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Ghost Stories: A Zimbell House Anthology
Ghost Stories: A Zimbell House Anthology
Ghost Stories: A Zimbell House Anthology
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Ghost Stories: A Zimbell House Anthology

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About this ebook

Ghost Stories features twenty-four short tales by twenty-three new international writers that are sure to make you laugh, cry, and send tingles down your spine.

This anthology has something for everyone that entertains the idea that ghosts have unfinished business with the living.

Featured Contributors:

Brandon T. Madden, Caroline Misner
C. E. Rickard, Christine Meade
Erin Darby Gesell, E. W. Farnsworth
Hayley Gabrielle, Howard Russell,
James Stack, L. S. Engler
Leslie J. Linder, Meesh Feraud
Mickey Revenaugh, Mike Flinchum
Rollin Jewett, Sheila Mulrooney
Sony Zae, Stephen McQuiggan
Terry Sanville, Tyson West
Warren Teagarden, Wayne Raymond Smith
and William S. Hubbartt

LanguageEnglish
Release dateOct 17, 2017
ISBN9781945967917
Ghost Stories: A Zimbell House Anthology
Author

Zimbell House Publishing

Zimbell House Publishing is an independent publishing company that wishes to partner with new voices to help them become Quality Authors.Our goal is to partner with our authors to help publish & promote quality work that readers will want to read again and again, and refer to their friends.

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    Ghost Stories - Zimbell House Publishing

    American Gothic

    Tyson West

    As Brooks and Margaret drove up to the farmhouse at 1213 South Wrangel Road, a few miles south of town, he felt a sense of not unpleasant apprehension. The closest he had come to this sensation was how he felt going out on a blind date with Donnajane, the deceased mother of his daughter and the love of his life. Perhaps the feeling arose from his moving in so quickly with Margaret. She had advanced their relationship more rapidly than was his style. He hoped to wait a year at least before committing to this step. Possibly, he had been swept up in her optimism and her purpose. Showing no inkling of doubt or depression that women in his past had shown, Margaret seemed too good to be true.

    He also wondered since this feeling came on so suddenly if it might not be due to the house itself. The first feature he noticed was the gothic window in the second story room above the front porch. Its bright red curtains flashed like a matador’s cape. This story and a half farmhouse had been built around 1910 with a wooden shingle roof which the owner had recently replaced with black dimensional composition. With freshly painted lime green clapboard siding, the house stood out against the barn out back painted in classic Mail Pouch Tobacco Red. Formerly a part of a much larger spread, the house and outbuildings had been cut out on a five-acre parcel while the sections of wheat fields had been sold to a corporate farm. While the county road formed the north boundary of the parcel, a small creek ran along the south side through a copse of quaking aspen.

    The owner, Rodney Rummage, a dark, pudgy man about five and a half feet tall, waddled out of his faded thirty-year-old Chevy pickup truck, to open the door for Margaret. Brooks lingered outside and walked around the house through the sweet clover and knapweed that was just starting to turn brown. He worried if a questing tick might climb onto his leg as he passed through.

    Brooks gingerly checked out the barn and outbuildings. He didn’t quite want to enter the house yet. Rodney, however, had cozied up to Margaret as if they were old friends. Finally, Brooks sauntered into their love fest with the house at its center. All he had to do to find them was follow Margaret’s brassy laughter.

    Seriously, the house has been insulated, rewired, re-plumbed and re-roofed. I have tried to keep as much of its original panache. The cabinets, counters, and flooring in the kitchen are original. We have updated the appliances. Unfortunately, cedar shingles are a fire hazard. I have replaced some of the upper windows, and I put really good storm windows over the lower to preserve the beauty of their stained-glass highlights.

    Margaret admired the leaded glass windows. In the living room was a pleasant scene showing a fat cow next to a haystack. In the dining room, was a single rose blossomed flanked by two lilies on each side. When he saw this bouquet, Brooks was surprised his first sense was that the lilies stood sentry to commemorate a dead love. He would normally have thought they were just pretty flowers.

    Say, Rodney, Brooks asked, is there some special significance to these stain glass windows?

    Not that I know. But let me tell you, this house is one hell of a deal. The monthly rent is only six hundred dollars. Of course, to get that rent you’ve got to sign a three-year lease. I can go with a shorter lease at one year for eight fifty a month and with a bigger deposit.

    Margaret and Brooks were astonished this rent was half of what they had expected.

    This house is in great shape. The basement’s a little bit dank, but you’ll be living upstairs. There is a propane furnace, but you also have a wood stove that can heat the whole house if you want to use that. It’s got a glass front so you can enjoy the flames.

    Once Margaret heard the price, she was on the verge of telling the landlord to write it up. Brooks caught her eye.

    Excuse us, Margaret smiled graciously, we would like to look around the outside of the house and talk for a few minutes.

    Fine, but I’ve got people calling wanting to rent this place. It’s going to go fast. I prefer you two. You are not going to be throwing keggers.

    Outside Margaret turned, I say we take it for three years.

    But, what if our relationship doesn’t work out? This is a big step.

    Margaret responded logically, Are you questioning my commitment to you?

    Please Margaret. We’ve only been together for six months. I am still hesitant after my divorce of getting involved so deeply so quickly. My divorce attorney said to wait a year.

