The landlady warned me up front that the place was haunted. Gwen was a full time caregiver to her ailing mother. She needed the steady income of a rent check, and she didn’t have time to keep finding more tenants because someone got scared and moved out in the middle of the night. She’d already slashed the rates, so the place was a steal, but based on the furniture and the souring dishes in the sink, the last tenant had still up and left without notice.
My story about Ace, my childhood dog, who used to snuggle into my blankets at night even after he’d died of old age, was met with a kind, but dismissive smile from Gwen. I got the feeling that she didn’t think it was in any way relevant to the situation at hand.
Gwen asked if I had a boyfriend or was actively dating, and she was pleased when the answer was no. “That’s good. You know, I think you’ll be a good fit. Barbara would probably enjoy having another young woman in the house. Back in the mid 70s…” Shaking my head, I asked Gwen not to go into detail. The dead woman’s name was more than enough information. No good would come from hearing a grisly half a century old tale about the place where I hoped to spend the next twelve months or so.
For the first few days, it seemed Gwen’s prediction was right. The cabinets fluttered every so often, and Barbara seemed to like the bathroom light to stay on all night long. I turned it off twice, and when it flipped back on for a third time, I went with it. With the money she was saving me in rent, it was only fair that she got some say in things. Sometimes, before leaving the house, I’d have my smart speaker stream 70s music, sort of like my family used to leave the TV on for Ace.
But on Saturday night, everything took a turn. The dresser drawers opened and slammed with so much force that I thought the attached mirror was going to come crashing down on me in bed. My frantic scramble toward the safety of anywhere besides this cursed room ended when my face collided with something solid, sending me flailing backward. A shriek followed, overtaking the ringing in my ears, then it all stopped as abruptly as it’d started. As soon as I’d found the strength and courage to move, I bolted out of there and into the bathroom to check my face.
As I stood in the bathroom, holding a handful of tissue against my split lip, something gently pressed the spot between my shoulders, moving in a circular motion. Nope. 15 minutes later, I was in the all night department store, heels of my feet hanging out the backs of my sneakers, no coat to guard against the air conditioning, still clutching the bloody wad of toilet paper. My eyes scanned the store signs for the words Home Decor, because if they sold crosses, that seemed like a logical place to keep them. “Jerkin’ meat?” a voice that was way too loud and cheerful for this hour asked. What the fuck was happening tonight? I looked up and glared at the man who’d stopped his cart next to mine. in front of me. He looked apologetic. “Sorry, just making a joke, because of all the salt you’re buying. It’s an ingredient in jerky you know. It looks like you’ve had a rough night. Are you okay, honey?”
Earlier, I visited the spice aisle and grabbed a jar of sage and a few boxes of salt. Kosher, sea and Himalayan Pink. Look, I didn’t know what kind you were supposed to use to protect against ghosts, or if that was even a thing that worked. My source was Supernatural, the TV show. My phone was in the bedroom I was too scared to return to, so no research was conducted. Jerkin Meat received a smile, reigniting the sting in my split lip, and a nod “Never be afraid to ask for help. Or offer it. That’s my motto in life,” JM exclaimed, as I maneuvered my cart into another aisle. During my hunt for matches to light the sage, I noticed him heading toward the self check out lanes. Good.
After returning to the house, I curled up on the couch. Barbara would probably enjoy the fact that the light in the living room was going to be on all night too. The search for a cross had been unsuccessful, and with my luck tonight, burning sage would probably set the house on fire, so I made do with the salt, pouring thick lines of it in the archway and around the couch. Sleep wasn’t in the cards tonight. I spent about 20 minutes just staring at the ceiling when the front door rattled a bit, then squeaked open. Though the best options available were to fight or flee, my body chose a to freeze.
“Hey!” a cheerful voice called out. My heart dropped. It was that weird guy from the store, and I was laying here, shielded only by a throw blanket, unable to do a thing to protect myself. I heard a click as the light spilling into the hallway dimmed. The footsteps stopped several feet short of the living room, and the sound of heavy boots on thin carpet was replaced by that of knuckles against wood. “Sweetheart, I know you’re in there. I saw the door close. Be a good girl and open up.” Another clicking sound. There you go,” I heard him say as he stepped onto the bathroom tile. “Hey, where are y-.” His voice shifted from cloyingly paternal to confused to an echo-y yelp.
My legs started working again sometime after the shower turned on. I didn’t want to know what was causing that desperate sloshing sound. My plan was to keep walking straight out of the houe, but when I reached the open bathroom, something compelled me to look.
Something had JM hoisted in the air above the bathtub. One of his now engorged hands flailed, making a slapping sound against he wall. The other was engaged in a battle against the shower head that had been wedged into his mouth. A rivulet of light red water poured from a tear in his cheek. His skin continued to stretch, turning shiny and translucent, not unlike a water balloon.
I pulled the shower curtain shut stepped out.
Final update here.