by Sean Kelly
“Jackie! Jackie, no.” Mrs. Turner hurried into the room. “Let me take care of that. Why don’t you go relax for a bit? This was my mess, I’ll take care of it.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jackie was surprised and wildly confused.
Mrs. Turner stormed over to me with an accomplished smile on her face. “See? I can do this, no problem.” She held out two bound stacks of hundreds, five thousand in each.
“Ten thousand?”
“I threw in a little extra, because I like you.”
“Well, thank you.” I never liked to count the cash when I get paid. With money in hand, it’s usually best to get away from the mark as quickly as possibly…before they realize they were just taken advantage of.
“Please, I can’t thank you enough.” She escorted me out of the room and into the foyer. After opening the front door, she reached out and shook my hand lightly.
I gave a half-hearted wave, not to her but to the invisible man in the tuxedo behind her, but I let her think it was for her. “Have a nice, ghost-free life, Mrs. Turner.”
“You too!” She closed the door behind me as I left.
Outside I let out a sigh of relief and fanned the inch-high stacks of bills in my hand. “Not bad for an hour’s work.”
“Not bad at all!” shouted a voice from around the corner.
“What?”
A young girl stepped out from behind the bushes. She was about an inch shorter than me and her vibrant red hair glowed like an aura around her head. Her hands were tucked in the pockets of her army-green military jacket. The small, silver ring attached to her nostril glistened in the sunlight. She walked closer, stepping between me and my car.
“Can I help you with something?” I hid the stacks of bills in my pocket.
“Pretty good racket you’ve got here. Taking advantage of gullible rich women. Wish I’d thought of it first.”
Okay. “Seriously, lady, I’ve got stuff to do today.” I ignored her and tried to walk around her, but she stepped in front of me again.
“Why didn’t you tell her about that ghost in there? The one standing right next to her? Rather than make up some slightly racist story about a plantation worker.”
She could see the ghost? “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, I’m not one of your marks.”
“You could see him?”
“Clear as you’re standing there.”
“But how…?” I’d never met anyone who could do what I could do.
“Here’s the thing, Jared—”
“How the hell do you know my name?”
“I’ve been watching you for some time now. At first, I was curious if you really did have some sort of gift. Then I watched to see what you would do with that gift.”
“Screw you. I’m outta here.” I pushed passed her and tossed my bag into the passenger seat of the car.
“Jared! Chat with me, or should I go in there and tell her your stupid fake name is just the word ‘paranormal’ spelled backward?”
Jesus… “Fine, what do you want?”
“Do you think you’re pretty good at these cleansings?”
“Get in.” I opened the passenger-side door and tossed my bag into the back seat. She climbed in and I pulled out of the driveway, then drove up and down some back roads so we could talk.
“So, tell me. Do you think you’re any good at cleansing these sort of house infestations?”
“Of course not. Ghosts don’t haunt houses, not the way people think they do. Poltergeists are bullshit and ghosts don’t do anything but float around eyeballing people.”
She stared at me for a moment. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Take a left up here and get onto the highway. I want to show you something.”
“Unless you’re wanting to go somewhere to fool around, I’m not interested.”
“Oh, we’re going to fool around alright.” She smirked deviously.
Without thinking I turned left, then soon merged onto the highway. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
“You’ll see.”
“Can you tell me your name, at least?”
“Alright, you can call me Ms. Torat.”
“That’s a weird name.”
She kept silent.
Oh, got it. “Tarot spelled backward. Funny.”
She tapped the tip of her nose to signify that I got it right. The answer amused me a bit.
“Well, Jared, since I know your name, I guess I should tell you mine.” She turned slightly in her seat to face me. “My friends call me Dizz. Short for Dizzy.” She held out her hand expecting to shake mine.
Guess I shouldn’t be rude. She’s probably leading me to an empty warehouse to kill me, but… “I guess it’s nice to meet you. Dizzy.”
III
ABOUT TWENTY-FIVE minutes outside of Eugene, deep in the rural countryside of Camp Creek, we pulled onto a narrow, gravel driveway in the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t another house around for at least a mile. I could see an empty field off in the distance—across a wide creek—with a small herd of horses galloping about. Other than that it was quiet. Dead quiet.
“Peaceful, huh?” said Dizzy.
“Yeah, it’s nice out here. A little far from…well, anything, but it’s nice.” We continued down the long driveway until we came to a small, one-story home. Other than a few colossal cobwebs and the occasional fallen tree trunk, the humble wood-paneled cabin looked surprisingly ordinary. “Is this what you wanted me to see?”
“Sort of. Hold up, don’t drive any closer.”
I brought the car to a stop in the middle of the gravel road.
Dizzy climbed out. “Come on.” She shut the door and started walking through the front yard.
“Be right there,” I shouted. Before leaving the car, I pulled out the stacks of bills from my pocket and lifted a small hatch in the floor of the passenger side, hiding my bounty away. I jogged across the yard with my bag in hand and caught up with her about halfway between my car and the house. “What are we doing here, exactly?”
“Let’s just say…I need your talents.”