    Please Brooks. We are civilized adults. Let’s see if the landlord will agree that if either of us leaves the other can continue to rent it. Each of us could swing this kind of rent easily.

    I hate moving, but as usual, Margaret, I can’t refute your logic. Renting is not so much of a commitment as buying.

    Margaret strode into the house again. Brooks was still hesitant. He felt excited but uneasy. However, at this price, he could get used to this house. Besides he didn’t want to argue with Margaret whose normal calculation had abandoned her so that she was leaning but never reaching the point of bubbly. One more thing, Rodney. I expect you will allow us to paint the rooms and decorate as we wish.

    Rodney sighed, Ok, as long as the colors aren’t too wild.

    Brooks went outside to look again at the gothic window in the upstairs bedroom. The arched point at its top reminded him of northern European cathedrals. The blood-red curtains screamed for attention.

    Brooks wandered inside to talk to Margaret.

    Say, I’m a little concerned about the curtains, too. Normally I don’t notice such things, but the scarlet curtains in the church window are kind of flashy.

    What red curtains? Margaret asserted. I didn’t see any red curtains.

    She walked around to the front with Brooks, and the curtains seemed to have faded to a pale blue. Brooks wondered how he could have been so mistaken, as he mumbled an excuse to Margaret. They returned to the kitchen where they reviewed and signed the lease. Brooks and Margaret each wrote a check for half the deposit and the first and last month’s rent.

    Margaret and Rodney were all smiles. Brooks wished he could join their mood. He excused himself to walk upstairs to the room with the gothic window which Margaret had ordained as his study.

    Say, Brooks, why don’t you measure your study as long as you are going upstairs. She handed him a tape measure and a notepad. He definitely enjoyed Margaret’s efficiency. It gave him a chance to daydream more. When he walked into the room with the gothic window, there was almost a sense of a red mist in the air. He blinked a couple of times, and it was gone. He glanced at the window and discovered that the curtains, indeed remained a baby blue. He worried. Was his memory or eyesight starting to go bad?

    Brooks started taking measurements and sketched out the room. He concluded that he could fit his desk along the wall near the window and still get most of his book selves along the west wall. The plugins for his computer and sound system were perfectly located.

    He hoped he would feel a lot better once he and Margaret were settled. He could cloister long hours working on his history of the Eastern Washington grain trade.

    As he walked down the stairs, Brooks caught what seemed to the flounce of a long red cloth out of the corner of his eye. He looked again and saw nothing but bare wall.

    Brooks called to Margaret. You know, Honey, I guess we can get everything in here and get moved in in two weeks.

    Fine. Do you want to help me pick out the paint?

    We can do it as a joint project. Although he knew full well Margaret would make the final selections, at this stage of their relationship he had to feign the right degree of interest.

    As Brooks walked into the bathroom to measure for curtains, he looked up in the mirror. He saw the puzzled face of a slightly plump woman in her late thirties wearing a rayon dress the same bright red of his imagined curtains. Her dress was constructed with a deep vee neck and a cream panel in the vee up to her neck. With her long brown hair worn up, she gazed at him with a puzzled look. He blinked, and when his eyes opened, only his face stared back at him. He wondered if he had eaten something bad at lunch.

    ***

    The next couple of weeks were a blur as Brooks graded his last freshman paper and said goodbye to the grad students receiving their degrees just as he had gotten used to their idiosyncrasies. When he thought of the house, he wondered a bit about his sanity, not only for moving in with Margaret so soon but also about the mysterious lady in the 1930’s rayon dress. Brooks had mentioned to Gary, the Far Eastern scholar who shared his office, that he and Margaret were moving in together into a mysterious old farmhouse.

    Are you talking about the Malone farmhouse south of town?

    Yes.

    Nice place, but weird. I’ve been there for a few cocktail parties. Winterbottom used to rent that house.

    You mean, old T Rex Winterbottom, king of the dinosaurs?

    "The same.

    After a few minutes, Brooks walked down to Winterbottom’s office and knocked on the door.

    Come in.

    Say, Roger, Margaret and I just rented that farmhouse where you used to live.

    You mean the Haunted Malone Farmhouse?

    What makes you say that?

    My wife thinks that it is haunted by a female ghost. She doesn’t like other women in her house. When I was there alone, the ghost treated me very well although I never saw her. She kept the poltergeist antics and supernatural drama to a minimum. But when my wife was there, things started getting a little dicey. We move out before our lease was up. Nancy got tired of the water coming out of the shower blood red for her, not to mention the shrieks and crashes at night that I slept through.

    Brooks texted Margaret to call him as soon as she was out of class.

    Say, I’m beginning to wonder about the deal we got. I talked to Winterbottom who had rented the place before he and Nancy bought their house. When I asked Rodney, who had rented it in the past, he indicated that it was just a bunch of students. He lied to us about Winterbottom. Winterbottom says the place is haunted.

    No ghost is going to haunt me out of my house. If the ghost is not friendly, I sure I can reciprocate. If not, it might be charming to have a ghost buster’s party.

    ***

    Although Brooks tried to visit more with him, Winterbottom refused to fill in any more details. When Brooks stopped at Rodney’s real estate office to pick up the keys to the barn and well house, he decided to press the issue.

    Rodney, I’ve heard from a former tenant that our farmhouse is reputed to be haunted.

