that.”