Lunacy

by Dan Dillard

  LET SLEEPING GHOSTS LIE

  The neighborhood buzzed like a beehive. Two vans parked outside of a brick home as a pair of women argued, toying with perfect hair while their respective camera men raced to get equipment ready. The ladies bickered about non-existent jurisdictions as they touched up lip gloss in their compacts. Meanwhile, a camera found its mount on the shoulder of a football-jerseyed man while the Channel 17 reporter knocked on the door. She glared at Channel 8 with a brilliant gleam in her smile as the door opened and her camera gathered the first footage.

  Totally scooped, she thought.

  Mrs. David Steiner, God-rest-his-soul, answered the door.

  "Hello," she said, hand over her heart. "I never expected you so quickly, c'mon in."

  Her accent placed her somewhere between Manhattan and Jersey, but the details had been lost by a dozen years or more in the suburbs of Dallas, Texas. It was early in the morning, so the bathrobe was no surprise, neither was the Marlboro Red nor the curlers. In any other town, the wine glass would've been a tad shocking. Julie Stanton didn't bat either of her well groomed false eyelashes. The cameraman, Joe, gawked at the goblet of Zinfandel a moment, then moved up to her seemingly never ending old-lady cleavage.

  "Close ya mouth, sweetie," she said. "It aingt polite ta stare."

  Joe's lip rose in the style of Elvis or Billy Idol and he pushed past Channel 8 and through the front door into the house. Evelyn Steiner closed the door behind her after flicking her cigarette butt to the lawn and then led them into the living room.

  "Have a seat," she said. "You like some coffee? Or a glass of wine? I'm not a lush, I swear, I just don't sleep regular hours. "

  "Coffee would be great, thanks," said Julie Stanton, Channel 17.

  Joe nodded in the negative and kept rolling, "Do your setup."

  Julie checked her reflection once more before speaking.

  "We're sitting in the living room of Mrs. Evelyn Steiner who claims to have access to something the world has been trying to capture since film existed. Irrevocable proof of life after death. She says there's a ghost in her home that we will be able to see, and record. Ladies and gentlemen, I'm glad you're here with me, Julie Stanton, and Channel 17."

  "Beautiful," said Joe. "Think she'll mind if I smoke?"

  Evelyn waddled into the room with a lit cigarette hanging her lip and answered Joe's question. She sat and crossed one leg over the other, flopping a slippered foot in rhythm and stared at the two strangers. Julie shook her head. She adjusted the hem of her skirt and looked at Evelyn with false interest. The real story was the ghost.

  "Mrs. Steiner, I don't mean to press, but we're here to see the ghost. Can you tell us about it? How will we know when or where to look?"

  "Oh, honey, of course. Forgive my manners."

  Evelyn gave eyes to the younger woman that said "Screw you" and stood back up. She took a long drag from her cigarette and then a swig of wine before winking at the camera man. Smoke billowed from her nose and mouth as she spoke. Joe smiled at her talent.

  "He's always around, hon. He's my dead husband, David. Usually, at this time of day, he's upstairs in the bedroom."

  "Really? Can we go up?" Julie asked.

  "Absolutely. Be my guest, but don't mind the clutter."

  Julie walked with purpose and Joe slumped behind her yawning as the pair climbed the staircase to the second story. Carpeted steps masked their footsteps.

  "Turn right and go straight on into the bedroom, kids," Evelyn shouted from the steps.

  She took her time getting up. Julie looked back down the staircase with a frown and then continued.

  "I suppose we can interview her after we see what's up here?" she asked Joe.

  "Whatever," he said.

  They pushed the slightly ajar door into the room and entered.

  Unmade bed, laundry on the floor, small TV on one night stand, full-to-overflowing ashtray on the other. It was about what they expected. Julie spun around slowly taking the room in and Joe followed even slower with his shoulder-mounted hardware. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for some snoring that grew ever louder. It seemed to be coming from the bed. Julie strained her eyes in the dim lighting. Sun through the vinyl mini-blinds wasn't enough to illuminate the area. Joe reached out an unconscious hand and flipped the switch as if he'd lived there for years. He focused his lens on the bed.

  A pale shadow of a figure lay on top of the comforter. It was roughly person shaped, but hazy, like liquid static. Joe gave a slight giggle.

  "You're getting this, right?" asked Julie.

  "You bet," he replied.

  "Is it sleeping?" Julie asked.