    Does this mean there are some issues with the plumbing and the wiring?

    It was just the way Rummage said the words that concerned Brooks. No. I felt a presence in the place as if a spirit lives there who does not particularly want us there. The curtain upstairs seemed to change color. I thought I saw someone in the mirror and I saw the flash of red cloth. I’m not superstitious, but I don’t have a good feeling about this.

    Rodney laughed in a hardy but hollow manner. Come on. You mean to tell me you think there are ghosts out there? So what if there are? What are they going to do to you?

    That’s just it, I’ve never had an experience like this before. I’m not sure I believe in them.

    Well, I’ve owned rental property over thirty years. I’ve had drug busts for marijuana, heroin, meth, and cocaine. I’ve had tenants skip after trashing out units. I have had bedbug and mouse infestations. I had skunks camp out in crawl spaces. I even had a murder. But I’ve never had anyone complain about being evicted by ghosts.

    What happens if Margaret or I have a disagreement and we part company?

    As long as one of you stays in the house and keeps paying the rent, nothing happens. If you both move out, I have an obligation to make a good faith effort to re-rent the property, but I can pursue you every month for the rent payments due until I get it re-rented.

    Okay.

    If something breaks, I will get it fixed. But ghosts? I can’t fix your imagination.

    ***

    Brooks didn’t mention his encounter with Rummage to Margaret when they met. She efficiently held out a handful of paint chips. I’m all excited. I’ve already got colors in mind.

    Brooks' eyebrows raised slightly. Excited, was not a word anyone would use to describe Margaret.

    What do you think about this yellow in your study upstairs? She smoothly segued.

    Brooks felt a tick in his adrenalin. Margaret could paint the house with orange and purple stripes as long as she didn’t talk to him about it or get into his study. While she hadn’t exactly thrown down a gauntlet, she seemed to be unbuckling one.

    That’s a nice color, and I think that color goes really well with curtains you picked out. But don’t you think that it is too matchy-matchy with my furniture?

    Yes. I’m so glad you’re interested in this. Let’s try the colors at the house.

    I’ll take over some boxes in the back of the car.

    When they got to the house, Brooks unloaded several boxes of books into the living room. Say, Margaret pressed, let’s go upstairs and check out what we think the chips may look like on the walls upstairs in each room. I brought some masking tape. Let’s tape the chips on the walls and think before we order the paint.

    Starting with his study, Margaret placed a dark goldenrod on the south wall, then placed a much lighter lemon color on the north wall. My plan is to use the lemon on these three walls and the goldenrod as an accent color. Brook winced. He wanted blue to match the curtains the house had hung on the gothic window.

    Honey, I think painting this room yellow is too bright. It is my cave.

    We will talk about this later. Here is our beige color scheme for our bedroom. I want to put Bahama Brown here as an accent color and then Sahara Sand on the rest of the walls.

    As she taped up the chips. Brooks ignored his feelings and calmly nodded. Excellent idea, Honey.

    They went downstairs, and she did the greens and greys in the living room and dining room, and lavender in the kitchen.

    Okay, get your notebook. Are we agreed?

    You have wonderful taste, Margaret. But I want blue in my study. Can we hold off on that?

    Margaret sensed it was time for a strategic retreat. Okay, let’s do the rest of the house first.

    Brooks carefully noted of how many gallons of each color to order.

    When he returned upstairs, he was rather surprised to see that the yellows had been moved to their bedroom and nothing was on the study walls. The brown chips from the bedroom had disappeared.

    Margaret, did you come back up here and change these?

    She came upstairs quickly. What happened?

    The colors are mixed up.

    I can fix that. I remember where they go.

    She returned the yellows to the study to see if Brooks would get used to them. Brooks made notes of which color went on which wall as they went room by room except his study.

    As they drove to go to the paint store, Margaret turned to Brooks. That was strange. Are you playing a joke on me or being passive aggressive about the study? Yellow looks better there than blue.

    But I want blue, and it is my space.

    No, our space.

    I’m beginning to wonder if the house isn’t haunted.

    Sure, by Peter Pan and Wendy. I think you did it.

    Eventually, after a few mishaps and a dicey weekend knock down drag out where Margaret finally agreed to turquoise with a cornflower accent wall in the study, the house was finally painted as Margaret had envisioned mostly. Brooks supported her and diplomatically showed concern when the colors didn’t dry exactly as Margaret had anticipated. He was looking forward to a quiet desk in his study where he could set up his computer and an easy chair where he could read Robert Browning and Emily Dickenson.

    After they moved in, Brooks arranged his study after another argument with Margaret. Sulking, Margaret set up her studio up in the third bedroom. At first, Brooks had trouble hanging his pictures in his study. Hooks wouldn’t adjust no matter how hard he tried, and pictures would inexplicably fall. He went to bed that night. Much to his surprise, he dreamed of an alternate way to arrange them. He followed the dream’s directions and rearranged the pictures the next day. Miraculously they all stayed exactly where he placed them. Brooks would normally have been curious about what had happened. But after the fight, he accepted the house’s direction as he had Margaret’s mostly. In his world shaped by forces beyond his control, as long as he could sit at his computer and read his books, he saw no reason to storm against whatever powers that be.

