Ghost

By Sanjay Sanghoee
I am no connoisseur of houses. Nor do I entertain an unusual amount of knowledge of the supernatural. However, I do know a problem when I see one...
A few months ago, I went out house-hunting. According to the real estate agent, there was plenty of game out there, most of it above my price range. Consequently, I was forced to confine my hunting to the smaller prey.
One of these smaller beasts was a large, dilapidated house in a large, desolate area in the middle of nowhere. Notwithstanding these highly attractive physical attributes, I decided to pay the place a visit. After all, someone was living there right now, so it could not be that bad... The first thing that struck me when I entered the grounds was a large oak tree with thickset branches, spread about like tentacles, embracing the trunk and the ground with something approaching love. It was the most intimidating piece of greenery I had ever seen in my life. The shrubs surrounding the house were in all sorts of creepy shapes and sizes, but the house itself took the cordon bleu. It was a white house, gone gray with age and with paint peeling off at several places. Most of the windows on the upper floors were broken and the wood around the sills seemed to be rotted beyond repair. In fact, the whole upper facade seemed to bend outwards, as if ready to fall down. The house had seven gables, positioned in a strikingly asymmetrical pattern, lending an air of confusion to the house which already had enough problems... A short, pleasant man who looked like he had been cowering behind the sofa before my arrival answered the door. It was difficult to tell why he had been hiding behind the sofa, but I am pretty sure he was.
He led me to the large living room, most of which was in darkness. The only light in the room emanated from a solitary lamp placed in the center of the room. There were a lot of shadows. Overall, it was not the cheeriest room I had ever seen. We located a sofa after a bit of stumbling and squinting, and sat down.
"How long have you had this house?" I asked him.
"Since 1972," he replied.
"That long, huh?" I said.
"Yes, yes," he said.
"Then why are you selling it?" I asked.
"My job. I have got work elsewhere; we agreed to relocate," he replied. Sounded plausible enough.
He stopped abruptly and glanced quickly about him. He looked nervous.
"Do you live here alone?" I asked.
"Alone? You mean by myself? Oh, no, no. There are quite a few...others in the house," he replied.
"Is the house centrally heated?" I asked.
"Yes, of course," he said, "We also have-"
There was a crashing noise from upstairs. My host glanced furtively at the ceiling, which was hidden by darkness.
"What was that?" I asked, alarmed.
"Oh, nothing. Just the maid," he replied nervously.
"How much does she charge?" I asked.
"Very little actually..." he said, gulping.
"Good, then I can hire her to maintain the house if we take it. How much are you asking?" I said.
"A hundred -" he said.
There was another crashing sound.
"- Name your price!!" he finished.
"Pretty clumsy maid," I observed.
"Yes. Now, how much are you willing to pay?" he asked rather urgently.
There was a clanking sound from above.
"What was that?" I asked.
"My son," he said. He didn't sound too convincing.
"Your son roams around the house clanking chains?" I asked politely.
"He is playing," my host insisted.
"Playing what? 'Chainhouse Rock'?" I said, a little sarcastically.
"Can we return to the house please?" he said.
"Why? Did we go somewhere?" I asked.
"My son is a nice boy," he said.
"Then why does he clank chains when there are guests in the house?" I asked.
"Because he does not know that you are here," he explained.
"I see - so he clanks chains all the time, without provocation?" I asked, a little annoyed at my host's defense of his obviously deranged son.
"That is his business," he said rather sharply.
"I guess it is. Well, how many rooms do you have here?" I asked, hoping to get the conversation back on track.
"We have four bedrooms, a living room, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a store and a study," he said.
"That seems perfect for our needs," I said.
Just then a vase flew across the room. It did not just fall off the table - it flew - and shattered on the floor a few feet from me.
"What was that?" I asked.
My host smiled uncertainly. "The wind," he said.
"Ah, yes," I nodded sagely, "jet, eh?"
I ventured a question.
"Since I am planning to buy the house, perhaps you will not mind answering a question for me - do you have some sort of a problem?" I asked.
"I beg your pardon?!" he exclaimed.
"I mean, is there some sort of problem connected with the house?" I asked.
"You mean- " he asked.
"Ghosts," I said.
"Oh, no, no. No ghosts," he said.
"Do you believe in them?" I asked.
"Look, what has all this got to - " he asked.
The lamp flickered.
" - Yes!" he finished.
"But there are not any ghosts here?" I asked again.
"No," he stated firmly.
"Then what is that?" I asked, pointing to a chair which was moving cautiously across the room without anyone pushing it.
"Mice," he replied weakly.
I looked at him politely.
"Mighty Mouse?" I asked.
He kept quiet.
"Why don't you just get them their own chair?" I said, as the chair retreated into the shadows.
"I guess we need the exterminators," he said meekly.
It seemed to me they needed much more than that, but I kept quiet.
A piercing scream rent the air. I turned to my host.
"Let me guess - your son is whipping the maid with the chains?" I said.
My host seemed to have gone very pale. The sweat on his forehead gleamed eerily in the sparse light of the lamp. He did not reply.
The night had become chilly and I started to shiver. If there was indeed central heating in the house, it certainly was not turned on right now... I looked out of the only window in the room, and froze.
A figure in white glided by in the moonlight. My host saw it too.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"My wife," he said, looking down at his feet.
"And just what is she doing?" I asked curiously.
"She- she needs to walk. Her health makes it necessary - " he explained.
"To glide around in the freezing cold in a sheer nightgown?" I said.
My host seemed to be losing his patience, and his nerve.
"Do you want to buy the house or not?" he asked anxiously.
"No, I don't think so. Thank you for your time, though," I said, getting up.
"Look here. Name your price and I will go for it. What could be fairer than that?" he asked, with desperation in his voice.
"I am sorry," I said.
There was a huge wail from above, the kind to make your hair stand on end. I turned to my host.
"I will give you some advice though. If you really want to sell this house - " I said.
"Yes?" he asked expectantly.
"- send your family on a vacation," I said.