Jesus Christ. “This is all about a job?” I grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. “I’m gonna need to get paid before…whatever it is we’re doing out here.”
She snickered and bit her lower lip a little. “Come on,” she said, giggling and walking away.
God, I hate women sometimes. I followed her to the front door where she stood waiting.
“Knock.”
The front porch was clean and the wood paneling matched the stained oak door. There was no movement in or around the building, no sounds to indicate anyone was home.
“Is this your house?”
“Knock.” That antagonizing, sardonic smile emerged on her face again.
I stared at her, dead in the eyes with an irritated look in mine and I knocked on the door twice—deliberate and loudly. As the second knock landed the door slowly creaked open, no one on the other side to open it. What the hell… I turned my head and stared inside, then shot a look back at Dizzy. “Is this some kind of joke? Are you messing with me?”
Without a word, Dizzy walked inside and sat down on a nearby couch facing the door.
I followed her inside and the door slammed shut behind me. Calm and collected, I reached out and tapped the slender metal handle. It wouldn’t budge. It was stiff, like someone was holding it from the other side.
“Okay, cleaner, clean.” She placed her hands on the back of her head and leaned back comfortably.
I set down my bag in the middle of the room. “Well, I need some info first. Which room experiences the most activity?”
“All of it.”
“Well, so far all we’ve seen is a creaky door. That doesn’t really scream ‘haunted.’ That could have been on an automatic hinge.”
“It’s not.”
“Can I get something!?”
�
��Just do what you usually do, just none of that Boondock Saints prayer, reality TV, ‘this house is clear’ nonsense.”
“Listen, lady. That’s what I do. None of this shit is real, okay? You obviously caught me in the act. So, unlock the door and I’m leaving.” I grabbed the door handle and shook it violently, trying to tear it open.
“What about in your apartment?”
I stopped shaking the handle. “What do you mean, my apartment?”
“You just told me none of this is real, but what about the ghost in your apartment? Or the old dead guy in that rich lady’s house?”
“You really can see them too?”
“Them?”
“The ghosts. How else would you know they were there?”
She didn’t respond.
“How do you know about them!?” I stormed over to her. “Tell me, God damn it!”
The house rumbled and groaned.
“What the fu—”
Dizzy stood up and stepped closer, pointing into the depths of the house. “That’s it.”
“What’s it? Who are you? What the hell do you want with me?” I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, our eye contact not breaking for even a second. She wasn't scared or concerned, but interested in me, watching to see what I would do next.
The house groaned even louder and the air turned frigid in an instant. Like a restaurant’s meat freezer.
Breath escaped my lungs in a cloud of steam.
Every wall bent and cried, the paint and varnish chipped, curling upwards as though some invisible force were peeling it into the air. The white carpet turned brown and dingy, rotting away beneath our feet. Vines and leaves sprouted on the walls and ceiling, having crept into the derelict home.
“That’s…a good trick…” I let her go and looked around the house—the frightening and twisted photo negative of the house we’d entered. “How’d you do that?”
“I didn’t.” Dizzy stepped back and looked around her.
A howl cried out from within the house, a ghastly wail from another plane of existence.
We kept quiet, watching our still-deteriorating surroundings.
A thin fog rolled in, hiding the disgusting floor beneath our feet. Moments later, a translucent woman drifted across the room, ignoring us almost entirely. She didn’t say a word, her mouth puckered together and unwavering, like Toby. Her pale skin and hair matched the white cloudiness of her dress.
“It’s just another ghost,” I whispered to Dizzy. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Why not? Aren’t ghosts dangerous?”
“No, they don’t do anything. That’s why hauntings are bullshit.” I looked around at the house. “Well, usually they’re bullshit. This is a little different than what I’m used to, but ghosts themselves don’t actually do anything.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The ghost floated over to us and stopped a few feet away, staring at us like Toby does.
“Yeah, they just stare and don’t talk, ever. It’s actually kind of annoying.”
The ghost glared in my direction.
“Hey, how’s it goin—”
The ghost shrieked, her pursed mouth stretching far beyond its limits, tearing at her translucent skin, her teeth growing long and sharp. She lurched forward and threw us to the ground before vanishing in a cloud of smoke.
“What the hell was that!?” I asked hysterically. “What do we do?”
Dizzy slid my duffle bag over to me. “Take care of it!”
I grabbed the bag and dug through it, searching for something that might destroy the ghost. What actually destroys a ghost? I have no idea. I pushed aside fake charms and a few wooden crosses.
“She’s coming back!” shouted Dizzy as the fog reappeared across the floor.
“Shit. Shit. Shit!”
The ghost reappeared over Dizzy and picked her up by the jacket, tossing her across the room like a rag doll into the nearest wall.
I froze.
It vanished and rematerialized an inch from my face.
This can’t be happening again...
Her mouth widened again and she clamped her sharp teeth down on my shoulder, just missing my neck.
“Ah! Damnit!” My hand found the jar of salt in my bag. I smashed the jar on the ground and took a handful of glass and salt, throwing it at my attacker’s face.