    Margaret, on the other hand, was having a good deal of difficulty in decorating her studio. Pictures would fall, her paints would inexplicably tip over, and there was a strong smell of corned beef and cabbage cooking. Brooks’ study, on the other hand, smelled quietly of lavender.

    After about a week, Margaret’s frustration reached the boiling point.

    After Brooks and Margaret woke up in their queen-sized bed on Monday morning, Brooks was in the bathroom shaving and showering. He looked up into the mirror and caught an image of the woman this time with her long brown hair curled under falling to her shoulders smiling at him. He looked up, taken aback, and suddenly she vanished. The woman had been wearing a modest blue rayon dress with shoulder pads, a style popular during the Depression.

    He thought about saying something to Margaret at breakfast but was concerned it would rile her up. She had already been complaining heavily about nothing working right in the house. Brooks to his surprise realized that he was growing comfortable there. The move had been hard on him, but the settling in had proved very satisfactory.

    That evening it was Margaret’s turn to cook dinner. When Brooks walked into the house, he heard her playing her country music and singing along. As he entered the kitchen he called out, Honey, I’m home, then heard a crash.

    Well, maybe you can make this damn kitchen work.

    A bowl was on the floor, and chicken breasts were scattered.

    Help me pick these up and clean them off, and we are going to re-bread them.

    What happened?

    The bowl slipped off the counter and fell. I don’t get it. I’m a much better cook than this, but things keep falling apart in this kitchen. I swear that the spices got mixed up in the containers.

    Let’s make the best of it. It’s not going to be poisonous, is it?

    No.

    Well then let’s enjoy what turns out. Sometimes surprise is a good thing.

    Not when I’m cooking it isn’t.

    They each poured a glass of wine. Brooks cooked brown basmati rice which turned out perfectly. As he tasted the chicken breasts, he murmured, This doesn’t have oregano as you suggested but it’s flavored with lavender. I wonder how the lavender got in the oregano container.

    He got up to check it and handed it to Margaret. It smells like oregano to me. But this is the spice you used?"

    Yes.

    I like it. I’m glad whatever happened, happened.

    They finished their dinner and were cleaning up the kitchen and table when Margaret poured a second glass of wine for herself, then poured one for Brooks. We have to talk.

    Brooks immediately tensed up.

    They retreated to the living room. "I know that this is going to sound crazy, but I am concerned this place is haunted.

    The landlord never had trouble renting it, but he has had trouble keeping it rented. I contacted the former tenants. They indicated that there was shrieking, screaming, pictures falling off the walls and a million things going wrong. They thought the house was jinxed.

    I’m comfortable here. I had some trouble with my pictures, to begin with, but I moved them around, and they seem to work okay now. Do you want to move?

    Move? Margaret raised an eyebrow, No woman and no ghost of a woman is going to drive me out of my house.

    Brooks relaxed. Well, what are we going to do about it?

    I am going to bring in a ghostbuster. We’ll figure out what’s wrong with this place and clean up the psychic energy.

    Is this going to be expensive?

    I’ll pay for the whole thing.

    Okay.

    I’m trying to select a psychic right now from Zorba’s List online. I’ll be interviewing them and bringing them by. I just want to let you know.

    After their talk, Brooks retreated to his study while Margaret watched television. He was very much uninvolved with Margaret’s announcement.

    He turned on his monitor to check his email. As he logged in, the screen suddenly went blank then a picture of the woman he had seen in the mirror earlier appeared. She was now dressed in a maroon calf-length dress with half-heel black shoes. She wore pearls, and her collar glittered with rhinestones. She was sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of the house, in what looked like a very different era, rocking back and forth. A little brown poodle, with big black eyes peering through his curls, sat in her lap.

    Hi, Brooks.

    Hello,

    We need to talk. Brooks had not been scared, and it seemed perfectly natural to be talking to what seemed to be a ghost, but on hearing those words spoken in a woman’s voice, he tensed up. You are living in my house, and I don’t really mind you here. I do have some issues, however, with your roommate. She does not seem to respect the fact that she is living in someone else’s space. You at least cooperate on hanging your pictures, although the colors in your study are passable, we could have done much better.

    What’s your name?

    Molly Malone. This is my house. I’ve been here since 1920. When I passed over in 1938, my spirit left my body and stayed here. Do you like it here?

    Yes. I’m very comfortable here, but I’m not comfortable with Margaret’s discomfort. Do you think you could let up on her?

    I can try, but she’s going to have to learn a little bit of respect.

    What can I do to make things better? I would like not to have to move again. You’re younger and moving might seem like an adventure, but when you get to be my age, there are so many more things that I would rather be doing than packing up boxes and worrying about where I put my keys. I am very comfortable here.

    Molly laughed. You were born long after I died! Why don’t you buy the house?

    Maybe if we can all get along; the landlord would be interested in selling. How can I reach to you if we need to visit?

    I can always reach you through the computer, but if you want to reach me, I put an icon on your computer.

    What?

    I’m going to get off the screen for a second to put up your main page.

    Sure enough in the corner was a little cartoon ghost, with white sheets and black eyes and a smile. He heard Molly’s voice, Just double left click, and I’ll be right back to you.

    Molly, it’s nice talking to you.

    By the way, I love Emily Dickenson and Browning, too. I’d like to visit with you about Fra Lippo Lippi sometime later. See ya.

    The screen faded back to his main page wallpaper.

