by Brian Corley
O-R
D-I-E
Chapter 5
I lost it. “Psshh, I knew you would say that. Typical hackneyed response, you’re an awful ghost, and this séance is over.”
Max got up, knocking over a candle as he left. He trudged off to his room and slammed the door behind him. I think Willard left too as some of the other candles puffed out, and the room warmed back up again. I blew out the rest of them and picked up around the kitchen before I went to bed.
I slept well that night, which surprised me. Something about a supernatural enemy using a tired horror-movie cliché to try to scare me actually made me feel better coming away from our makeshift séance than I did going in. My indignation from the day before reinforced my confidence. Sure, it would have been better if we’d convinced him to leave, or if nothing had happened and this was all in our imagination, but I now knew what I was dealing with—a hack. I could beat this guy—ghost—whatever. What was even more surprising was that I either forgot to set or slept through my alarm, and I was late for work.
A knock at the door woke me from my peaceful slumber.
“You still asleep?” Max said through the door. “Come look at this.”
I looked at my clock. 7:15 a.m. Dammit. I shot up and followed Max to his bathroom. The room was still steamy from his shower. He pointed to the mirror.
GET OUT was scrawled in the condensation.
We stood there staring at the preternatural lettering.
“God, this-ghost-sucks!” I said.
“I know, this is so sad. OK, maybe I’m scared a little,” Max replied.
“I’m more afraid of what my bosses will do to me if I’m late,” I said over my shoulder as I hurried back to my room to throw on some clothes and head to work. Thankfully the unshaven look was in, so that saved me a few minutes. I hustled over to the kitchen as the last stop before I left.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath when I found the coffee pot empty. I set its timer the night before so we’d wake up to the alluring aroma of coffee like in commercials.
Willard obviously turned both off. Forget the hackneyed messages; that was below the belt. No one messes with my coffee.
“Oh, you’ll get yours, ghosty. You’ll get yours,” I said.
I grabbed my trusty traveler mug out of the cabinet and rushed out the door. I’d have to settle for the break room’s generic bulk coffee at work.
I slowed down as I hit the break room just before eight, and yawned as I walked over to the little coffee station. The room wasn’t much to look at: beige walls, cheap floor, and a few tables and chairs. The bulletin board in the corner displayed OSHA materials, announcements for this week’s bake sale, and a crappy promo poster for someone’s band. Debra sat alone reading, like she did every morning.
“How’s the house?” she asked, still looking down at her book.
“Good, good. Bought some candles and incense last night,” I said, pouring coffee into my traveler. “Smells nice. Real, real nice.”
I took a sip and let the caffeine do its work. I’m probably not addicted.
“Sounds great, but you look tired. Forget to shave this morning? How are things with the undead?”
I looked down at the sad-smelling coffee and wondered if I wanted to have this conversation. So many questions and I’d only had one sip.
“Are ghosts undead? I thought that was the purview of vampires and zombies,” I said.
“Just trying to make conversation here, Jonah. You obviously knew what I meant.”
I pulled a chair out and joined her table. “I don’t know how to say things are going, but we had a little séance last night. If I had to sum it up in one word though, probably—bad.”
I described the series of events from last night.
“Then we’re like, ‘irregardless’ isn’t even a word!” I slammed home the punchline.
Instead of laughing, she just looked horrified. “Why would you do that? Why would you anger the spirit?”
I looked back down at my coffee. She was right. We probably should have thought it through. Maybe all we had to do was continue to ask nicely. Maybe I should take a look at myself, my life. I needed to grow up and be a better person.
“I don’t know … he sucks. He was being a dick,” I said instead.
It was too early to have a deep, introspective conversation. Besides, it was already done, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change it now.
She shook her head. “This is bad, Jonah. This is really bad. You should never anger a spirit like that. It’s dangerous. Has he acted out since then? Have you felt his presence? Is he moving things?”
I took another pull of my coffee.
“He has been moving things. And yeah, he wrote a message on the mirror this morning, turned off my alarm … probably … and turned off the auto-coffee maker,” I said.
“What a dick,” she said, putting down her book. “Listen, you need to find a way to de-escalate this situation. He could really hurt you beyond just depriving you of caffeine. I think I can help you though.
“I can come by tonight and lead another séance. This time, however, we’re going to ask him nicely to leave or coexist peacefully. I have some friends that have dealt with this kind of thing before, and I think I can manage this. Now what did you use for your little ritual last night?”
I ignored the slight of “my little ritual” because it worked, right? She had a point though—I could have been nicer, and Max definitely could have been a better version of himself. I ran down the short list of materials and looked forward to having some help.
Our two bosses walked in about that time to let us know they weren’t paying us to eat donuts and drink coffee.
“We weren’t even eating donuts,” I whispered to Debra as we walked out.
Chapter 6
I arrived home to find Max on the couch, playing our favorite international soccer game while trash-talking whoever it was he was playing. I’m sure they deserved it.
“My mom is an upstanding woman! How dare you.” Max turned around to see me walking in. “Oh hey, how was your day?” He whipped his eyes back to the screen. “Come on, you heard me talking. You’re really going to take that shot while I’m not looking?”