She hissed and vanished again.
My shoulder was bleeding profusely. “Dizz?” I looked over to see her completely unconscious. I grabbed my bag and scuttled over to her. The salt actually worked. I wonder if… I dug around again, finding a short fire poker near the bottom of the bag. “Iron!” I remembered seeing it on a television show.
Fog continued to fill the house and the ghost drifted in again, making a direct route for me.
“Come on, bitch.” I climbed to my feet flourishing the poker in front of me, wielding it like a samurai sword.
Seemingly answering my challenge, she shrieked again and her face resumed its distorted angry scowl. She flew towards me and I swung the iron poker into her face. She dissipated into a cloud of swirling fog, pushing me back with a gust of air.
“No way!” I said surprised. Watching too much TV really does pay off.
She reappeared to my left.
I swung, dispersing her again. Over and over I fought off her assault. After another swing, I knelt down and shook Dizzy. “Dizz. Hey, Dizz, wake up. Hey!” I slapped her in the face a couple of times. “Wake up!”
“Hmm?” She pried her eyes open and caressed her throbbing temples. “What happened?”
“You were a pissed-off ghost’s play thing. I need your help. What do I do?”
“We need to destroy her bones.” She climbed to her feet and held on to my shoulder to regain her balance, accidentally pressing on my bite wound.
“Agh!”
“Sorry!”
“Damn that stings! What are you talking about? What bones?”
“This isn’t my first time at this house; I think I know where her bones are. Every time I’ve been here, I can’t get into the bedroom, which makes sense with the stories I’ve heard about this place.”
“You’ve been here before? That would have been nice to know ahead of time.”
“Oh no, look out! Here she comes again!”
The ghastly woman charged at us again. Dizzy snatched the poker from my hands and swung it through the ghost. “Good thinking with the iron.”
“You know a hell of a lot more than you’re telling me. When this is over, we’re going to have a long conversation.”
“I thought we might.” She took the lead. “Come on, the bedroom’s back here.” She led me through the living room and the kitchen until we found ourselves in a short, L-shaped hallway. “There're just a couple empty rooms down that way, but down there”—she pointed forward to a dark wooden door just ahead— “is the master bedroom. Whenever I try to get inside—”
The ghost appeared ahead of us, just in front of the bedroom door.
“She shows up.”
“What, you never thought of iron before?”
“The most obvious answer is usually the right one, and usually, the last thing you think of. But with you here, I have someone to watch my back while I pick the lock and take care of the bones.”
“Fine, let’s just get this over with.” We walked down the hall, towards the ghost and her guard post.
The ghost wailed, her scream forcing a gust of wind down the hall. The cabinets lining the left wall flew open, throwing their contents against the opposing wall. She rocketed forward only to be dispersed by Dizzy and the poker.
We took advantage of the moment and ran to the door.
“Here, take this.” Dizzy handed me the poker and knelt down in front of the door. She pulled out a lock pick and stuck it into the door lock.
“Are you kidding me? Look how flimsy this door is. Move!” I shouted as I pushed her aside. I took a step back and thrust the heel of my foot into the d
oor, just next to the handle. It flung open, revealing the bedroom.
Dark green carpet stretched the length of the room. It was clean and vibrant, visibly untouched by the corruption eating away at the rest of the house.
“Okay, this just keeps getting creepier and creepier.” I walked in and found a rotting skeleton sprawled out on top of the bed. The bones appeared to have never been moved. Tattered remains of what little clothes the person was wearing before their death were torn away and strewn across the bed. The leg bones were spread outwards and the right shin bone was broken.
Something terrible happened here. I walked up to the bed and stood over it and the skeleton. Dizzy quickly joined me, still watching her surroundings for the ghost.
“It was true,” she said somberly.
IV
“NEARLY SIXTY YEARS ago, a woman was madly in love with her husband.” Dizzy stared down at the bones laid out on the bed. “On their first anniversary, he went out to celebrate with his buddies, leaving her at home to make them dinner. No one knows why, but his pals accompanied him home to keep the already out-of-hand party going. They all chugged a couple more beers, took a couple of swigs from a whiskey bottle, all while berating and criticizing the man’s wife until she absconded to the bedroom in tears. Soon after, they all made their way back together, where they found the wife asleep on the bed in nothing but her underwear and a long nighty, ready to make amends for whatever she’d done wrong that evening.” She picked up a frilly piece of the aged, torn fabric and tossed it back onto the bed. “They took turns holding her down and having their way with her. They beat and abused her physically and verbally. Eventually, she died in pain and terror. Two days later, while her corpse was still being used like a sex toy being passed around a frat house, she returned as a vengeful spirit and massacred all of them, except for one. Her husband got away, but legend has it she tore his member from his body and placed it in her corpse’s clasped hands.”
A chill shot through my spine as I imagined the act of having my member torn from…never mind. Moving on. “That’s pretty messed up,” I said, not taking my eyes off the bed.
“No kidding.” Dizzy turned to me. “That brings up another problem.” She lifted my hand holding the poker, hinting to something. “You should be ready.”