They Got What They Paid For

It was rumored that renowned romance writer Nina Grant was not only emerging from her ten-year reclusive period but was planning to host writing seminars in her home. Aspiring authors waited with bated breath for any sign of confirmation. When a website link went live with the information, every young writer in the entirety of the New England area submitted their applications online; unsure if they were responding to a hoax or throwing their hats and hopes into the proverbial ring for a seat at Nina’s table; literally.

The website for submissions boasted a recent photo of Nina Grant standing in front of her Connecticut home, which was less than glamorous, less than inviting, but it mattered not to the hundreds of promising optimists eager to impress with their self-proclaimed aptitude for the written word. One such hopeful, a young writer by the name of Samona Wilde, likely a manufactured moniker of someone with a given name easily overlooked, managed to create an online persona which stood out among the rest. Samona cleverly worked quotes from Nina’s own works into her profile and the required short essay, completing her application. Nina herself had to admit to the impressive ambition and innovation of the unfledged writer.

Nina selected the auto-response feature which would send an invitation to the writer’s retreat, but before emailing the offering, Nina chose to include a personal message for Samona Wilde. One simple line, just enough to let the ambitious applicant know she had in fact made her point and grabbed the hosts attention above the other candidates. It read; “Looking forward to meeting you, clearly you have an engaging talent for writing; quite captivating indeed.”

She went on to select nine more hopefuls, extending invitations to the seminar at the end of the month. Nina knew this would be beneficial to her career comeback as suggested by her agent and publicist, but there was an underlying anxiety she could not seem to dismiss; how would her charges respond to the others living in her home? As a whole, creatives are typically open-minded creatures willing to accept without doubt what they cannot prove. Writers had tendencies to live in the worlds they create for themselves and their readers, allowing for the unexplained to become, or at the very least be perceived as some form of reality; however, not everyone loves surprises.

Nina Grant called for reinforcements, employing her friends and neighbors to help her ready the house for guests. Certainly, the old Victorian was spacious enough to accommodate ten weekend guests, but what it had in space, it lacked in warmth: not to mention furniture. She dug out her most recent royalty check from the pile of papers on her desk. Among the disarray, Nina managed to find yet another uncashed check and decided to splurge. She and her neighbor Ethan Gray spent the next twelve hours ordering everything from beds to breakfast foods in preparation for her very first, and hopefully not only writing seminar. She knew her pretentiousness was ambitious given the paranormal peculiarities of her everyday life. Yet, she planned an entire repertoire of writing practices to pass on to her carefully selected recipients.

“Will this be covered by any media?” Ethan asked, secretly dreaming of his own fifteen minutes in the spotlight as Nina Grant’s self-proclaimed muse.

“Yes, there will be two reporters in attendance as well as a television crew on the last day interviewing my guests. As exciting as that may seem Ethan, I cannot seem to shake the feeling of our little situation being exposed on national TV or captured in a well-timed photo.”

Ethan’s eyes became alight with the possibility, “Oh, but Nina, how wonderful that would be for your career revival. Just imagine the press when it’s discovered that the illustrious Nina Grant lives with actual ghosts!” Ethan gushed with a maniacal giggle. “Albeit a tad hokey and ironic considering your first seminar is on ghost writing,” he added.

Nina sighed, “Yes, the irony is not lost, and writers should have open minds and an intentionally skewed sense of reality. Still I suppose it is an imperative that I converse with the girls before our guests arrive tomorrow.”

Ethan Gray nodded and took the initiative to call forth the spirits of the Millan sisters, Alora and Amelia. Both young spirits appeared as if it were as simple as walking into the room. “We heard everything.” Alora announced in her signature gravely tone. “We make no promises.” she added with candor.

“I expected that.” Nina admitted. “I will ask that you two consider it a favor to me to not scare the living daylights out of the writers on the first night. I’d like them to at the very least get something from my tutelage before fleeing in fear.”

