That bitch! She killed me! She actually poisoned me!

Horace Witmore was surprised. He figured his wife married him for his money, but he NEVER thought she’d stoop so low to get it. Her and that pool guy, they did it together. He knew it. He was a fool for falling for the sexy little model. He’d seen so many middle-aged men his age get carried away with young blondes, never really looked at himself as one of them. It was clear now. 

He sat up in the morgue leaving the world as he had entered it, wearing nothing. He was cute when he was born (he’d seen pictures). But not recently of himself. He was 300 pounds of blubber. He’d always had a hard time getting around, but now he felt weightless, like a hot air balloon without the gas.

He saw his body lying on the slab covered with a sheet. He realized then that not only was he dead, he was a spirit.  He pulled the sheet off of his corpse and threw it over himself. How the hell did Casper the ghost ever see anything? He opted to fashion it around himself like a roman toga. He left the morgue. He didn’t see anybody for a while as he floated out of the elevator and glided along the hall.

He looked at sleeping patients in the rooms as he passed. He was startled by a scream. He turned to see a nurse on the opposite end of the floor frozen in terror, her hands to her mouth, her body tensed, eyes widened, mouth gapped open. He heard others running to see what was going on. He unwrapped the sheet and let it fall. The woman collapsed as another nurse and an orderly came to her rescue.

He wanted to be home and was surprised when he found himself there suddenly. He walked right through the front door and ascended the stairs. He heard non-ghostly moans emanating from behind the bedroom door. 

Nice to be mourned, he thought. He floated through the door. However, the two murderers were busy screwing. He’d be ready for them when they finally stopped. He thought it would be painful to see his wife with someone else. It wasn’t. When they came up for air, they shared a smoke.

“So, what did you do with the fat fuck’s stuff? I don’t see any of it around,” said the blond pool boy with the biceps. 

“There’s lots of roiy-poly pigs on the streets, I have a trash bag over there. Gonna have my maid dump it in the Goodwill bin.” She chuckled. “Course, we’re keeping the good stuff. That ball of lard was worth twenty million and now it is ours baby!”

The lights began to flicker. There was a laugh that started as a snicker and grew to be menacing.

The lovers were startled. “That sounds like Horace’s laugh,” said the former model.

“Probably someone outside,” said the pool boy, unsure.

A symphony of laughter echoed through the room, lights flickered. Then a voice said rather loudly in the woman’s ear, “Got you bitch!”

The trash bag was raised up off the floor and ripped open. The pool boy got out of bed and tried to get to the door, but was stopped as the invisible figure pulled on a pair of pants. The pants chased him out of the room. 

His wife cowered in the bed, wide-eyed, screaming as the ghost put on a shirt. It walked towards her. 
            “You always wanted me to put my clothes back on. Well, here you go!”

The maid found her the next day. Her body was still there but her mind was not.

 

There’s no need to sulk. We can play a game. Oh no, not one that relies on random chance. Not one of skill either. You can’t participate in one of those at the moment. Our play will be in the form of a mind game. See if you can guess who I am.

Ask me a simple question and I will do my best to answer. Of course you can’t just ask my name. You have to tell me what it is.

I will give you a hint, it’s not the devil, Lucifer, or anything like that because I’m not a resident of hell.
So ask your first question.

Am I a human? Very nice question. Well, some would argue that I am an inhuman monster because of the atrocities they heap upon me. Others call me an inspiration, a shining hero. Still others speak of me as a god, which I am most certainly not, so how do I answer?

Perhaps I will just say that I was human once. Yes, I probably qualified as human before I had your eyes burned out. Next question.

Am I royalty? My name is noble born. You are conversing with a prince.

Do I drink blood? Oh yes I do. I dine on my enemies flesh. I drink their blood. And I will drink yours tonight.  You don’t want to play anymore? Well, until sunset then. Good day to you.

 

The young medium stood near the shoreline listening to the distant sounds of the smugglers not more than 500 yards away. She could barely see them through the fog, but their gruff voices carried on the wind. The ghost at the Whitdale estate had told her they would come, as they had at the end of every month for years, to hide their ill - gotten goods in the cellar of the old Victorian in Sandwich Massachusetts.

Megan knew rum runners on Cape Cod were active even during the winter months. Smugglers hid their wares in the summer residencies everywhere from the canal to Provincetown. Looking down the dirt road leading to the beach, Megan watched in guarded fascination as four men brought crates and barrels along a wooded path to the back of the estate.

The medium knew this because Whitdale’s grandson, Marvin, had told her. Or rather, Marvin’s ghost. She had discovered his spirit while exploring the rumored haunted property with a local ghost hunting team for the new owner.  

She learned Marvin had died nearly fifty years earlier in 1969 when his brother had pushed him down the stairs in a drunken rage. He believed Marvin had had an affair with his wife. “But it wasn’t true,” Marvin professed as Megan witnessed the scene when he replayed the images of him and his brother dangerously dancing at the top of the grand oak staircase. Marvin was tall and handsome, dressed in a grey pin striped suit. By contrast, his brother was shorter and bald. He donned a smoking jacket as the two argued on the stairs, both holding drinks.

The argument got heated as Matthew punched his older brother then lunged at him, pushing him down the long winding stairwell.

Marvin hit his head and died instantly.

