Spook Cute

I absolutely do not want to venture down that eerie, dimly lit hallway.

And I’m already a ghost. 

The house is (of course) a dilapidated Victorian mansion. Most of the windows are broken out, and the front door is hanging off its hinges as Madison and I peer inside. There are voices coming from the parlor, but the hallway stands between us and them. Walking down it is how horror movies start, thank you. I rattle the door a little, trying to spook Madison into turning around. But she always ignored my advice in life, so I don’t know why I expect death to be any different. She turns on her phone’s flashlight and steps in.

I give a sigh, inaudible to any mortal. I guess she’s determined to kill me a second time. 

The hallway is littered with shattered glass and ceramic. Old portraits, faded and cracked, line walls hung with peeling wallpaper. Madison doesn’t pay them any attention, but I linger on one of a family at the end of the hall. There are twin girls that appear fifteen or so, younger versions of their blonde, blue-eyed mother. The son appears to be in his early twenties, the same age as Madison and the same age I would be if I were still alive. I’m struck by the keen intelligence in his eyes. The father shares that keenness, but with his dark hair and sharp features it comes across as ruthless.

There’s a welcoming shout from the parlor, and I realize Madison has entered without me. I give the painting one final look before I join her, floating to my customary place at her side. This might not be our usual binge-drinking-at-a-jock-ridden-club Saturday night, but the mix of early-twenties college students looks no different. I recognize only Emily, who invited Madison. 

“Girl!” Madison greets Emily with a hug, “This house is so creepy! Where’d you hear about it?”

“Researching for a class project!” Emily answers brightly, “It’s supposed to be haunted!”

I idly wonder if we’re trespassing, but as that doesn’t seem to be worrying anyone else and I’m past the jurisdiction of mortal law enforcement, I let it slide. I look around, tuning out the chatting students. The parlor is as faded and crumbling as the rest of the house, but past that I can tell it was once someone’s haven. The shelves are stuffed to bursting with books. Faded landscape paintings hang between them, rugged mountains and verdant valleys. There’s a large fireplace along one wall, and the sagging armchairs look like they were once plump and comfortable.

I’m surprised at the ache I feel. Is there anyone left to care who lived here?

It certainly feels like no one remembers me.

As if sensing my thoughts, Madison suddenly calls out to Emily, “Hey! You said this house was haunted?”

“Oh right!” Emily brightens, reaching for her phone. The sun was setting when we arrived, and now the room’s light has almost entirely faded. Emily holds the phone’s flashlight under her face with a dramatic cackle, “Ghost story time!” 

More phone lights go on, illuminating each student in a pool of glowing LED as the room’s darkness crowds in on the edges. I drift closer, intrigued. 

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Emily begins, voice low and drawn out, “When the local barrister, Bartholomew Evans, sat brooding at his table. He had everything, it seemed. He’d married the town beauty, and she’d given him a son and two daughters.”

I think of the portrait in the hallway as Emily continues, “He had the largest mansion in hundreds of miles. His business grew daily, as did his political influence. He was respected, he was feared.”

“And, as is always the case, he wanted more.”

A breeze suddenly sweeps through the room, and a couple of the students shiver. I perk up, suddenly alert. The trees are still outside. 

Where did that breeze come from?

“And so he sat, brooding, scheming, wanting. Then there was a tap on his window. He ignored it at first, but then it came again and again. Tap. Tap. Tap.”

There’s a sudden tapping at the window, and one of the girls shrieks, “Ethan! Cut it out!”

Ethan, the student sitting closest to one of the broken windows, protests, “I didn’t do anything!”

There’s groans of disbelief, but my attention only sharpens. I can see him from my angle, and he’s right. Neither he nor anyone else touched the glass.

What did?

“He opened the window and a raven swooped in, perching on the table with a ruffle of its waterlogged feathers. It opened its beak and gave a loud, raucous caw.”

Somewhere in the floors above, cawing answers Emily. This time several of the girls, and Ethan, let out shrieks and grab each other. They’re giggling, but now I’m getting genuinely concerned. Night has fallen. That means that even if there are ravens living in the ruined mansion, they shouldn’t be awake. 

What’s going on?

“And as the bird stood in front of him, Bartholomew heard its voice in his head. The raven promised him power and holdings beyond his wildest dreams. But he needed something in return. He had to pledge his soul to the devil-”

She gives a dramatic pause, and someone mutters something about overused tropes. 

“And he had to sacrifice his family’s souls as well!”

The phones abruptly go dark, plunging the room into complete blackness. For a single moment, anyway. And then a spectral form suddenly appears beside me.

Ghost! 

I let out an inaudible scream of surprise, jump-floating halfway across the room. Except it’s not inaudible to him. He winces, and I clap my mouth shut abruptly. 

Oh, right, I’m a ghost too.