    Molly had been articulate and charming. For the first time since Donnajane’s accident, he felt hope. He had just had a conversation with a disembodied spirit, and it seemed smooth and as ordinary as if he met a memorable living soul.

    Brooks didn’t feel comfortable discussing either his new acquaintance nor their conversation with Margaret directly.

    That night he put his arms around her in bed. Margaret, perhaps we can work a little harder on this house to get a sense of its Tao. I had trouble hanging my pictures, but I dreamed where to hang them, and I thought they looked fine. Maybe if you rearrange your pictures to go with the way of the house, things would go more smoothly.

    This is my house. I don’t care who was here before. Since you and I are now sucking air in this house, this house is going to be my way.

    Okay.

    As he massaged her back, Margaret was starting to soften up. Things were headed in a tender direction. But as she turned to kiss him, they suddenly heard a loud crash in her studio.

    They jumped up. A picture had fallen off the wall shattering the glass. A very heavy hook had inexplicably bent.

    Brooks grabbed a broom, swept and picked up the broken glass.

    Margaret muttered to him. I’m going to get rid of that bitch.

    How do you know the ghost is a woman?

    She’s choosing to fight with me. No self-respecting woman would think a wimp like you is worth fighting with.

    The next morning, Brooks saw Molly in his mirror.

    I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t realize the glass would break.

    I thought that picture was where you wanted it hung.

    Oh, it needs to over a few inches to the right, Molly smiled. If you help her with that it’ll stay there. I don’t like it so symmetrical. Margaret needs to appreciate a little asymmetry.

    Okay, thanks for the tip.

    When Brooks arrived home after his afternoon class, Margaret was visiting with a woman with her grey hair in a bun who was seated in their rocking chair. In an ankle length cotton dress, the woman wore a formal nineteenth-century blouse buttoned up to her neck. Brooks thought the puffed sleeves were interesting. He hadn’t seen those except in pictures.

    Brooks, this, is Sarah. Sarah is a spiritualist I am interviewing.

    Brooks held out his hand, Pleased to meet you.

    She took his hand, instead of shaking it back, she curtsied. Brooks in turn bowed.

    He’d read enough Victorian literature that he immediately got into the ambiance.

    So, before I consider accepting this engagement, I’d like to interview you as well regarding your experiences with the psychic phenomenon in this house. First of all, let me say that the psychic forces are off the charts. I may have to bring another medium with me as it may take two of us to handle these forces once they are unleashed. I brought my psychrometer with me. I want you to walk with me around the house, and show me the areas where you may have seen something.

    I really haven’t seen much of anything. Brooks, not a good liar, spoke this line in a tone worthy of Bill Clinton. Sarah smiled like the Mona Lisa.

    Brooks, could you help me carry in my psychrometer?

    Certainly.

    They went out to her car. Sarah opened the trunk. Brooks lifted out a heavy suitcase and hauled it to the middle of the living room. Sarah flipped it open. On its side, dials appeared and the small screen popped up. She plugged it in, turned it on, and it started humming. She then adjusted the dials some and plugged in a cone with a cord running to the machine. She then focused the cone and images in purple and yellow flit in and out of focus on the screen.

    She passed the cone over and around the room. There is a small brown dog with curly hair sleeping over in this nook. She pointed towards the fireplace. It looks like a little poodle.

    As Sarah pointed the cone, Brooks could sense Molly dancing away beyond its sphere.

    Brooks, Sarah asked, can you please pick up the machine, and follow me? She then switched to battery.

    Sarah led them through the kitchen, then the entire first floor of the house. Besides that dog following us, I sense there are others here. An old soldier sits and rocks and minds his own business. Male ghosts generally don’t do a whole lot. But a woman’s energy is here, a younger woman, a descendant of the soldier. She runs this house. Follow me upstairs. You too Brooks.

    Brooks watched Sarah very efficiently pie the rooms with the cone in sweeping patterns so that nothing could get past. Sarah swept into Margaret’s studio first, then into the bedroom then Brooks’ study. She spent a lot of time in the study. This must have been her room. I sense from the vibrations that she was here a few minutes ago. I wonder where she went.

    Brooks glanced towards the open gothic window. He wondered if Molly had gotten away. As Sarah moved towards the window, Brooks suddenly stumbled and dropped the machine.

    Oh, I sorry, I hope I didn’t break it.

    No, it's fine. It’s meant to take shocks. I want to sweep through that window to see if she went out on the porch roof.

    Sarah moved towards the window and swept there with the cone. She got away. Sometimes spirits will move to outbuildings or move into the astral. But she is definitely not far. She would not have left her dog and the old man nor her house. I’ve got some ideas.

    She glanced at Margaret. Why don’t we two talk about this?

    Brooks helped Sarah pack up the psychrometer, then Margaret left with Sarah. An hour and a half later, Margaret returned.

    While they were gone, Brooks was making cornbread. As he reached for the milk, on a sudden impulse, he substituted sour cream. As he baked the cornbread and starting to plan to marinate the pork chops, he was surprised to hear Molly whisper to him of mixing tarragon vinegar and a couple pinches of demerara sugar, with a tablespoon of full-flavored molasses. He added a tablespoon of cocoa, stirred it then marinated the pork chops in the mixture.

    He would start cooking them when Margaret got home.

