Ghost Story

Ghost Story

This is where horror lives. I’m playing hide and seek with a Catholic priest exorcist fanatic. He is in my house, and I don’t like it. I’ve dealt with his kind before, but this zealot is good. When I slide through a wall, I find him on the other side waving his cross and speaking Latin gobbley-gook. Who speaks Latin anymore? I mean six hundred years ago when I was a boy, yes, but now, it's just not done. Here he comes again, damn him. Hahaha, doesn't that make you laugh? I mean that's what he is trying to do to me. He's trying to damn me. Sorry, a little gallows humor. Oops, there I go again. When you've been dead as long as I have, you try to see the humor in things. Truthfully, being damned to Hell for all eternity is not how I want to go.

I wasn't always a ghost. In fact, I was a duke, Duke Robert the kind, and this was my castle. I controlled a few thousand acres of beautiful countryside, and my people were happy and prosperous. When it came time to marry, that's when things went south. Is that what they say now, went south? Anyway, a marriage was arranged by my parents to a countess who had money.

She was pretty and pretty awful. She thought that I let the peasants keep too much of their own goods. She thought that I did not beat the servants often enough. She didn't like to see them smile, and, if she heard them laugh, she became enraged. It was not marital bliss as you can imagine. I tried to send her back to her parents, but they would have none of that. Our once prosperous estate began to fall from grace.

She got worse and I could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. I took on a mistress. Of course, it was more often done back then, or at least more accepted than it is today, I believe. I’m not sure. I don’t get out much. Hahaha. Sorry, I’ll continue.

Oops, here comes that sheepdog of the lost souls trying to round me up again. I must slip through the ceiling. Yes, let's see him follow me now.

Let's see, where was I? Yes, Countess Sonya the Mean as the servants used to say. They should have called her Lady Sonya, but they said she was no lady. I didn't know this at the time because they never said this in front of me. It wasn't until after my death that I learned all of this. You know, as a ghost, you hear things. Oh damn, that Latin-flinging, poltergeist-hating, Pope loving moron got me off track. I was talking about my mistress Gwen, a lovely woman, from the village whose husband had been my game warden until he had fallen out of a tree and died one tragic day. She had come to me to ask for work, but I was smitten by her and her charms. We fell in love and life was wonderful once again. That is until Lady Sonya found out. Then there here was Hell to pay. Hahaha, there I go again.

Lady Sonya decided to punish the villagers and take more and more from them. She called it a whore tax. She hired her own retinue of soldiers to protect her. She even tried to poison my milk, and she would have succeeded except that her evil cat got to my milk and lapped it all up before I could. When I found it dead the next morning, I knew my life was in danger.

That day I walked through the village and talked to my people, who were none too glad to see me, by the way. Yet, I had treated them well before her, and they saw I had no hand in it. They told me about the Whore Tax, and it was my turn to be enraged. I told my people that I would return things to normal before long. With a cheer from them, I stormed up to my own castle, but was shut out by her guards.

Ouch. What the Hell is that? Did the little holy rat splash me with holy water? Damn, that hurts. I must rush through this wall before I go on with my story. On a side note, do you know how to make holy water? You boil the Hell out of it. HaHaHa. Okay, you've probably heard that one before, but ghosts don't often get to crack jokes, so please forgive me.

I have confused the little bulbous cleric of Catholicism by, once more, going through the ceiling. I must admit by now all the others of his kind have quit, and I'm running out of room. Perhaps I should have made a taller keep, twelve flights high and this Vatican-loving cherub is still after me. God bless him.

I think I have a little more time to finish my tale. I tried to break the doors down, to no avail. I tried to order her men to open up, but they did not heed me. I was locked out of my own castle. Any man or perhaps a woman of this age or any other can understand that certain things cannot be allowed. This was one of them. Besides my beautiful Gwen was still locked inside with the Evil Sonya.

I had some training in military skills as a boy. I had a nice set of armor and weapons in the castle. It might have meant something if I was in the castle, but I wasn’t. I went to the village blacksmith who could make me an admirable suit of armor in a month’s time. That was time I did not have. He had another suit of armor that was old and rusting that he could clean and present me that day. So, I went to the public house, I think you call them pubs, and drank.

I told the villagers what Lady Sonya had done and that I was going to take my birth castle back. They said they would join me. Huzzah! So, withtwenty-five of the leanest, meanest, perhaps weakest, but definitely the most gung-ho villagers, and an ill-fitting suit of armor, we stormed the castle.

Her guards were not struck with terror and probably would have defeated us, but the sudden onslaught of their laughter spelled their doom. We were like King Henry the Fifth with his ragtag army. We sliced through them like rotten oatmeal. It wasn't pleasant, but we got the job done.

Once inside, I ran up the stone steps to the door of my sweet Gwen to find Sonya trying to get in. Now here's the rub, as a boy, and especially a duke, you are taught not to hit a girl or a women, but I let her have it. The only thing was, I did not see the tiny little dagger she had in her left hand. She thrust it under my ill-fitting breastplate and into one of my arteries near my heart.

Oh no, that pest of a priest is back. I don't have too many more places to run. He's thrown salt all over and is drawing some weird things on my floor. Oh great, here come the candles. This guy never gives up. I must hurry with my story.

I died. You would hate me If I ended the story there. So, I won’t. The village revolted and captured Lady Sonya and burned her at the stake. The castle was given to Gwen and our unborn son, and I was condemned to live here as a ghost until something happened.

It hasn’t been all bad. I got to see Gwen live to a ripe old age, and I always thought she was beautiful. God must have, too, for she never became a ghost. My son became a good man and helped the village prosper once again. His offspring did well and are important people that I hear about from time to time. The only bad thing is my castle became something called an Airbnb. Outrageous. Although it is fun to scare the squatters quite often. I guess that’s why this pastor of purity is after me.

I guess I should implore God once more to forgive me. Maybe I have not repented for the right thing, if not this servant of righteousness is sure to send me to Hell and the pit.

“Dear God. I’m sorry I hit a girl.”

 A bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder struck the loft I was in, and a smooth voice asked, "Was that so hard?"

I’m transported to the pearly gates where a smiling St. Peter says, "It took you long enough. Hahaha heavenly humor."

I could see my sweet Gwen on the other side of the gates waiting for me.

“Hell yes!” I yelled.

Saint Peter raises one eyebrow.

“Oh sorry. It slipped out, I said.

St. Peter smiled and the gates opened. I ran to Gwen and we hugged. That is something I can do for all eternity.