There’s a long, awkward pause while we look at each other. The students cry and scream beneath us, fumbling to turn their phones back on, the story momentarily paused. I recognize the new ghost immediately as the son from the portrait outside. He’s dressed in a tailored suit coat, breeches, and boots, glowing a faint turquoise.

“I’m sorry!” I exclaim once I find my voice, “You startled me!”

“And you me,” His voice is warm and curious, “I thought we only had mortal company.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” I try to sound nonchalant, “I’m just the immortal wallflower.”

“I have no intention of neglecting you, but…” He trails off and looks down, a gleam in his glowing eyes, “Do you mind a brief delay to our introduction? I haven’t had the fun of scaring mortals in decades.”

“Oh, right,” I look down at the students, who seem to have rallied enough to resume, “I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you,” He pauses, “Perhaps we could combine efforts?”

“Oh,” I hesitate. When I first started haunting Madison, I used to try all sorts of tactics. Slamming doors and windows, unexplained noises, cold drafts of air, flickering lights, and more. But all she did was complain about shoddy house construction, and I mostly gave up, “I’m, um, not very good at haunting.”

“And I’m likely out of practice. I’m sure you can’t be worse than I am.”

His eager expression wins me over, “All right. I’ll try.”

He gives a gracious nod, and below Emily resumes the story, “Bartholomew hesitated, at first. But the raven’s voice was persistent. Such a small sacrifice, it said. A few lives for so much.”

The other ghost slams the parlor door shut, and I belatedly slam the shattered window frame. A few of the students jump, but Emily continues undeterred, “He went to his daughters’ room first. Two blows with an axe, and it was done.”

Our pounding on the walls is a little more in sync this time, “Then he found his son in the library. Another swing of the axe, and he and his books went tumbling to the ground.”

This time the ghost and I are in perfect unison, knocking several books off the shelves. The students grab each other, screaming, and Emily raises her voice, “His wife heard the commotion and came running, and she took the axe right in her chest.”

The other ghost gives a blood-curdling scream, “Emily, stop!” Madison shrieks, covering her ears, “This place really is haunted!”

But the story is nearly finished, and Emily isn’t stopping now, “And as he stood there, panting, covered in the blood of his family, the raven spoke to Bartholomew again. Well done, it said.”

“And then it dragged him down to hell!”

Flames erupt from the fireplace as the other ghost and I light a blaze. The students scream, some fleeing for their cars and others curling up sobbing in corners of the room. The other ghost laughs, delighted, and I can’t help but smile at the drama. Emily raises her arms, laughing, and gives a theatrical bow, “Guys? Guys, come back! It’s over!” 

There’s a confused pause, and then heads slowly start popping back in from the hallway, “You staged all that?” Madison demanded, swiping at her mascara-streaked cheeks.

“Of course I did. Ghosts aren’t real!”

There’s a pause, nervous laughter, and the students start hesitantly filing back in. I look at my ghostly companion, “Are we going to let her take all the credit?”

A small smile plays on his ghostly lips, “I’ll allow it. That was the most fun I’ve had in decades. And I have no interest in forcing them to leave.”

The words are accompanied by a meaningful look my way, and it’s only my lack of blood that keeps me from blushing. We drift to the broken window, “Thank you for indulging me,” The other ghost says formally, “I’m Bartholomew Evans the Second.”

“I’m Chloe West. The, uh, the first.”

Bartholomew bows, “It is my utmost pleasure to meet you, Miss Chloe. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you. It’s magnificent.”

“It is. Or rather it used to be,” His expression saddens, “It’s beyond my ability to keep it in good repair, unfortunately.”

There’s a small pause, “That was your father in the story, then?” I finally ask.

“Indeed.”

“Did they get the details right?”

“It was a startlingly accurate retelling, save for one difference. My father did not hesitate, when asked to sacrifice all of us. He would have done far worse for the promise of money and power.”

He looks down, and I wish I could put a comforting hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

“And your mother and sisters?”

“They reside here, but they’re shy. They steer clear when we have visitors.”

“Why are you stuck here? Weren’t you able to move on when you died?”

He gives a faintly sardonic laugh, “Our souls were part of my father’s bargain, so hell attempted to drag us down with him. But heaven intervened, stating hell had no claim on souls sold to them without their consent. It has been a…lengthy legal battle.”

“There are legal battles after death?”

“I believe bureaucracy exists in all planes,” Bartholomew smiles a little, “There’s apparently also a lawyer shortage, so we’ve struggled to get representation. Our next trial is not set to take place for another decade, and in the meantime we’re all on house arrest.”

“You’ve spent hundreds of years on house arrest?”

“One hundred and thirty-four years, to be exact.”

“Yikes. I thought five years was bad.”

Bartholomew looks at the students behind us, “You’re haunting one of them, I assume?”

“Madison,” I point her out, “She was sentenced to ten years of haunting.”

“What circumstances led to that sentence, if I may ask?”

“Drunk driving accident,” His gaze is blank, and I realize he has no idea what that means, “She, uh, she was operating a…carriage with both of us in it while inebriated. I was killed in the resulting crash.”