    He fixed a salad, then as Margaret drove up, he put the pork chops in the preheated oven.

    Hi, Honey. How are you doing?

    I’m not going to tell you what’s going to be happening. But we are definitely getting this ghost situation straightened out.

    Do you really believe in ghosts? It seems so nineteenth century.

    Yes, she is definitely here. The dog I can take. The old man is a nice decoration, but that woman doesn’t know who’s boss.

    After they sat down to dinner, Margaret tasted the pork chops and the cornbread. Wow, you’ve really excelled here. This is really good cooking. I’ve never seen you this creative before. Where did you get these recipes?

    I just pulled them off the internet.

    Well I want to make these pork chops again so why don’t you print it out for me.

    Sure, Brooks panicked. I’ll be glad to do that.

    After cleaning the kitchen, he went to his computer.

    When he turned the screen on, there was a recipe for Molly’s Heavenly Pork Chops. He hit the printer and gave it to Margaret. He felt relieved. He wasn’t sure he could have remembered the ingredients.

    Margaret, don’t you think it might make sense if we tried to get along with this ghost? I mean she hasn’t been that malevolent. She hasn’t threatened anyone. It just seems like we are guests in her house.

    You don’t get it, Brooks, and I don’t think you ever will. I’m not going to tell you what will happen here. Suffice it to say when you get home from work tomorrow things will be better.

    Before Brooks left for work that morning, he contacted Molly on his computer.

    I’m concerned that Sarah’s coming back today. I’m afraid she is going to try to bust you out of this house.

    I can handle her, Molly put on a very brave face. Don’t worry. They’ve tried this before.

    They have?

    Yes, the landlord tried it a few times too. I just have never had someone in the house that I felt about the way I feel about you.

    Brooks smiled. I really appreciate you, Molly. I’ll do what I can for you. Meanwhile, take care.

    Don’t worry.

    Before Brooks left the house, he changed his password and turned his computer off. He didn’t want Sarah or Margaret stumbling across his ghost icon.

    At work, he thought about Molly all day long.

    When he got home, Margaret greeted him beaming. I think we’ve got this problem licked.

    What did she do, burn incense and recite chants from the mad Arab Alhazred’s Necronomicon?

    No, Sarah is a model of a thoroughly modern ghostbuster. She used the latest in techniques.

    Oh, what are they?

    Sarah said not to tell you. She thinks you might be part of the problem. And let me tell you, Margaret’s eyes hardened, if that is true, that doesn’t make me any too happy.

    Furthest thing from it. I’m just trying to make our relationship work, Margaret. Do you want me to fix dinner?

    I thought we might go out tonight to give the house a chance to air out.

    Sure. Where would you like to go?

    How about a little Mexican?

    Do you think I might have a chance to freshen up before we go?

    No. The house is still a little bit stuffy. You are fine.

    Trying not to show it, Brooks was deeply almost panicking. He needed to get on his computer to see if Molly was alright.

    He and Margaret left together and shared academic gossip over enchiladas. Brooks kept up the banter to conceal his worry.

    When they returned to the house, Brooks opened all the windows, and they went upstairs together. Margaret was holding Brooks’ hand and smiling. I think this house is going to be exactly the way I want it.

    Brooks said, Before we go to bed, Honey, let me just check my email.

    He turned on his computer and immediately hit the ghost icon. The screen lit up showing the house in 1930’s light, and the little poodle Brindle was running around. Molly did not come.

    Brooks flipped through the rooms of the house on the screen. Grandpa Hugh was rocking in the chair in the back bedroom, but Molly was nowhere to be found.

    Brooks worried if Brindle needed any kind of help with his mistress gone and how Hugh would get by. Then as he shut his computer down, he realized that except for their loneliness, they would be fine. They’re ghosts after all. Margaret called to him.

    He didn’t see Molly in the mirror the next morning nor could he reach her when he tried again on the computer. He got off the computer and searched the house in person, even the attic, and dank basement. He found no sign of Molly. He was worried she might be dead when he recalled that she already was. How does a ghost die? He then decided to check out the outbuildings. She would not have gone far.

    The loafing shed and the chicken coop were empty. There was nothing in the main barn nor in the hayloft. Finally, in the milk room, he could see her vague, wispy outline, lying on the floor.

    He ran up to her and attempted to hold her, but his hands passed through her outline. His eyes could see, but he couldn’t feel a thing. Her eyes opened slowly.

    Oh, Brooks, I don’t want you to see me this way.

    What do you mean? I care for you no matter how unkempt you look. What’s wrong?

    The chemical she used did this to me. They are in cans called duster. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get it. Bring some to me, please.

    Molly, I’ll be right back. Are you okay here?

    No. I need that stuff in the aerosol cans. Sarah filled the whole house with it. I inhaled it. I am just a ghost of myself.

    I need to check something!

    Don’t leave me.

    Molly, I need to check something.

    Brooks ran back to the house and went through the garbage. Sure enough, it was filled with empty cans of duster. So that was the secret. For some reason Brindle and Hugh were unaffected, but it hit Molly hard.

    Brooks drove immediately to Office Depot and bought a case of duster cans. If he could get her off the floor, they could come up with a solution together. He grabbed one can, and left the rest in his trunk. He set the can on the floor next to Molly and much to his surprise the can hissed empty without his intervention.