Amelia, the younger of the two spirited sisters giggled. “You’re no fun, Nina Grant.” she teased. “I must tell you though, I am in love with the room you decorated in green. I may have to claim it for myself.”

Nina rolled her eyes, “Amelia, that room can be yours forever if you promise to share it with someone just for the next few days.”

“Alora said no promises.” Amelia declared with conviction.

Ethan Gray threw his hands in the air as if he were surrendering. “Teenagers, am I right?” He politely kissed Nina on the cheek and vowed to return first thing in the morning before heading down the stairs and out the door.

Nina too felt rather defeated, “I’m going to bed. The writers will begin arriving by ten, and I need to have everything ready to accommodate them. That of course does not include a welcoming committee consisting of a pair of pesky pretty little poltergeists, got it?” Neither sister responded knowing Nina’s question was entirely rhetorical.

The next morning, moments before Nina could administer a much needed first sip of coffee, Ethan Gray appeared at her back door, knocking twice before entering. “Ready?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Nina, you have no other choice; your writers have already begun to arrive. I counted four cars along the curb as I crossed the street. Shall I let them in and help them settle while you pull yourself together?”

“Please! I need just a few more minutes. Would you ask everyone to meet me in the parlor at eleven sharp? I only have so much time with them and a lot of information to cover. Ethan, I am regretting this already.” she confessed.

Ethan, with all his natural charm and organizational proficiency had everything and everyone under control before Nina could pour a second cup and make her way into the parlor to greet her ten litterateurs; however, upon first inspection, she only counted nine. “Who’s missing?” she quietly asked herself. Dismissing the immediate query, Nina introduced herself and requested a brief introduction from her audience. She marveled at their zeal, each balancing a laptop across their knees, or leaning over her coffee table, fingers poised over their keyboards, resembling cats about to pounce.

One by one, her charges lifted no more than their eyes, stated their names and waited impatiently for her further instruction, each with the obvious ambition for greatness. As the last cookie cutter candidate spoke, Nina realized it was in fact Samona Wilde who was not in attendance. “Does anyone happen to know a Samona Wilde?” No one answered.

Nina reluctantly launched into her first lecture, exploring the reasons behind choosing to become a ghost writer. She was curious as to why this particular group of aspiring authors would be satisfied with giving someone all the credit for their work and talent, especially given the thick air of arrogance looming in her parlor. “What would be the benefit or benefits of becoming a ghost writer?” she asked, flashing her best attempt at a genuine smile.

“Isn’t that why we’re here? Aren’t you supposed to tell us?”, one young man clapped in facetious retort.

“Yes, but I wanted your individual perspectives on the concept. Ghost writers are truly unsung heroes of the literary world. Don’t you want your name on the cover of a best seller?” Nina continued. She wrinkled her nose as the thought of his pomposity created a distinct juxtaposition to the very concept of ghost writing.

The nine workshop attendees simply stared while Nina squirmed anxiously. “This was a mistake.” she thought to herself, hoping for the right words to not only break the awkward silence, but to reengage her audience. Fortunately for Nina, someone in the hallway let her off the proverbial hook.

“Becoming a ghost writer has many benefits. I, for one, would use the opportunity to hone my craft while remaining clandestine, thereby publicly unaccountable. Also, ghost writing is a great opportunity to make connections in the literary realm. Let’s face it, becoming a best-selling author isn’t always about having the right words or the most alluring story. Often, it is about knowing the right people and having them get to know you. If I were to ghost write for you, Miss Grant, wouldn’t you feel compelled to keep me in your inner circle?”

Nina was impressed. Just as she was about to call out, the figure appeared in the doorway, accompanied by both Alora and Amelia’s spirits. “Samona Wilde?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I’m late. I was detained by an enlightening conversation in my room.”

Nina chuckled, “Let me guess; Ethan put you in the green room?”

“Indeed, he did. May I join you?” Samona asked, hesitating to step further into Nina’s parlor. Before Nina could agree, Samona stumbled forward and into the wingback chair nearest the window as if she had been physically pushed into the room.

