I’ve lived in a haunted house for years. No matter how many exorcists I hire, none of them can get rid of my wife.
I awakened to the sound of gunfire and cannons. Soldiers fought in hand- to-hand combat on my bed. Bayonets tore through the sheets missing my head by inches. I heard the names Grant and Lee being spoken. Is the Civil War being fought in my room? I wanted to run but was surrounded.
A ghost angrily screamed, “Are you a Yankee?”
“NO!” I’m French!” I assumed that he was talking to me.
“You don’t sound French!”
I peeked from under my sheet. He pointed his rifle at me and prepared to
shoot but a bullet hit him. His body fell on top of mine.
The soldier, who shot him, leaned next to me and said, “Don’t cha worry
Frenchie, I’ll keep ya safe.” Then he returned to battle.
The butler returned and was vacuuming again. This time he pushed me out of the bed and changed the sheets. They were ripped in the battle.
I had breakfast with the homeowners before they left for work. I told them about my night. They acted jealous when I mentioned the Civil War battle. Apparently it usually takes place in their bedroom.
I informed them that I would be leaving this morning and thanked them for the opportunity to stay in their home. They smiled, and said if I ever wanted to return that I would be welcomed.
We (the homeowners and myself) sat in the living room watching the evening news. When the word “democrat” was mentioned regarding a story, a tomato was thrown at the television screen. The homeowners laughed commenting that a republican ghost was in the house. Several tomatoes were tossed. I said it must be annoying to clean it up. They said no that the butler would take care of it.
We sat on the porch enjoying the beautiful night. I continued asking questions about the spirits that lived in their home. They started to tell me about “the musician” when I heard an organ being played. The homeowners had big smiles on their faces, expressing delight that he (or she) decided to perform. I was told that the ghost must like me, because he (or she) doesn’t play for everyone. I asked about the music and the homeowners said that it was Bach.
We’re still on the porch and the music continues. (Think I heard some Gershwin when the organ changed to a piano.)
I commented to the homeowners that “haunted houses” generally have only one ghost but their house seems to have multiple personalities. I asked if they had any idea as to why. The answered that they didn’t.
Finally in bed and hiding under the covers. The butler is in my room and he’s vacuuming. I hope he doesn’t want to change the bed sheets.
I was on the 2nd floor when I heard a motorcycle. I looked out the window and saw nothing. I ran to the stairs, with the intention of going outside to look, but the motorcycle burst through the front door, riding up the stairs and almost running me over in the process. I quickly retreated to my bedroom, locking the door behind me. For the next hour, the sounds of transportation were heard. Cars, buses, trucks, subways, horns and sirens were in the mix. When I heard a cruise ship captain shout “All Aboard!” water seeped under the door to my bedroom.
Everything is quiet. I’m still in my room,
I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find lunch on a plate sitting on the floor. Spaghetti and meatballs with a garlic sauce. My favorite. How did the ghost or ghosts know?
I cautiously ventured out of my room. I sat in the living room, read and watched some television. The house was quiet.
The homeowners returned home from work. I told them about the day. They weren’t surprised. We ate supper together and continued the ghost discussion. They relayed one instance about coming home to find the laundry
done and the house vacuumed. I asked if they were afraid. They said no. Since one of the spirits did housework, they speculated that he was a butler in a previous life.
I heard noises coming from the attic. When I went upstairs to investigate, I found a football game in progress. I did not see any ghosts, but the ball was being thrown back-and-forth across the room. On the final throw, it was aimed at my head. I ducked with it barely missing me. I descended the attic stairs in a hurry .
After the football incident, I retired to my bedroom for a night of sleep. I pulled the covers over my head. As I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep, I could smell fresh paint. I didn’t investigate.
I pulled the covers off my head. While the smell of paint had vanished, I discovered that my fingernails and toenails had been painted red.
The homeowners had departed for work leaving me alone in the house. I got up, showered and dressed, and ate cereal for breakfast.
I explored the house again, avoiding the attic.
I arrived at the house with an overnight bag. My suitcase contained several crucifixes, multiple bottles of Holy Water and the phone number and address of every Catholic Church within ten miles. (I admit that I was apprehensive.) The home’s appearance did nothing to allay my fears. One could imagine a Hollywood set designer building this house with a horror movie in mind. It was three stories tall with multiple gables. The sight of it could cause a non-believer to become a believer. For a moment I considered turning around and fleeing. Nevertheless, I had a story to tell and knocked on the front door. The homeowners opened the door and could see that I was nervous. They reassured me that everything would be fine. I entered the home.
I counted all the rooms. There were 15 – bedrooms, bathrooms, kitchen, studies, dining room, etc. And I’m not including the attic and basement. A person could get lost in this house. The interior design was modern. The rooms were painted with muted colors. The furniture was comfortable. I felt at ease as I explored the dwelling. My fear subsided.
The homeowners had retired early to bed.
I entered the kitchen to make a chicken salad sandwich to eat. When I got there, I spotted one on the table already made. Complete with a pickle. I
assumed that the owners had made it for me. I didn’t realize that “it” had started.