Ghost Problem

A woman hires a paranormal investigator to help her get rid of the ghost haunting her apartment. 

April 2019

The outside of the detective’s office doesn’t look promising. For one thing, there really isn’t an “outside” to it at all. It is merely a peeling door smooshed between two walls of red brick. Besides the faint traces of an address etched into the door, nothing else indicates this is the place I am looking for. But nonetheless, the numbers matched the ones I scribbled down from a quick google search. I take a breath and push open the door with a turn of the knob.  

A stench of cigarette smoke and mothballs invades my nose as I approach the lone desk shoved into the back corner of the closet-sized room. Brown boots of the sleeping figure take up most of the space on the tiny desktop. 

I slam my hand down on the silver bell. The chime from the bell stirs the man behind the desk, and he blinks his eyes open. It takes him a moment to process my presence, but once he does his legs fly off the desk, and he asks what he can help me with. 

“I have a ghost problem,” I state, as he begins rifling through paperwork in a nearby filling cabinet. 

“Well, that’s usually why folks come by here.” He chuckles in a raspy voice. His face shows the wrinkles of experience as he looks up at me, and it’s about the only reassuring message I get about him and this place.  

He slides a stack of papers over that measure about half an inch thick. “Before we begin Imma need you to sign these.”  

I roll my eyes, but sign on the dotted lines that litter most of the pages.  

“Can you help me now?” I ask after returning the dying pen into his open palm. 

“Sure thing. What kind of a ghost are we dealing with here?” 

“She’s a little girl. About five years of age or so. She giggles all the time, stuff is constantly moved around or knocked over. I keep finding doll parts in random corners of the apartment. It’s a nightmare trying to make the place presentable for company with the trouble she causes. She also pops up every few nights to stand at the foot of my bed and watch me sleep. Which would be fine if she didn’t glow white. It’s like trying to sleep with the world’s brightest flashlight at your feet.” 

The detective whistles. “Yep, sounds like a classic haunting. Imma need to head over there and check it out for myself.” 

“That is what I was expecting you to do,” I answer. “But before I take a man to my apartment, I usually like to know his name first.” 

He falls into another laughing/coughing fit. “My bad, little lady. The name’s Detective Hownd. And you are?” 

As if he didn’t read my signature scribbled over a thousand sheets of paper as white as my ghost girl. “Call me Rose.” 

“Well Rose, should we be on our way?” 

__________ 

I shove the golden key into my lock and push the door open. As expected, there is a cup on the kitchen table with only an inch of orange juice in it. Surrounding the cup is a spreading pool of the orange liquid with the empty carton resting on its side nearby. 

Detective Hownd whistles through his yellowing teeth once again. “Either you have a ghost, or you’re pretty clumsy.”  

This joke sends him into another laughing fit, and I grab paper towels to clean up the mess while he recovers. “This happens most mornings. Rose always tries to pour herself a cup of orange juice, but she has never figured out how to do it without spilling. So, every morning I get the pleasure of cleaning up after her attempts.” Honestly, I should pour her a glass myself and leave it on the table. It might solve that problem. 

“Wait, just a minute. I thought your name was Rose?” 

“It is.” I point over to the fridge where colorful alphabet magnets spell out ROSE. “But so is hers. I bought magnets after I was tired of her ripping through my magazines to spell out words. Besides, messages are creepier spelled out in magazine clippings than fridge magnets.” 

“And you asked its name?” Detective Hownd exclaims as if I committed some great sin. “That’s just encouragin’ it to stay here. No! You want it to leave? You want it to stop breaking your lovely things?” 

“Well, she doesn’t actually break any—” 

“You gotta show it who’s boss! You gotta take control and demand it to leave.” 

“Well, I don’t need her to leave, exactly. I need her to stop being such an incon—” 

“You got any pots and pans?” he asks, cutting me off again. 

I feel a seed of regret start to sprout in my stomach. Maybe seeking him out wasn’t the best idea. Despite this, I point over to the cupboard under the sink. Detective Hownd takes this as an opportunity to pull out a saucepan and a lid. He then clambers onto one of my kitchen chairs and hops onto the table. Before I can react, he slams the pan with the lid creating a deafening noise that vibrates throughout the small apartment.  

“What are you—” 

He does it again and again until he picks up a quick rhythm. 

I dash over to him and hold his wrists apart before he gets the chance to slam the two together once again. “Stop that! I have neighbors!” 

“The loud noise captures the ghost’s attention. It serves as a warnin’,” he explains before reaching into the pocket of his trench coat to pull out a vile filled with black liquid. “Now this! We gotta dribble a few drops of this serum into the corners of every room in this apartment. Let it sit and repeat this every week. You’ll also wanna continue making noise every day for about two weeks. Then that ghost’ll be outta your hair.” 

“I can’t go around banging pots and pans together. I’ll get a noise complaint. And frankly I have better things to do with my time. And if you think I am going to be spreading mysterious liquid around my apartment, forget it!” 

“But don’t you wanna get rid of the ghost?” 

“I want to get rid of all the annoyances. I was hoping you could come in, say some words, sprinkle some holy water and bam! You’re both gone. This is going to be more of a hassle than she is.” 

He shrugs. “I’m sorry, but it don’t work that way. You can’t just teach a ghost manners.” 

I ponder his statement. Why couldn’t I? The magnets seemed to work alright. She stopped cutting up the magazines. I could even buy her a real doll to play with so she won’t keep leaving doll limbs all over the apartment.  

 “Thanks for your help,” I start, “but I think I can take it from here.”  

“What? But what about your ghost?” 

“I think I know how to take care of her. In a way that is less . . . obnoxious and time consuming.” 

Detective Hownd replaces the vile back into his coat, drops the saucepan, and slides off the table. “I still require payment for my services today.” 

“Fine, I’ll send you a check in the mail. Please, just leave.” I point to the door. It opened on its own, so I get the feeling Rose is with me here on this. 

The detective makes his exit. The door swiftly closes behind him. 

“But for future reference,” I announce behind me, as I reach in the fridge for the spare carton of orange juice, “please wait for me before you try to pour. I really wouldn’t mind giving you some, so long as you don’t spill it everywhere.” 

The faint wisps of white nod as a light giggle fills the room.