    Molly spoke with more vigor, I’ll be okay for a while, but I will need more in the morning.

    Can I trust you not to abuse this if I leave case here or somewhere in the house?

    Brooks you can trust me with anything, but not this. Just leave one can at a time. If I don’t get it, I am completely disabled. I wasn’t this scared when I died.

    Addiction must be worse than dying. But not having been there either, I can’t say. Molly, I am with you. If you can survive death, you can survive duster addiction!

    Don’t get condescending with me. You are treating me like my father, and I hate it.

    Molly, I am sorry. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.

    Get the hell out of here. This is my house. Take that bitch and go.

    "Molly, I know you too well. That’s not you, that’s the duster speaking.

    Suddenly she broke down sobbing.

    I am sorry. In your world, I would get a tee shirt that says, ‘Instant asshole, just add duster.’ You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

    We can beat this, Molly. I’ll keep bringing you a can of duster at a time to keep you functioning, but I’m going to be looking into recovery.

    He had enough duster to last for a few days. Brooks replaced the can by his computer each morning and evening, and Molly emptied them. Brooks took the empties to discard at the college so Margaret would not grow suspicious. Brooks picked up another six pack and paid cash. He realized that he would have to go to different stores or the clerks would suspect he had a problem.

    Brooks got online and checked out the Narcotics Anonymous website. The program indeed had help for duster addicts. He also checked out ALANON for himself and realized that dealing with Molly’s addiction was not going to be an easy commitment for either of them. He wondered if he didn’t supply her duster if she could get off it cold turkey. He called and spoke to a man called Fred at NA.

    How deeply addicted is this person?

    She seems to be in pretty bad shape. She seems to be doing about three cans of duster a day.

    My God. I’m surprised it doesn’t kill her. It cuts off oxygen from the brain.

    Well I’m not sure in this case is a normal one. Her physiology is a little bit different.

    Is she on chemotherapy?

    Not exactly.

    How old is this person?

    Well, that’s a good question. I think she is in her late thirties. She’s not been exactly forthcoming about her age.

    Sounds like she’s got a problem with honesty.

    No. She’s actually fairly honest. I think the best way to do this to have an intervention.

    Is she in denial?

    No. I think she recognizes she has a problem.

    Well, maybe we can get one of our counselors to meet with her and maybe we can get her into treatment.

    Well, I’m not sure a treatment center exists that could help her.

    We have treatment centers that can help anyone.

    Not for people like her.

    After the phone call ended, Brooks realized if anyone was going to help Molly, it was going to have to be him. He stopped to replenish the duster supply in his trunk and picked up smaller cans. He got the Big Book of NA. He later read it cover to cover which was no small feat as he hid it from Margaret. He kept measuring out duster to Molly to keep her functioning.

    After he studied the Big Book of NA and attended an NA meeting a day for a week, that night, Margaret was late coming home from an evening class. He had fixed a casserole the night before, and he turned on the oven and set the time to bake. He ran up the stairs and logged on the computer. Looking dazed and confused Molly was sitting in the parlor, with Brindle on her lap.

    I’m so glad you are here. I missed you all day. Even with Brindle and my grandfather, it gets very lonely if you are not around. I don’t know how I was able to live before I met you.

    I missed you too, Molly. Listen, I want to assure you that we are going to get through this thing together. I learned the steps. I’ve talked to folks at Narcotics Anonymous, but we don’t know how to do an intervention for you. I’m not even sure if I turn the computer screen on if anyone else can see you.

    They can’t because I won’t let them.

    Molly, I want to work through these 12 steps with you.

    Did you bring home the duster?

    Yes, I did. It’s in the car. I’m going to bring in a can tonight. And until tomorrow morning that’s all you’re going to get. I’m also not going to bring it in unless you work with me and we get through one step each week.

    I don’t have a problem.

    Then it shouldn’t hurt to work the steps. I want you to repeat the first step after me then you and I are going to talk about it. ‘We admitted we were powerless over our addiction, and that our lives have become unmanageable.’

    Molly laughed, Life was unmanageable, then I died.

    Well, if you are still talking to me, you are still alive to some extent. So, whatever life you have now as a ghost has become unmanageable.

    Okay, I can buy that. I was doing a much better job at taking care of this house before this happened.

    Well, you can get back there again if we work on this.

    Okay.

    Look, Molly, there is hope if we work on this together. It can make me a better person, and it can make you a better ghost.

    She laughed. Make me a better ghost? How’s that going to change anything?

    Well, maybe all I am is a ghost that happens to be walking around in a big balloon of flesh. I can go wherever and do whatever I want within the limits of flesh. But you’ve got advantages too. You don’t have to worry about dying, just beating this addiction.

    But I like how duster makes me feel.

    I want to bring the old Molly to life again. I don’t like this Molly. That’s not to say that I don’t love you either way, but I don’t like to watch you in pain.

    Really? I am willing to work on this. Let’s start working on the steps one at a time.

    Over the next three months, he and Molly worked through each step. Some took longer than others. Occasionally, she grew so haggard and so desperate, that he would relent and bring in a can of duster which managed to disappear without him even breaking the seal. When he started bringing in smaller cans of duster, they had a huge fight. Brooks kept reminding himself that the duster was speaking

    One evening after they had gotten through the 12th step, Molly remarked, I don’t exactly know how I am going to do all twelve of these steps.