“Fine,” I replied and walked to my room to dump my bag, then headed to the kitchen. “Bringing over some reinforcements for our roommate issue.”
“Uh-huh,” I heard from the kitchen. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m an adult—yep—well—guess what? I can drive, can you? No, not for yeeeaarrrrrssss. Uh-huh—yeah? Well, I have a job, unlike your dad, and I just beat you for the third straight time—alright, alright, that was over the line—yep, same time tomorrow—go do your homework, Timmy. Tell your mother I love her.”
Max walked in as I threw a vegan burrito into the microwave. I wasn’t vegan, but I figured those burritos were as healthy as I could get for microwaved food.
“What do you mean you’re bringing reinforcements?” Max asked, opening the refrigerator.
“Friend from work seems to know about these things, said she could help.”
Max grabbed a water and twisted the cap off. “Please tell me it’s the Wiccan.”
“Got it in one. We were probably a little disrespectful last night. Maybe we should apologize.”
Max looked at me and took a swig from the plastic bottle. “So you think I should take down the pictures?”
I gave him a look, and he led me back to the living room and pointed. He’d printed out the meme he sent me along with a few others, put them in frames, and onto the walls.
I stared at him.
“What? I didn’t have much to do today at work, and they’re funny.” He looked at me, mouth open. “Don’t act like you don’t think they’re funny.”
I did laugh. He’d improved upon his original work.
“Alright, they’re funny. I’m just not sure our friend will see things our way. Nice frames though.” I went back to the kitchen and started eating my burrito and thought out loud, “Do we have snacks? What’s the social protocol for séances?”
“I think beer counts as snacks,” Max replied from the living room where he was already back to another game, “or wine, probably wine. She sounds like a classy lady, and we have both.”
On cue, there was a knock at the door. Debra had arrived.
“I brought snacks,” she said as I opened the door, “some of my special candles, and wine.” Debra had two bags in hand and was holding one out for me to take. Mmm, snacks.
“See?” Max said, getting up from the couch.
I made introductions as I brought the snacks to the kitchen and put them on a tray (yeah, I had a tray—my mom got me one). By the way—crackers, goat cheese, and an assortment of olives were apparently the snack choices for séances. Max was right. Classy.
I walked back in as Debra repeated my punchline from earlier in the day. “‘Irregardless’ isn’t even a word!” She laughed, looking at me as I walked in.
“I said that,” Max replied, looking at me in horror. “That was my thing. I said that.”
“Whatever, Max, have some cheese.” I set down the tray on our little coffee table, and said, “Debra, Max said the thing.”
Debra nodded her head to Max in polite acknowledgment.
“That’s right. I’m funny,” Max said, dipping a cracker into some cheese.
We went about our snacks and wine while she prepped us on how things would go down. Debra walked us through the materials she brought (apparently ghosts like expensive red currant candles), showed us where to put them, and even picked a playlist of house music mixed with the sounds of nature to run in the background at a low volume.
She explained that we needed to apologize and be respectful. We were still going to use the Ouija board, but Debra would drive this time, so we expected a better outcome.
She went around the house, checking our candle placement while carrying around her own home-grown concoction of incense (she wouldn’t divulge her recipe, but it smelled great, and she mentioned something about copal). Finally, around nine thirty or so, she felt like it was sufficiently dark enough for us to begin.
“Spirits are only active at night, so he should be ready by now,” she said.
Debra lit the last of the candles and motioned for us to join her on the floor of the kitchen. She set up the board in the middle of a circle of five candles with plenty of room for us to sit inside. We all sat down and placed two fingers on the planchette and waited.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
We did.
“We seek the spirit that abides in this house. Spirit, are you with us?”
We heard the sounds of breaking glass from what I guessed to be the picture frames down the hall, then seconds later the room chilled.
“Can we open our eyes now?” Max whispered.
“Um, sure,” Debra said.
The planchette moved to “Yes.”
“Yes, you’re here, or yes we can open our eyes?” Max asked.
Debra shot him a look.
The planchette moved again to spell “B-O-T-H.”
“Obviously, we already had our eyes open. How else—”
“Enough, Max. Thank you for joining us, spirit,” Debra interrupted. “The living are here this evening to apologize for their behavior, and to ask you to allow them to live here in peace. We brought sweet-smelling offerings as an act of goodwill. Do you accept our apology?”
The planchette moved.
I-F-T-H-E-Y-L-E-A-V-E
“Is there a way for everyone to live here together?”
The planchette moved quickly.
No.
“Why?” I asked. “I just signed the mortgage. This is my first house. Why can’t we just work this out?”
T-O-O-L-O-U-D
“We can be quiet. I love quiet. I love naps. I get it.”
A-L-S-O-D-O-N-T-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U
“Will, can I call you Will?”
The planchette moved even faster this time.
No.
“WILL you leave this house?!” Max interjected, looking supremely pleased with his pun.
