The Haunted House

“What’s the point of being undead if there’s no one to bother?” Casper howled, gliding through the corridors of my rickety skeleton. He was the third ghost to ask this week, and if things didn’t improve soon, he could be the last.

I shrugged; my scratched wooden boards littered with abandoned flashlights, rising and creaking with the movement. They were my trophies, proof I had once been successful, that I hadn’t always been wasting away for nothing. For nobody. It was usually a good sign, that I was getting older, blessed with new families of spiders who generously wove thick tapestries of webs in my bare corners. But even they were looking thin, and I hadn’t seen an eight-legged friend larger than the size of a tennis ball in a long while. It was depressing. The only ghastly lining was that October was nearing, the ivy creeping along my jaw that had shattered my teeth slowly growing back to signify it was almost our time.

“Yeah, yeah, Halloween is coming and all that garbage. I’ve heard it all before Haunty!” Casper said, his disappointment leaden in his eerie tone. “But that didn’t even lure in a handful of those stupidly dressed gits last year!”

I sighed, a cool draft rumbling off the walls along one of my many stately hallways. He was right. Not even the spooky season helped. There had been a grand total of two stupidly dressed gits as he called them, and even they weren’t perturbed by our haunting display. No amount of swinging doors or rattling beds on my part had raised their pulse beyond eighty measly beats, and even Paisley, one of my most seasoned ghosts whose face had been blown half to bits by a stray bullet, didn’t drag more than a squeak from the small beasts. They had been engrossed with themselves, posing behind a glowing rectangular device they held to their faces, which degraded my scarier features. Degraded me.

I forgot what freshly squeezed screams tasted like, how the vibrations of high-pitched shrieks and panicked yells felt against my peeling wallpapered skin. Penyffordd was supposed to be the crown jewel of haunted houses, the manor that had seen murders and housed lost spirits and ghosts and all matter of the delightfully wicked for the last three centuries. I wasn’t supposed to be in retirement; I was in my prime.

I squared my shoulders, shaking the thick layer of dust from my frame as my foundation groaned. It was time to be proactive, no more waiting for children to come knocking to scare. I would lure them here myself.

“What are ya thinkin’ boss?” Paisley asked, as if my sudden resolve was summons.

My silence coaxed a sinister grin to bloom across what was left of his mangled face, warming a slither of my undead, immortal heart (which was in the kitchen, right next to the butcher’s block).

“I like the way you think, H. Let me know how I may be of assistance.” Paisley’s jagged teeth glinted like a trove of polished knives, sending a shiver along my trusses. What atrocities had this younger generation witnessed to not so much as stutter at the likes of Paisley? I’d be sure to ask them when I ensnared a few in the trap that was unspooling in my head like a cat with a yarn of wool. Mmm, a cat would be tasty.

I blinked, the heavy drapes across my eyes swaying as I trying to regain my focus, and then I blinked some more until sharp cracks bounced off the entryway walls. An ominous melody of shattering glass followed as a framed newspaper clipping fell like a dead bird.

TRAGEDY BEFALLS PENYFFORDD MANOR

On the morning of September 8th 1935, a young couple was found murdered in their Penyffordd home. Marjorie and Tom Blithe, the new owners of Penyffordd Manor, were strangled to death by an unknown assailant in their bedroom. The motive behind such a senseless crime has not yet been identified, but police have revealed their investigation has stalled due to a series of inexplainable and spooky occurrences. One officer claims the bodies appeared to be tampered with, perhaps even possessed. Another said that they were unable to enter the scene as the bedroom door refused to open upon evidence collection. Such claims are yet to be verified, but it raises the question. Is Penyffordd Manor haunted, or have the police lost their minds?

I inhaled deeply, reminiscing about the happy memory that had enticed so many to enter my hallowed walls. They had forgotten what had happened here, what I was capable of – that was the problem. When I exhaled my long-suffering breath, the article swirled on its coattails, flying out of my glass eye and into the world to remind everyone.

Knock, knock, knock. A quick, excited sequence. I shuddered with anticipation as a frantic flurry followed. Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. Snickers, and there were more than two of them. Four. Double on last year’s numbers. Perfect. I threw my hinged arms open like the gracious host that I was.

“Whoa,” a male dressed as a scarecrow exclaimed, chasing after his straw hat that had conveniently blown into my lap.

“It really is haunted,” a female with ivory feathers pinned to her back murmured under her breath, as if there were any doubt.

“Or it’s rigged to swing open with a few knocks,” another boy huffed, shouldering past the group as he strutted in after the scarecrow to show his bravery, undoubtedly. He wore slouchy jeans that barely covered his backside and a camouflage shirt that matched the bandana knotted over his dark curls. I had no idea what he was supposed to be. But I didn’t like him, or his blatant disrespect of my terror invoking features.

My neurons pulsed with my ire, flickering the broken bulbs within the crystal chandeliers that jangled overhead. I’d love nothing more than for Paisley to chew through the wire attaching it to the ceiling so that it could crash onto the arrogant boy’s head.

“Ahhh!” a girl with raven-coloured wings screamed, the dark twin to the white winged angel, as one bulb hissed and exploded, blanketing them in my shadow once more.

“Don’t be so pathetic, girls!” The scarecrow called over his shoulder, wandering deeper, kicking aside the clutter of flashlights.

“It’s not pathetic if it’s for good reason. I don’t like this place,” the dark angel said, rubbing absentmindedly at the goosebumps now pebbling the flesh along her arms.

A warm feeling pooled in low in my gut. She was scared, truly. I could feel her fear oozing from her pores, perfuming the air with the distinct brininess of sweat. Paisley and Casper would be thrilled!

“C’mon Cece, it’s just a house, it can’t hurt us,” the oddly dressed boy inaccurately stated. I most certainly didn’t share the same fondness for him.

“It’s more than that. Franky said they came last year, and it was full of ghosts.”

“Franky is full of shit. Are you two coming in or not?”

The twin angels shot each other wide-eyed looks of fear, but tiptoed in anyway. This was going swimmingly! My arms swung closed with an ominous bang, earning dual heart-warming screams from the girls. But I was just getting warmed up.

The ornate, stringy rug that snaked down the corridor like a lifeless worm (AKA my tongue) rolled in delicious waves as I feasted on the girls cresting fear. I was starved, greedy, wanting more.

“What the?” The scarecrow asked no one in particular before I clicked my tongue and thrust the boys forward. They catapulted a metre or so into the air, slamming into the wall where Casper lay in wait. He came flying out, shaking his head side to side with his mouth agape, tongue wagging like a dog. By gods, he was out of scare practice. I’d need to have words with him later.

“Uhhh!” The boys squealed like schoolgirls in unison, retreating like crabs as they scurried over to the girls.

“Now do you believe us?” the light angel screamed at the boys.

“Let’s get out of here!” the dark angel ordered.

“Ok!” the scarecrow relented.

As they collected themselves and turned on their heels, Paisley came whooshing from the kitchen. This was the most fun we’d had in years; we weren’t about to let them leave so soon.

Paisley carried the block of kitchen knives in one hand, swallowing each of them (though they fell through him and clattered onto the hardwood flooring) before flashing his dagger-like teeth. The boys joined the screaming once more, setting my soul ablaze.

I was back, baby.