  "Sort of," responded Evelyn entering the room. "He's narcoleptic. Happened after the accident. Not sure why. Doctors weren't either. But ever since, he'd just drop off in the middle of lunch, church, sex ... you name it."

  "You're telling me this ghost has some sort of brain disorder?"

  "Yep," Evelyn said taking another impossibly long drag from her Marlboro.

  Joe giggled again. Julie shot him an angry glance. He moved to get a different angle on the subject and Julie mirrored him to stay in frame.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you're seeing what I'm seeing. It appears to be the full-bodied apparition of this woman's deceased husband ... sleeping in their bed."

  "My bed. He died, I got a Tempurpedic. He was always a cheap bastard," Evelyn said.

  "Right on," said Joe.

  Julie smiled and gave him a 'cut' motion across her throat.

  "I'm glad this isn't live," she said.

  Joe agreed.

  "Is David the only spirit in the house? How do you know where to find him?"

  "I see him all the time, only one who could put up with him. Snoring's what keeps me awake. That's why I drink wine at 8:00AM. Why I sometimes eat breakfast at 2:00."

  Julie scrunched her mouth, "I have so many questions. When he passed, did you ..."

  "ASS!"

  Joe looked at Julie. They both looked at Evelyn. Joe burst into laughter.

  "Excuse me?" Julie said.

  "Yep, that's my David," said Evelyn.

  "What?"

  Julie looked at the bed and noticed the spirit was gone. Joe turned off the camera and held it to his side.

  "He's not here anymore," Evelyn said.

  "Where is he?" Julie asked.

  "Ass!" the ghost shouted from somewhere in the house.

  "He's also got Tourette's."

  Joe stopped laughing and stared, mouth hanging open. A tear fell from his eye.

  "You're shitting me," he said.

  "Not a bit," Evelyn said.

  Joe exploded with delight. Julie seemed upset.

  "What, hon? You think he was gonna reenact the civil war? Recite Shakespeare? I guess they do whatever they did when they were alive."

  Joe calmed down and looked at Evelyn, "Does he know we're here?"

  "No. I don't think so. He never pays attention to me. Just snores and yells a lot."

  "Does he say anything else?" camera Joe asked.

  Julie interrupted, "I'll handle the interview."

  She turned from her unruly crewmember to the subject, Mrs. Steiner. "Does he ... say anything else?"

  "Nope. Just 'Ass'."

  Joe snorted with glee, "Excellent."

  "We need more footage," said Julie. "Sounds like he headed downstairs."

  Julie caught elder-Evelyn winking at her cohort and grabbed him by the elbow.

  "We're on the clock."

  Joe frowned and put the camera on his shoulder and clicked a few settings. Julie pulled him through the door and back down the hallway to the stairs. She stopped and placed a single finger across her lips. They all waited. Several moments passed before:

  "ASS!" from the kitchen.

  They rushed down the stairs heading for the kitchen when Julie slowed. Her trot became a tiptoe as they crossed the linoleum sheet flooring in the breakfast area. Just then a frying
pan flipped end-over-end and disappeared from the counter. Then what sounded like a sack of flour hit the floor. Joe jumped and Julie grasped his arm.

  "The hell was that?" Joe said.

  "Zzzzzzzzz," they heard.

  The pair peered over the counter to find the hazy outline of a man sleeping face down on the kitchen floor. His rear stuck in the air with his knees tucked underneath like a toddler. Evelyn stood in the doorway trying to catch lung cancer.

  "Y'all get plenty of footage. I want the world knocking my door down for pictures. I plan to milk it dry of cash and then move out of this spook-infested hole," she said.

  "I'm sure you'll make plenty on this," Julie said.

  Evelyn straightened up.

  "I must look a mess. Y'all mind if I go fix myself up? I can't be on film like this."

  Joe smiled glancing again at the wide open top of her housecoat. Julie nodded.

  "Take your time. I'd like to try and communicate with your husband. Ya know, when he wakes up."

  "Uh-huh. Good luck with that."

  Evelyn dropped her butt into the wine glass. It sizzled in the splash of liquid that was left. Then she placed the stemmed glass on the counter and vanished through the doorway to clean herself up. Joe watched her rather wide back-section as it swayed through the front hallway. Julie smacked his arm to gain his attention.

  "Rolling?"

  "Yeah," Joe said.

  "Focus."

  "Right."