    What do you mean? You’ve worked through most of them.

    But how am I going to carry those messages to other addicts?

    Look, maybe I can try to find some other ghosts that are addicted.

    We’re kind of loners. We have our own houses.

    You mean you can’t transport to another house?

    No.

    Have you ever tried?

    It just doesn’t feel right leaving here. This is the source of all my energy. Well, not all of my energy.

    What do you mean?

    Well, I get a lot of energy from you. Before you came to the house here, my strength was limited. Now I can go as far as the boundary of the property. I couldn’t get that far before.

    Well, maybe there are ghosts in nearby houses we could talk to?

    Let’s just leave that for another day. I really think we are on the way to having this thing beat.

    But we’re going to have to keep working on the program every day.

    I’m willing to do that.

    Finally, two weeks later when he got up, the old Molly was smiling at him from the mirror after he finished shaving. She whispered, Thank you. This is my three-month anniversary.

    With a good feeling, Brooks went downstairs.

    As he and Margaret sat down to breakfast, she stared at him and spoke, You’ve been a little bit distant.

    What do you mean?"

    You seem to be preoccupied in your study. Are you carrying on an online affair with another woman?

    No. I am a historian. I am concerned with dead people in the past.

    You seem to have a lively correspondent.

    I have some people I correspond with regarding my work, but no flesh and blood woman.

    Look, you and I are going to have to do something about our relationship. We’re going through the motions. I feel like I’m living with my brother, not with someone who deeply loves me romantically.

    Well, I do care about you, Margaret. Why do you think we moved in together?

    Do you realize that in the last six weeks, you have not said once that you loved me?

    Brooks was taken aback. I thought I said that every day.

    Well, maybe it’s been when I’m asleep or in the other room. But you’ve never said it to my face.

    Oh, Margaret, he put his arms around her. And he said the words. But as they came out, he realized how strange and strained they sounded. He was thinking of Molly.

    Look, she said, either you are going to have to give up your addiction to your online girlfriend, or we’ve had it.

    But I’m not addicted to anybody. If you want me to stay off the computer at night and we can talk together, that’s fine.

    Look, we’ve had it. I think you need to move out.

    "I thought this house was haunted and you didn’t like it here.

    It seems to be just fine now since Sarah took care of the problem.

    After the argument with Margaret, Brooks went upstairs to his computer.

    He hit the ghost icon.

    After Molly appeared, Molly, I’m really in a bind here. Margaret is talking about wanting to end our relationship, but she wants me to leave this house.

    Molly’s face fell. No.

    Then what do we need to make this work? She wants me to start spending the evening time with her instead of with you.

    I don’t really like sharing.

    But her name is primarily on the lease. We agreed that if there was a dispute, that she has first dibs at the house.

    What if she really doesn’t want the house anymore?

    The last time you tried to haunt her out you ended up addicted to duster.

    I’m a lot stronger now. Not just because I’ve been through it before, but because I know you are behind me.

    Yes, Molly, I’m one-hundred percent behind you.

    Brooks went back down the stairs to Margaret. You know, even though our relationship might have cooled a little bit, maybe we could take some steps to rekindle it. I don’t want to leave here. Aren’t you afraid the place might be haunted?

    Well, I can fix any haunting, I’m just not sure I want you haunting this place anymore.

    Before I leave, we’re not really angry with one another, is there any reason why we can’t be sleeping in the same bed?

    Not really, you haven’t touched me in a couple of months.

    I haven’t?

    No. I don’t know who you’ve been making love to, but it hasn’t been me.

    Okay, well let’s work out a definite plan if that’s what you want to do. I’d really like to try to salvage things.

    I’m not so sure.

    Let’s try going out to dinner tomorrow and see if we can work on this.

    I’m not so sure I want to. In fact, I think it might not be a bad idea just to get you out of this house completely. Maybe this house is what’s killing our relationship.

    Brooks was panicked. He wondered if he left if he could contact Molly on his computer at work.

    At his computer at work, he tried to do so directly, and it didn’t work. Then it dawned on him that he could connect to his computer at home and perhaps that computer could communicate with Molly. Sitting in his office, he tried it.

    Hi, Darling, he said as he saw Molly’s smiling face. I really don’t know how to crack this nut. If I can tie into her home computer, then at least we could communicate and keep our relationship going even though I’m not living there anymore.

    No, you don’t understand. I want you here. I want to feel your energy. Little Brindle misses you too. Why don’t you move out for now, and let me at it? Sometimes a woman just needs to deal straight with another woman.

    Okay, I just hate running.

    Leave most of your stuff here! Get a motel for a couple of days and leave this to me.

    The next day, Brooks found a motel he could rent by the week. He moved some clothes there and left most of his books, study, artwork and his computer. Let’s try a separation, he suggested to Margaret.

    I’m way on board with that.

    Do you want to try to get counseling?

    Not really. I think we should just get some time apart and see what we feel about things.

    Brooks did not know what happened that night, but Margaret called the next day.

    Since you left, it looks like the hauntings have come back. I think it is time to bring in Sister Sarah and see what we can do to straighten this mess out.

    Fine with me.

    Brooks tied into his home computer through work. "She’s bringing Sister Sarah back in again. Molly, I’m worried

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