Spirits

                                    Written by Josephine C.

I’ve spent 30 years chasing “ghosts”. People call them ghosts; I call them spirits. Everyone always thinks I’m insane. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m gripping for a reality that doesn’t exist, a mere illusion. These thoughts run through my head as my boots crunch on the gravel road below me. The full moon illuminates a dull mansion sitting on the top of a hill, locked behind rusty metal gates. This house has been rumored to be the most “haunted” in this town.

 I slip unnoticed through a broken section of fence. My jacket catches on the sharp ridges of the damaged metal. I gently maneuver it free, then sigh. The fall air is so cold, I can almost see my breath. The thrill rushes back to me; after all these years, that’s the only thing that hasn’t changed. The thrill of searching for spirits.

I lift my duffel bag higher on my shoulder and head towards the decaying mansion. The path is old, with broken pieces of cobblestone littering the ground. The front door looks like it was violently thrown off of its hinges. I step into the house, onto the creaky wooden floor.

Then I begin to set up my equipment. I string sensors and monitors up around the first floor, then I head to the second floor. The wind picks up just then, and the whole house creaks. I smile as I ignore the wind and keep working.

Now I only have to set up the basement. I head to the door and take a deep breath. Ever since I was a little kid, basements have always made me feel claustrophobic. All those walls, with no way out…I ignore my fear and pull the basement door.

It’s jammed; I pull harder and harder, until I’m standing with one foot on the wall, gripping and pulling as hard as I can. The door won’t budge. I let go and take a deep breath, then decide to try it one more time. But the moment my hand comes an inch from the handle, the door creaks open. Then, all of my monitors start beeping loudly.

                                           Spirits.

   I forget about the basement door and run back to my computers. A good portion of the monitors and devices have been knocked over. I can hear footsteps upstairs. I tiptoe carefully up the steps, my heart racing, a smile playing on the corners of my mouth. I can hear conversation.

“Excuse me sir!” A cheery British voice rings out behind me. “Are you a guest for the tea party? You are moving awfully slow up these stairs, if you don’t mind me saying!” I turn around quickly with a jolt. A stout, short man dressed in a suit carrying a pocket watch stands before me. Small spectacles are perched on his cheery face.                                                                                                                  

“Uh.” I say. I don’t have time to think of an answer; a woman calls from the top of the stairs.                           “Henry, is that you?” She has a British accent as well. She’s wearing a pink dress that accentuates her slender frame, and her golden hair is done up with a matching bow.

 “Yes, it’s me! Oh Charlotte, it’s so good to see you!” Henry says as he passes me on the stairs. Charlotte and Henry have radiant smiles as they embrace. Are these spirits…? All of the previous spirits that I’ve dealt with have been…aggressive. These ones seem nice. Charlotte sees me.                                        

“Oh! Well, do come in. I’m sure we can make room for one more guest!” She says, still beaming. I come upstairs. All of my devices are wrecked. A rusty table with four chairs around it sits in the middle of the room. It has dishes, tea and pastries on it. This table definitely wasn’t here earlier.

  “I’m Charlotte, and this is my good friend Olivia.” A girl of maybe ten, wearing a blue dress, sits at the tea table. “Come, sit! I do hope you enjoy tea.” I sit down awkwardly at the table. What else am I supposed to do? I try to be as proper as I possibly can, but I’m a spirit-chaser, not a class A tea-partyer. I immediately notice myself falling behind them in manners. Nonetheless, they aren’t disgusted, and they continue smiling joyfully as they talk.

“Oh, these scones are scrumptious! Olivia, did you make these?” Henry says, turning to the young girl. Olivia smiles widely and nods. Henry turns to Charlotte. “Now, Charlotte dearest, how is your father?” Charlotte’s smile fades slightly.                                                                                                                           “Not well. The doctor says he hasn’t got any more than a fortnight left.” She says, looking down at her teacup. Henry frowns. “But, no matter;” she says, looking up and making an obvious effort to look pleased. “I know that God loves father very dearly, and that father has lived a nice, long life.” Henry solemnly nods, then turns to me.

“Tell me, friend, where are you from?” Henry says. I try to look and sound proper.                             “I’m from Spokane.” I say. They all look at me sideways. “Spokane.” I repeat. “In Idaho?”                                   “Where is Idaho?” Charlotte asks. “Is that in Spain?” I shake my head.                                                                    “Oh, is it one of those Indian groups? In the Thirteen Colonies?” Asks Henry. I gulp. These people don’t know we’re in Montana, just one state away from Idaho. These are definitely spirits.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s an. It’s an Indian tribe.” I say blankly.        “I couldn’t imagine that you could come all the way here, to England, from the Thirteen Colonies. It must have been quite a journey.” Says Charlotte with an air of significance. Henry nods. An awkward silence sets in. I look at Olivia, who is fiddling with her teacup.

I watch as she accidently knocks it off of the table, sending it down with a crash. She looks up at Charlotte nervously. “Oh, Olivia…it’s alright. Would you mind going with her to get the broom?” She says, turning to me. “It’s just downstairs in the closet.” I stand up and head down the stairs, Olivia trailing just behind me. the moment I turn my head, her footsteps stop.

Olivia isn’t behind me. I head back upstairs, confused. Henry, Charlotte, the table and the chairs aren’t there either…I hear a crash from downstairs, and I hurry down. A stray dog stands in front of my knocked-over computer. It barks at me, then runs off. I sigh.

I pack my equipment up and leave the mansion. I duck under the fence, then stop and turn back to the house. A moment goes by before I hear the truck. It parks behind me. I listen as the door opens and closes. “Hey. Time to go. The group is wondering where you went.” I hear behind me. I sigh and take a final glance at the old, quiet building. Then, I turn and leave.

The End