I glared at him. “Dammit, Max …”
Debra froze, eyes wide. Her face changed, almost like she was going to sneeze. She seized, then settled.
Debra wasn’t Debra now.
“You two. I’ve had enough.” A different voice came out of Debra. A man’s voice. An angry voice. Not a scary-angry voice, more like … I would describe it as—pissy. “You’re loud. You’re rude. You stay up at night spouting one-sided, insulting conversations.”
“That’s Max,” I interjected. “I can get a new roommate, just give me a couple weeks.”
Max looked at me and said, “Heyyy.”
“No, no new roommates, no roommates at all, that’s my whole point. This is my house. I built it, and I will remain here in perfect silence and solitude.”
We sat quiet for a bit. The three (four?) of us. All looking at each other.
“You didn’t build this house,” I said.
“I most certainly did,” Not-Debra curtly responded.
“You didn’t. This house was built in the fifties. You just bought it.”
“Semantics—"
“No, not semantics. I might understand the ghost of a man who put his life into designing and building a house by the sweat of his back for a loved one or family, but you just bought it, man. You need to move on—I am not leaving.
“I just signed a mortgage, so you can either leave, or hang out with me and Max for the next two years until I can make some money on this thing,” I said defiantly, but then offered an olive branch. “Max is negotiable. I can find a quieter roommate.”
Max looked at me slack-jawed and whispered, “Diiiiiick.”
Not-Debra seemed to mull my offer over for a few seconds before replying.
“No. I don’t have much time left in this vessel, so now you hear me! Either leave alive, or stay and … die!”
“That’s stupid,” I replied.
Not-Debra cocked her head to the left. “What?”
“That’s stupid. If I die here, I’m a ghost too. I’ll just kick your ass for the next thousand years or so from the spirit world.”
“No, you won’t.”
“I will. You don’t understand the spirit that lives inside me. I overcome obstacles—however I can. Sometimes through sheer force of will. You quit life.
“I would make an awesome ghost. I’ve spent a lifetime reading and watching movies. Poltergeist, Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors, Ghost, Ghostbusters, The Graveyard Book—I am made for this,” I said.
“I assure you, you would do no such thing. I have been a spirit far longer than you—” Not-Debra said.
“A year isn’t that long—” I interrupted.
Not-Debra stood and shouted, “YOU HAVE THREE DAYS TO REMOVE YOURSELVES,” then crumpled onto the floor as every candle blew out in the room.
Max and I rushed over to check on Debra. She was out of it, but OK.
Max quietly laughed, breathed in, and then loudly laughed as he pointed at me.
“You threatened a ghost!” More laughing, a deep breath, then, “What the hell?” More laughing. “I never really thought about that, but it’s a real flaw to the whole death threat. What if you are a badass ghost? Even if you suck at it, you could still be loud and ruin his good time for eternity.”
Debra started to come to. I looked at Max, smiling.
“We would be hell on him,” I said. “I can’t imagine being on your bad side for eternity. You show no mercy to random nine-year-old kids from the Internet. I wo
uld love to hear you let loose on someone who actually deserves it for—”
“Oh no, I am definitely out,” Max said, shaking his head. “Yeah, no way, he just threatened to kill us. I think he’s awake when I need sleep. Nope. I’m out. I can sleep on someone’s couch for a while, no problem.”
“That’s good, Max,” said Debra, groggily intervening, “and Jonah—Jonah, you should do the same. I’ve never dealt with anything like this. That was a good line about being a better ghost though. I’ve never thought of that either. That really could have worked. I may try that myself someday … but no, you should definitely leave.”
“I’m not leaving. This is stupid. He’s a dick, but he’s not a murderer … Does it count as murder if he’s a ghost and I’m not? Doesn’t matter, I have too much tied into this house. Plus, I think I really would kick his ass if I was a ghost. I’ve seen the Patrick Swayze movie—recently, in fact. Max and I both just watched it. I could work in some ideas from the third movie in the eighties Nightmare serie . . . you know, where they figure out they’re in a dream and can just imagine whatever they want in order to fight off Freddy.”
Max looked at me, condescendingly patted me on the shoulder, and helped Debra up.
“OK, Debra, we’ll help you back to your car.”
I gathered Debra’s expensive candles and put them back in her bag as Max walked her out the door and to her car.
“Maybe there is a way to capture him, so he can’t do anything,” I mused.
“Like in the movie where the professors get kicked out of the university and start their own ghost-removing business?” Max replied.
“Neither of you are scientists, and that’s a movie,” Debra chimed in. “You could try a dream catcher …”
Then we all laughed.
“Dream catchers . . . what are we, a bad tattoo?” Max said.
When we got to her car, I opened the passenger-side door and laid the bag of candles on the floorboard.
“Thanks for your help,” Max said, opening her door and helping her into her late-model green Toyota.
“I wasn’t very much help at all, unfortunately,” she said, looking up at us as she sat in her seat with the door still open. “You really should leave, Jonah. I can’t stress that enough. However, if you are bound and determined to stay, these spirits rest when the sun is up. Make your plans then. Bye now, see you at work tomorrow.”
