A Ghostly 9 to 5

        I groan whenever I hear that old door burst open. It’s a pair of wooden doors that were once painted crimson. The circular handles have since rusted, showing no signs of the shiny silver they used to be. Shrieking creaks echo throughout the main hall of the house. It never used to do that. It used to open with no noise at all.

               Heavy raindrops greet every surface they hit, from the doors above to the toolshed in the back to the roads leading up this way. It’s quite soothing. It gets louder when the front doors open, only for the precipitation to be silenced once they close.

               I peer out from the balcony. It’s another group of people.

               Another groan escapes my mouth.

               It’s a group of young adults. Not again.

               And whenever a group ends up in the main room, one of the following phrases is always uttered:

               “Thank God we’re out of the rain!”

               “We can just stay here for the night.”

               “Okay, this place gives me the creeps. Can we leave?”

               Or, my personal favorite, “Make sure the cameras are rolling…”

Granted, it may not always be one of those. But, you can predict these things when you’ve been a spirit as long as I have. The others and I used to keep a tally of how many times we’d hear a particular phrase. Last month was my 13th month in a row of guessing correctly.

Why yes, that is a dubious honor. But, listen, if you’ve been dead for how long it has been for me, you need to keep yourself busy. No spirit tells you how BORING it is when you die. Sure, you don’t need to sleep or eat; scaring people is fun. Especially for me, since it gives me a chance to finally perform in front of an audience. Plus, you can use the same material since most guests are only here for one night.

I start levitating and think of how I will scare the pants of this group. Will I swoop down with a loud screech? Start closing things unexpectedly and appear as a gruesome monster? Or do you have the classic moan that we spirits are known for?

But, before I can start, I hear a New England-accented spirit behind me say, “Hey, looks like a work night for us.”

That’s Todd. He’s only been here for 10 months, and I’m already annoyed with him and his office talk. Not the worst spirit in the world, but if I worked with him, I’d avoid his cubicle. He was a production assistant for a reality show. His cause of death? A heart attack after one of the other spirits created a gruesome reflection of himself. But, judging by his instead…unique musk of cheap tobacco, I think it was the cigarettes. When he passes away, he is stuck wearing the same outfit. The rolled-up button-up look screamed ‘overworked stockbroker’ and less ‘production assistant.’

Didn’t stop Scarlett from bragging about it to us.

Ah, Scarlett. She’s been here the longest and knows how to get a person’s heart rate pounding. And not just from her beauty. She’s a former kleptomaniac, or as she so eloquently put it, a “treasure hunter.” She claims her former partner-in-literal-crime gunned her down in cold blood. And, in turn, she scared her partner to death as revenge. Since then, she’s been scaring folks in this old, dark house longer than I was alive.

As Scarlett appeared immediately, she must’ve heard Todd ask me about tonight.

“Are you two going to start scaring without me?” she asks. “You two know I am always eager to scare.”

“Uh, I was hoping to make this a solo job…” I reply. “They’re easy targets. Look, one of them is starting to pull out his phone.”

“Oh, he’s one of those…” Scarlett says. She places her index finger and thumber underneath her chin. Her lips, the same color as her nomenclature, curl inward. This was her usual ‘I don’t know, but I’ll make an educated guess’ face. She turns to look at Todd to finish her sentence. “…influencers you told me about? Correct, Todd? That’s what they’re called?”

Todd’s round head moves up and down.

“I don’t think there’s been a group this month without one of those,” I chime in. “What do you think they’re trying to do?”

“They’re young, so they’re going to do what young people do,” Scarlett says. “Act like jackasses and fornicate. Seriously, what brings people to fornicate in a dusty home like this one.”

Todd and I chuckle.

“They’ve been in the main hall for less than five minutes, and I’m already exasperated by the muscular blonde man and his airheaded girlfriend,” Scarlett quips. “Those two have got to be… influencers.”

“It really is like how it is in the movies, huh?” I say. “My money is on the chubby guy with glasses and the cleft chin trying to hit on the other brunette.”

“With what money?” Scarlett says to me with a snicker.

I shake my head. She did have a point, after all.

