Page 59 of Purrfectly Haunted

Shirley pours a line of salt by the door. Ghosts can fly through walls, but if we run for our lives again, it’ll at least slow the spirit down if she tries to follow us this way. We gesture to each others like soldiers speaking hand gibberish, then step into the basement. I try not to piss myself and we walk into the dark. The temperature drops considerably after stepping through the threshold. This place is death’s dominion.

Nothing comes at us, so we stick to the plan and stand back to back in the middle of the empty space. Shirley draws a circle of salt around us. We hope that it'll offer us protection. The cats walk in and out of the darkness, strangely calm. Our breaths sound too loud in the quiet.

Our plan A is to talk to the ghost and learn why she’s still haunting the place.

James looks at me and nods. “I got your back,” his eyes say.

I gather my courage and pull my mask down to speak. “Um... hello?” My voice echoes through the basement.

James snorts quietly, and it actually makes me feel better.

I clear my throat. “Oh great spirit of the basement.” Another snort, but this time Lana elbows him. “We’re here to help you find peace and to be free of this place. Please accept our help.”

My hands are shaking around my PolterPulse. This time James taught me how to aim and shoot.

We scan the dark in all directions, not knowing where the ghost will come from. But of course, she appears in front of me. I squeak like a mouse, and James steps closer to me, ready to put himself between me and the spirit.

Spores whirl gently around her translucent figure. She’s the same as the previous night, her appearance forever frozen into what she looked like when she died. Tears of blood streak her cheeks and her hair is falling wildly out of her hairdo. Her blue dress is stained dark. She floats closer, close enough for me to see the veins that have popped in her eyes. She must have drowned in her own blood. Lana was right, she was probably poisoned.

For now, she doesn’t show aggression.

“Hello,” I say again. “Can you tell us your name?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but only a gurgle comes out.

Well... if she can’t talk, it complicates things.

“We want to know why you’re still haunting this place,” I continue. “Why you... Why can’t you move on?”

It feels like such a stupid question. She was murdered. Her rage must be boundless, and she has been simmering in it for over a century. I’d have difficulties moving on, too.

“We think we know what happened to you,” Lana says, and the ghost turns her attention to her. “The earl invited you to one of his soirees, and when he understood you were a powerful medium, he turned bitter. He lured you back here to poison you.”

The ghost’s pale lips pull back over her bloodied teeth in a snarl. She tries to talk again, but she vomits blood on the ground instead. Just like the phantom wine, the blood stains glow bright before disappearing. Once she has stopped coughing, she looks up at me again. Being the centre of her attention is jarring, but I have my friends with me and I feel braver than I usually am.

“You're free of this house, my lady,” I say. “Nothing is keeping you here. Your murderer is long dead and your revenge cannot be found here. You're only hurting the living and endangering this house that we love deeply.” At that, the ghost tilts her head. I might be imagining things, but she looks torn. “My lady, please. I’m sorry about about what Earl Lynch did and—”

BOOM.

The ground shakes under a powerful impact, and the four of us stumble.

The ghost wails and she seems to grow larger, glowing like a blowtorch.

The cats run in circles around us, like a storm of fur and tails and claws.

I cover my face again as I notice the mould on the ground and nearby furniture and boxes release clouds of glowing spores.

“What the hell?” James shouts behind his face mask.

The ghost doesn’t launch herself at our salt circle like I expect her to. Instead, she opens her arms wide and screams at the top of her dead lungs. The mould recedes around her like the tide, before spreading farther in the dark.

“Holy shit... Holy shit... Holy shit...” Shirley says behind me.

Now the air in the basement is thick with spores, and it feels like we’re standing in a powdery fog.

“This can’t be good,’ James says. “Everyone, out! Quickly!”

The heavy door is rattling on its rusty hinges, as if the house herself is urging us to run. The light bulb outside is glowing bright.