Nina gasped, “Amelia! What did I say about antagonizing our guests?”

Samona Wilde waved her hand dismissively. “It’s fine, she’s only trying to help. I was apprehensive about missing the beginning of your lecture, but your roommates assured me you’d understand and give grace as it was not exactly my fault, but rather theirs. I suppose if I had to have an ethereal encounter, it may as well be with a pair of apparitions with a sense of accountability.”, she quipped.

“Hey, we paid a lot of money to be here; do either of you think we could actually try and learn something about writing any time soon?” one of the younger men chimed in with obvious irritation. “I can’t seem to find the humor in your little inside joke about ghosts and writers, but I can tell you both, I’m over it.” As he spoke his mind, however depthless, his peers all nodded and muttered in agreement.

Nina focused on Samona, “Ghost writing provides a unique opportunity to lend your voice to someone either all talked out or temporarily muted. Often, writers hit a block, or their work becomes stale and predictable. A fresh perspective can rejuvenate their reputation long enough for them to pass the torch or ease their ghost writer into something more permanent and public. However, some choose to ghost write simply for the steady paycheck, never aspiring to become famous in their own right.”

Samona held up her index finger, “May I add to that?” she asked politely, showing respect for Nina. “Shouldn’t ghost writers make it a point to get to know the authors they're working with? The transition from one’s work to another should appear as seamless as possible, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely, and thank you for recognizing that, Samona.” Nina began. Before she could continue, another young writer piped up.

“Do you two know one another? I’m not buying this whole instant connection bit between the two of you. Is this exchange happening to illustrate your point of forming relationships? If so, you proved your point, now can we move on from the Nina and Samona show?”

The voice of Alora’s spirit filled the room, “Shrew!” she spat. “Ignoramus!”

Eight bewildered writers froze as their eyes darted around the room in an attempt to identify the source of the vocal outburst. Jaws dropped, as silence fell around them. Nina suppressed a giggle and avoided eye contact with Samona for fear of laughing uncontrollably and inappropriately. She took a moment to compose herself.

“Samona and I just met. However, before joining us here in the parlor, she also met the Millan sisters, or at least their spirits. Alora and Amelia were murdered in this house almost twenty years ago. I’m venturing a guess, that Samona did a bit of research before coming here this morning. The girls recognized Samona’s willingness and acceptance, otherwise they wouldn’t have established contact that didn’t involve an attempt at inflicting sheer terror. They can be a handful.”

The young man who spoke before cleared his throat, but his voice cracked and squawked as if he were just reaching puberty. “You expect us to believe that voice belongs to an actual spirit? You’re telling us you invited everyone here for a writing seminar and your freaking house is haunted?”

Amelia and Alora’s ghosts intentionally sent a chill throughout the room. The drapes waved and the cups and plates resting on the tables clattered. Most in attendance wanted to flee but their muscles atrophied from fear, their breathing slowed and became shallow. Words remained caught in their throats and refused to push past their lips. The terror in their eyes spurred Alora and Amelia to intensify the experience. Windows fogged, lights flickered and laptops slammed shut. Alora moaned softly while Amelia giggled insanely.

Ethan Gray panicked, “I swear Alora, if you and Amelia cause anyone to soil themselves, I am going to have your rooms repainted in the most hideous colors I can find!” His threat was ridiculously empty, but his apprehensions were real. He could see the horror and confusion on each of the stunned faces as the attendees sat stoically still amidst the inexplicable chaos. Ethan shook his head, “Closed minds make for dull writers, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked no one in particular. “Girls, you proved your point.”

Nina knew she had completely lost control of the situation. The spirits of the Millan sisters had no intention of behaving to accommodate the vapid assemblage of meager minds. She turned to Samona and threw her hands in the air, “Any words of wisdom before I refund their money?”

Samona Wilde smirked and shrugged, “Refund? As I see it, we got exactly what we paid for. After all, this is a seminar on ghost writing.”