“What are the odds of the African-American woman being the most sensible of the group?” Todd asks. “Come think of it, she reminds me of my wife.”

               Todd liked to periodically mention how every female who came in here seemed to remind him of his wife.

               “Well, now that we’ve become more acquainted with our guests, let’s figure out a plan to get them out of here?” Scarlett says with a wicked grin. She’s planning something sinister. I can just tell.

               “Considering another guest arrived carrying a case of beer, I think I’ll go after him,” I say.

               “I call dibs on the chubby guy and his would-be girlfriend!” Todd shouts.

               “I’m quite surprised neither of you chose the influencers…. I guess that will be my job,” Scarlett claims.

               “Wait, why can’t we all just scare them all at-“

               Before anyone could answer my question, the two other spirits disappeared into whispy vapors, ready to scare their chosen targets. I shrugged and started to formulate an idea to scare the beer drinker. I phase through a series of walls, passing by the master bathroom where the chubby guy is psyching himself. I witnessed him screaming motivations for his reflection. Should I take this opportunity to scare him?

               As much as Todd’s joke annoys me, his whining about not getting to scare this guy would be more obnoxious.

               I phase into a bedroom, where, as Scarlett predicted, the two influencers are going at it.

               Seriously, what is it with spooky houses like this one and their urge to just… fuck? I get that you’re in love, but where here? Before thinking too far into their kinks and urges, I phase through another series of rooms to find the dining hall.

               There is my chosen person. He’s somewhat stocky, wearing a baseball jersey and a backward cap. His shaggy hair is just above his shoulders. And the woman next to him is the other brunette. She’s wearing a more casual-looking sweater, and her hair is tied into a bun. Both are challenging each other to drink as many beers as possible.

               “Come on, dude! Shake it and try to drink it!” he shouts.

               “Don’t call me ‘dude,’ dude! You try it first!” she responds in a playful tone. Based on how they keep darting their eyes away from each other… There’s something between them.

               I can change that. Maybe this job won’t be too boring after all?

               I phase right into the case of beer. My goal is to possess it and make it so over-carbonated that it’ll create a geyser of alcohol. Usually, I’m not one for phasing into inanimate objects… I find it hard to make them scary. But I can make this work…

               The guy grabs one of the cans. A massive stream of amber-colored beer shoots out before he can hear the opening track. It goes up his nose, in his eyes, and all over his shirt. Ironically, his mouth catches the least amount of beer.

               A successful possession. Time lower the temperature of those beers. And in the room.

               “AHH, WHAT THE FUCK!?” he gurgles as the beer drips from his face. He no longer looks happy to be with this woman.

               “Uh, maybe the guy at the convenience store shook them?” she stammers. “After all, he did seem kindy sketchy…”

               “UM, BEER JUST DOESN’T SHOOT UP LIKE OLD FUCKING FAITHFUL!” he screams, glaring at her. “Why don’t you test that theory out?”

               She pouts and grabs a can. She glares back, trying to match his negativity.

               “My goodness, this can is cold,” she says. Another crack of a can echoes across the table…and an even greater stream shoots up onto her face. The guy starts laughing like a total imbecile.

               “CUT IT OUT!” she says. “WHAT THE FUCK?!!”

               Before he starts responding, thunder, followed by numerous curse words, echoes in the front hall.

               “SOMETHING TRIPPED ME! SOMETHING TRIPPED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!”

               Sounds like Scarlett’s doing.

               Like ants escaping extermination, the group scurries out. The muscular blond boy screams louder than any of the women. “My phone!” he shrieks as he trips, breaking his device.

               “Fuck your phone, let’s go!” his now ex-girlfriend screams at him, dragging him by the wrist out the door.

               Looks like our work night has ended.

               “How’d you think we do?” I ask Scarlett.

               “Not bad, not bad,” she replies. “No deaths this time.”

               “Not from your end? I could’ve sworn the mousy-looking guy was going to snap his neck after falling down the stairs.”

               I know they won’t be the last ones.

               But, you know, this whole… scaring business, despite how boring it’s become, still beats working in tech support.