  "Is she gone?" a whisper came from the floor.

  Joe and Julie looked at each other and then spun slowly towards the sleeping lump on the linoleum.

  "Huh?" Julie said.

  "I said, 'Is ... she ... gone?'"

  It came from the lump of snoozing specter.

  "Yup," said Joe. "She went upstairs."

  The shape shifted from face-down to sitting and its image cleared enough so facial features could be made out. They could see eyes and a mouth as it spoke.

  "Thank Christ. I thought she'd never leave," it said. "You all gotta get me outta here!"

  "I'm confused," said Julie.

  "Look, I'm a ghost, you can film me as much as you like, but get me away from that crazy woman!"

  "Huh? How can we ... you ... what?"

  "Narcolepsy was something I used to try and annoy her. Scaring her didn't work. Hell I don't even know the woman."

  "But ... you were married," said Joe.

  "No I wasn't. I'm not David. I'm Greg. She's loco. She conjured me up with a Ouija board out of loneliness and now she won't let me be."

  "What about Tourette's?" asked Joe.

  Julie sneered at him for asking her question.

  "That's real, but only comes up when she's around. When I was alive, it was exaggerated by stress. She makes me want to choke squirrels."

  "I see," said Julie. "How long have you been here?"

  "Six months," said Greg.

  Joe snickered again.

  "Glad this is funny, ass."

  "Sorry," Joe said.

  "You think dying is the worst part? Nah. The worst part is Heaven has a waiting list. Hell's wide open, and quite a party from what I hear. For Heaven, you wait. I've got another year or so."

  "So you don't want to go to hell?"

  "Who does? I wasn't in politics or law, so I wouldn't fit in. Never been much of a drinker. I'd have to find a sponsor, and there's waivers. It's a process. I just want to rest. Now I'm stuck here with Queen Merlot," said Greg.

  Joe nodded, peeking around the camera.

  "Are you getting this?" Julie barked.

  He put his eye back to the viewfinder and centered Greg back in the frame. Greg floated to the breakfast table and sat down.

  "I could really go for some coffee. No smells, no tastes. That's what I miss the most. Well that, and not being here. I could kill her. With no remorse whatsoever."

  "What stops you?" asked Julie.

  "I don't know. Shit, here she comes."

  Greg slammed his head on the table and began to snore. Evelyn sauntered in the room with overdone hair and makeup and a new coffin-nail smoldering between her lips. Her bra held her girls pressed nearly up to her chin and her outfit accentuated every soft, fleshy roll. Blue-shadowed eyes locked on Joe.

  "We followed him to the table and he konked out again," said Julie.

  "Typical," Evelyn responded. "Men are only good for one thing."

  Joe cleared his throat. Evelyn swanked her way to an open chair and gave the snoozing ghost a wicked glance. Then she looked to the camera and gave an equally wicked grin. Julie grabbed the ashtray from the counter behind her and slid it across the table. The old woman tapped ashes into the vessel and waited for her television debut.

  "Can you tell us about the ghost, Evelyn? Do you know him?"

  Evelyn smiled, uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs beneath the table.

  "He's the spirit of my dead husband. He showed up just days after the funeral."

  The ghost snorted. It wasn't quite disapproval, but the coincidence was comical.

  "Oh really," said Julie.

  "Yes," Evelyn said as her stone face crumbled a bit.

  "Isn't it true that you beckoned this spirit? You conjured it up out of loneliness?" Julie fired the questions like a death squad.

  "Absurd."

  She stumped out her smoke.

  "Is it? Is it also true that you're holding this spirit here like some sort of ... prisoner?"

  "Why would I ... How would I do such a thing?" Evelyn said and lit another cigarette.

  "You tell us."

  Evelyn hedged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Ass!" Greg shouted. "I can't believe the shit that tumbles from your mouth."

  All eyes moved to the rolling mist that was Greg. He sat at the head of the table and glowed with energy. He was riled up enough that his features were defined, although translucent. Joe spoke first.

  "He looks a bit young to have been your husband."

  "Yeah. Decades," Greg said.

  "When did he die?" Julie asked.

  Evelyn looked confused and angry.

  "The obituary said David Steiner died three years ago. That would've made him fifty-seven years old, Evelyn. How do you explain the young man seated here?"

  "The Lord works in mysterious ways," she said.

  "Really?" Greg said followed by "ASS!"