Bartholomew still looks a little confused, but sympathetic, “I’m sorry. You must have been young.”

“Sixteen,” I look away, “And…I’m not sure if it was heaven or hell, but someone decided she deserved punishment for causing my death, I guess. They gave me the choice between passing on or haunting her.”

“And you chose to haunt her.”

“I…I was angry. I wanted her to feel guilt for what she did to me, and I thought haunting her would achieve that. The thing is, her parents are loaded. They got her this great therapist who helped her ‘forgive herself’ within three months of the accident. I don’t think she’s thought about me since.”

There’s a long, sad silence, “It’s terrible to lose one’s plans, is it not?” Bartholomew finally asks quietly, “I was planning to be a doctor before my father murdered me.”

“I wanted to be a doctor too!” I exclaim, “A surgeon. I was already working to make sure I took the right classes, doing all the extracurriculars…”

“So much wasted effort,” Bartholomew finishes.

“Yeah,” I laugh weakly, “I’m sorry. I’m really making a great first impression, aren’t I?”

He chuckles sadly, “I’m doing no better. There’s not a lot to talk about when one is stuck at home for decades.”

There’s an outburst of laughter behind us, and we turn to look at the students, “Do you envy them?” I ask, “I would kill to be able to go to college.”

“I’ve missed my university for over a hundred years,” Bartholomew agrees, “But I hope that once our case is settled, there’ll be schooling on the other side.”

“And travel. I’ve always wanted to travel.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“All the clichéd places. Rome, London, the Bahamas, Paris,” I sigh, “Especially Paris.”

He brightens a little, “I love Paris! We summered there, one year. It was divine.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll get lucky and I can watch Madison go there someday.”

There’s another silence, “You know, I was angry too,” Bartholomew says finally, “After my father killed us, I was filled with nothing but rage. All that shattered glass in the hallway, that was my doing. For years I ruminated on what was taken from me, of all the things I would do to him if I ever saw him again…”

“Oh yeah! I’ve imagined some extremely…creative things I would do to Madison if I wasn’t prevented from harming her.”

“I could fill books with the punishments I dreamed up. But after sixty or so years, I woke up on what would have been my eighty-fifth birthday. I realized that I likely would have died by that point anyway. My time had passed, and I’d spent it on nothing but anger toward a person that didn’t know and likely didn’t care.”

I listen, rapt, “Do you know what happened to him? Your father?”

“Last I heard he’s in something of a holding pattern as well, reward pending depending on the state of our souls or some such. But I realized I was hurting myself more than him with my anger. So that day I decided to accept what had happened and to move on. There’s nothing I can do to change the past, but perhaps there’s a brighter future ahead.”

I look down, “I wish I could move on.”

“Can you not? I thought hauntings could be terminated at will.”

“They can, but…” I realize I have no way to finish that sentence, at least not without sounding petty or vengeful.

“What she did wasn’t fair,” Bartholomew said softly, “But you don’t have to be her punishment. I believe someone who’s willing to move on so readily from the wanton destruction of another life, especially at their own hands, will be punished in other ways. It might not look so right now, but…give it a few decades.”

I smile a little, “You mean someday Madison will be in her late forties, addicted to Xanax and Botox, surrounded by a pack of equally bored and coddled housewives, and slowly vaping herself to death?”

Bartholomew smiles back, “I didn’t understand half of that, but I believe that captures the spirit of it.”

I laugh, and behind us the party begins breaking up. Madison stands immediately to leave, likely eager to get in a few hours at a club before the night’s over. Disappointment washes over me, and I reflect that this is probably the first time I’ve wanted to stay somewhere longer than she has, “I…it looks like I have to be going.”

Bartholomew doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment, but his tone is gracious when he speaks, “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Miss Chloe. I pray I didn’t overstep with my advice. I just…I would hate to see you suffer like I did.”

I’m touched, “You didn’t overstep, Bartholomew. You…you gave me some things to think about. And I appreciate that.”

He escorts me to the entrance behind Madison, “If you do choose to end your haunting early, we’d love another visit,” He says with a deep bow, “I don’t believe we’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

I can’t help but laugh, and I attempt a curtsy in return, “I can probably find the time. I doubt my social calendar will be too full.”

He chuckles, waving me off as Madison and I get into her BMW. She peels out of the overgrown driveway, but for once I don’t marvel that she’s somehow a worse driver than she was at sixteen. I’m too busy thinking.

They probably don’t need surgeons on the other side, but what about that lawyer shortage? I’ve never been interested in law, but right now I think I could become interested in anything that gave me a purpose again. 

And if there’s a certain cute ghost in need of a lawyer, so much the better.

I smile as Madison whips her car around a blind corner, skidding partway into the other lane. Bartholomew is right. She’s going to do a perfectly fine job ruining her life on her own. 

I can move on.