Megan felt bad for the confined spirit, who couldn’t leave the premises. “But I’m not the only spirit haunting my family home,” he said with a wry grin as he sipped his brandy. “It’s the others. The ones in the basement. They are trapped here as well.”

Megan was the only one who could help Marvin. Her sixth sense allowed her to see and communicate with him. Only the medium could free him and the tortured souls below. With Marvin as her guide she witnessed the smugglers as they made their way around back by the full light of the full moon. Within moments two of the men left, returning to their boat while the remaining two stayed behind bringing the rest of the goods down the half hidden bulkhead.

Megan entered the cellar. A dark paneled wall stood before them. Marvin explained the area was closed off from the rest of the house with a new cellar door added around the side of the house. “It was part of the new addition grandfather built. It was also a means to keep his secret. No one ever comes here,” Marvin said, his ghostly form becoming one with the paneling.

Megan shivered in the cool dampness as she watched the men pad the wall with their hands. When they touched the bottom panel on the right side, a hidden door slid open.

“You will help me break the spell that has trapped them here for so long. They have been here longer then I have, haunting this house with their dark presence. We all need to be free.”

Megan learned the smugglers had indeed been there, trapped in the basement since 1930, when a raid took place on shore. Their crew never returned for them as planned. They were all jailed.

“I want these hoodlums removed!” Marvin’s voice boomed as Megan watched the two burly men bring the barrels into the small dark room. “If you do not help me, you will join them,” he threatened.

Megan knew it was possible for Marvin to use his energy to trap her. “I will do what I can,” she promised as she watched the men. Only the bright moon lit up the musty cavernous space as the men systematically placed the marked barrels on top of each other. On the far right Megan noticed racks of wine bottles from floor to ceiling. The men worked quickly and diligently, but not quick enough to beat the sound of heavy footsteps.

Megan heard a whistle blow followed by the sound of several men in boots, running alongside the house. She saw a uniform man step down the bulkhead and go into the room. He scanned the area with a flashlight, but never saw the two men huddled in a far corner, obscured by a wall of barrels. The cop called his men down and quickly sealed off the room then nailed the door shut. Within the hour the secret room was walled up with brick, burying the men inside.

“Ewe,” Megan gasped. “How awful.”

“Yes, the cops never bothered to destroy the contents. I think they guessed the men were still inside.” Marvin said as he appeared in solid form, drink in hand.

Megan heard the men screaming and banging on the wall, desperately trying to get out. 

“They have not learned to harness their energy as I have done. They are trapped until they can exit the same way they came in. You must help me unbury them. I cannot do it alone. My strength does not last long. “Each time I tried before the wall resealed itself. This is why I need you.”

“Okay, what do I do?” Megan asked as Marvin produce a pick axe and shovel. “Get to work,” he said. And together they picked away at the wall, brick by brick until it revealed the paneling. Marvin, much to her surprise, had learned to wield the axe like he was still alive. However, it didn’t last long as he said and she did most of the work. Sweating, Megan peered into the sealed off room once they removed the panel.

“Thank God I won’t have to listen to their moans any longer,” Marvin grumbled as he floated into the room. Megan came up behind him. Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but she caught a whiff of something foul. Pungent and putrid. Rotting corpses.

The room was silent but after a few moments the men stirred, rousing from their tormented slumber. Megan spied bones in the far right corner. The skeletal remains of one of the men was sprawled over a barrel, tattered clothing still hanging from its large form. The other, a few feet away, was partially covered by a worn coat, revealing decaying flesh. A bottle of wine clutched in his boney hands. A thin layer of skin remained on the smugglers in this state of decomposition. The coolness of the cellar had slowed the process.

Suddenly Megan saw the misty forms rise out of their bodies and drift out of the opening she and Marvin had provided. She was relieved at the outcome and thankful they didn’t spot her or Marvin’s spirit. 

“Good riddance,” Marvin exclaimed. “Thanks for your help.” He said as he viewed the loot. “I guess the new owners will have quite the party,” he joked then disappeared.

The next thing Megan knew, she was standing outside the mansion with the new owner in the middle of the day.

“Is it still haunted?” The older woman asked, looking up at the abandoned Victorian.

Megan glimpse the beach down the road and saw two men get into a small rowboat and ride the waves. They disappeared into the preternatural fog just off shore.  She looked up through the open door of the mansion and spied Marvin in the entryway, holding his brandy. He smiled then faded from view.

“I don’t think so. They’re all gone now.” Megan proudly proclaimed.

“Great. Thanks.” The woman said and flashed Megan a smile as she climbed the broken steps to the porch.
Marvin reappeared on the top step as the woman entered the mansion, walking right through him. This time he held a bottle of wine.

Megan did a double take. “What the. . .”

“I rather like it here.” Marvin announced with a wicked grin.

“You should move on.” Megan said, waving her hand.

“Oh, I can, but I’d rather not. Not yet,” he laughed. “I wish to stay and protect my property.”

Megan shrugged. “Okay, if you wish to be trapped here longer.”

“I stay now only by my own volition. I’ll leave after I have some fun,” the mischievous spirt said, taking a slug of wine. Then he was gone.

Megan smiled. Where he went, she didn’t know.

“The party’s on,” she heard him say as she walked away.

His parting comment was followed by a scream.