  The ghost stood and slammed an ethereal fist on the table.

  "Cut the crap, granny. Tell them about your little ceremonies. Tell them about your spells and incantations. Tell them you're some kind of freaking witch!"

  Julie leaned over to Joe and said, "Keep rolling. Holy shit, we just went tabloid."

  Evelyn narrowed her eyes to slits and pulled deeply on her filtered cigarette.

  "How dare you," she said.

  "What are you gonna do?" Greg the ghost asked.

  "I'll seal you in. I'll capture you and lock you away and you'll never reach your destination."

  "Bring it, bitch! Hell would be like ice cream and foot massages compared to you. I'll kill you dead and drag you with me."

  He hovered just above the linoleum floor and inched closer to her.

  "Ass!" he shouted.

  Evelyn lurched upward from the table and fumbled getting her feet beneath her as she hurried to the kitchen and opened one cabinet after the other. Joe grabbed her cigarette from the ashtray on the table and popped it into his mouth. Julie couldn't speak, but motioned for him to capture all the action. Greg the ghost continued on his slow moving path.

  "I hate you, Evelyn Steiner! I hope you catch diseases. You're disgusting and I'm going to kill you. Then I'm going to haunt you."

  He crept ever closer wringing his ghostly fists. His eyes grew wider and wider as the madness took him. Evelyn found what she searched for in the cabinet and whirled around. She held a glass jar in one hand, the lid in the other.

  "Capio phasmatis pro infinitio. Capio phasmatis pro infinitio," she chanted a
nd closed her eyes.

  "What is she saying, Joe?" Julie asked.

  Joe shrugged, "I don't speak German."

  Greg continued to approach her. He held his arms out as if he was going to choke her. Evelyn tilted her head back as if to look to the heavens and shouted:

  "Capio phasmatis pro infinitio!"

  Greg's phantom body began to swirl and boil like a tiny tornado. He screamed as if in pain as Evelyn held the jar in front of her. She continued to chant her phrase as the vortex found the receptacle and began to fill it up. Little by little the swirling body of Greg entered the jar and as Evelyn slammed the lid on top, a faint scream could be heard:

  "Ass!"

  "You got all that, right?" asked Julie. "Tell me you got that shit."

  "Yeah. I mean I think so. I'm not even sure I saw that, but the camera was rolling."

  Joe rolled the film back and saw that all the craziness had indeed been captured on film.

  Evelyn placed the jar on the table. The glass was smoky and black as if it had been burned on the inside. She lit another cigarette.

  "Take him with you," Evelyn said.

  "Really?" asked Julie.

  "Yep. I'm through with him. Take him with you, give him to science, whatever. Just don't ever bring him back here."

  "Right. Thanks, I guess," Julie said.

  "No thanks necessary. Just get the hell out of my house."

  "Right," Julie said.

  The news team walked to the door and as Julie opened it, Joe turned as if to apologize. Evelyn placed her hand over his mouth and shook her head. Then she reached in her pocket and pulled out a business card and placed it in his hand.

  "Call me," she said with a wink.

  They opened the door and walked out to the van without another word. Channel 8 was still sitting there. The fiery, red-headed, on-scene reporter leered at Julie from her rolled down window.

  "I hope you're happy. I hope you got the story of the century," she said.

  "We got quite a story all right," Joe said.

  "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to that uptight cow right there."

  Julie cringed. Joe was about to say something in her defense but she shushed him and stepped up to the window of the Channel 8 van. Red-head raised an eyebrow.

  "Here. You want the story? Take it. It's all in here."

  Julie handed the mystical glass jar to her competition and walked back to her own van. Joe set his camera in the back and then got in the driver's seat.

  "You don't think she'll open that do you?" he said and cranked the motor.

  "I hope so."

  The Channel 8 van started down the street and within seconds screams of terror could be heard throughout the neighborhood. The van swerved left and then right, finally coming to an abrupt halt at the mercy of a telephone pole. Julie smiled and Joe laughed out loud. They passed the wrecked vehicle without a glance.

  END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dan writes creepy. Sometimes it writes him back.

  Even though his books deal with terrible things, he has a family that loves him, including one fantastic wife, Stephanie, and two not-so-little-anymore girls who put up with his immaturity amazingly well. Together they adventure about this rock with a bunch of pets.

  Thanks for reading!

  Dan Dillard

  Come find me?

  demonauthor@gmail.com

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