Short Fiction

Ghost’s Story

By Christian Mueth

The house stooped, to glower over Mitchell. Panels along the house twisted into pretzels. A breeze went through, spinning its windows sideways, then turning them inside out. Mitchell’s stomach turned inside out with them.

Every home in Tyger’s Neighborhood was respectable; decent. A nuclear family’s favorite brand of white bread would be proud to live in one of them. Then, there was the house on the end of Galley Street. It was the scum stuck on the bottom of a shoe. Many had tried to scrape it away, but none ever succeeded.

The neighborhood had left a wood to grow around it and elected to ignore it. Yet, today, Mitchell couldn’t afford to.

“Mitch the bitch, you can run, but you can’t hide!” somebody called out.

Mitchell plucked the bloody thorns from his arms, then tried tucking his shirt back around his swollen waist. It wouldn’t budge — streams of sweat were set against him. He swept his ratty hair out of his eyes and dragged himself toward the front door to the house. The porch’s floorboards grumbled beneath his feet, cautioning him to turn back. A bolt of electricity shot from the sky, landing at Mitchell’s feet. Lightning? Mitchell looked to the sky — there wasn’t a cloud.

Hand hovering over the rusted doorknob, his heart flopped wildly against his ribcage. This couldn’t be worth it. Yet, there was the small but strong part of him that knew it was.

He pulled his trading card out from his pocket. He forced a smile. It was an “Iceblaster Dragon” — extremely powerful. He couldn’t just turn around and give it up.

He shook his head as he clasped his hand around the doorknob. It gave a small jolt. He didn’t care.

Barney and his cronies had already taken enough away from him.

“Come on, Mitch, dearest,” Barney said, putting on a tauntingly high voice. “Why don’t you come out and play, Mitchy? Lord knows you could use the exercise, baby boy.”

The shadows of Barney’s crew filtered between the thorn-bushes and spindly tree trunks. Only a few yards away separated Mitchell from having the snot kicked out of him.

“Come in,” the house seemed to whisper to him. It was swaying, as though in an inviting dance. “I never have company.”

Dark memories flashed through Mitchell’s head of nights around campfires, hearing stories that made his stomach hurl smores. He shook his head. Campfire stories were tall tales. Everybody knew that. He turned the knob, and shoved the door open a crack. It wouldn’t move any further.

There was the smack of Barney’s fist against his palm. “Mitch, get ready to be Mitch mash.”

Mitchell had to move further, room or not.

Wriggling his body between the crack, Mitchell could feel his lungs cave. He’d just barely made it through when Barney and his crew made their way across the wood.

“I don’t think we should be in here,” said one of Barney’s friends. “Didn’t a butcher make hotdogs out of dead bodies in there?”

“I heard it was an old midget, and that he also drank napalm to breathe fire,” said another.

Barney rubbed his hands together and paced in a circle.

“Where do you think he went?” someone asked

Mitchell slammed the door. There was a collection of gasps.

“He went in the house,” somebody said.

There was a snort of derision from Barney. “Mitchy has a stomach for a lot of things, but not that. There’s no way he’s left the same. Can’t wait to watch the police drag his body out. Come on guys.”

There was a series of crunches. With a wheeze, Mitchell pressed his back against the door as a barricade. Minutes ran by, and there was not a sound. Barney had left.

Mitchell peeled his sweaty back from the door and made his way down the hall to the house. It was just as tattered as the exterior to the house had been. Most of the floorboards were rotting, and the wallpaper was curling toward the ceiling. Books were strewn across the floor, covered in bite marks – no doubt from hungry mice. There were a few squeaks, followed by the slight pattering of mouse feet. Other than that though, there was a distinct lack of life.

Perhaps it was better that way. The outside of the house had given him the creeps. Besides, he’d earned the right to be alone. His mother had constantly been pushing him to go outside and make friends. Every time though, it was hot enough to melt an entire ice cream store, and all anybody wanted to do was pummel him into the ground.

Most kids sucked. The whole world sucked, in fact. Maybe this was a fact of life?

At least he could be safe in this cruddy house. It wasn’t scary as anybody had said it’d be. Maybe tall tales really were just that.

He let out a sigh of relief.

“Perfect day to kick back, and rest.”

Mitchell gulped. The words were the exact sort of thing he would’ve said. Yet, he hadn’t said them.

“Then again, some people never rest. Wouldn’t you say?”

There was the slightest creak. Mitchell wished with all his soul that it was more mice. Even rats would be alright.

Reluctantly, Mitchell turned. He jumped. “Jesus!”

There was a woman, who was practically glowing. No — she was glowing. Her skin had a bluish hue to it. Her whole body levitated above the ground, and a rush of dust whirled below her feet.

“That’s right! You better be scared!” she growled. “I know what you’ve done! You’re not going to avoid my judgement!”

Mitchell’s back was raw, after colliding into bits of plaster jutting from the wall. Yet, the shock from his pain paled when compared to his shock from this pale phantom.

“I was just playing with cards,” the boy whimpered. “And then I was chased. I only came because I had to — honest.”

“You were chased, were you? Eighteen years of avoiding me, and that’s your explanation?” the ghost said. She shrieked and rushed toward Mitchell. “No, you won’t get away! I can’t tell you how much thought I’ve put into this moment!”

Suddenly, her movements weren’t so sudden. The whole room slowed down. The ghost was actually a beautiful woman, when one looked past the general aura of death about her. Her blue hair flowed from her head as a river, and her face possessed fairylike features. At least, fairly fairylike. Her eyes were what entranced Mitchell most. They were an endless tunnel that scrunched up in such a funny way.

Then, it hit Mitchell that he was about to get hit. Time resumed.

“Eighteen years?” Mitchel whimpered, and scrambled from the wall. “I don’t even know how to drive a car!”

The woman collided with the wall, knocking down a picture frame.

“Maybe if you weren’t always drunk, you’d have better luck!”

Mitchell looked back the way he came; the ghost was blocking the way. He ran further down the hall. There had to be another exit somewhere.

“Hey, come back and face me like a man,” the ghost cried out. “You’re really blurry — my glasses fell off before I entered the afterlife, so I can’t see three feet in front of my feet.”

She couldn’t see him? Thank god. Mitchell doubled over and took in giant heaves. It was just his luck that he’d jump from one horrifying chase to another. If he kept up this rate, he’d be on track to run track.

Mitchell ducked his head toward the ground, as a vase hurled over his head. It was followed by a plate, turned flying saucer. Looking down each side of him, he only found dead ends. The ghost was floating down the hall now, her eyes more squinty and furious than ever.

“You’re a dead man, Derrick!” the ghost said. “My heart was broken in two by you. Do you now that?”

Maybe there was another way out of this. Mitchell fought to catch his voice, as a wheezing attack rose in his chest. He should’ve brought his inhaler. Stupid move.

“Can we do time out? Really, please!” Mitchell said, lifting his grubby palms. “Who’s Derrick? I’m not him.”

The ghost only sped up her pace, her arms flailing wildly at the air. Mitchell closed his eyes, bracing for impact. A ghost couldn’t be worse than a dodgeball. Hopefully.

“You might be right,” the ghost said with a huff. “You look nothing like Derrick.”

Mitchell reopened his eyes. The ghost was a mere two inches from his face, studying him intensely. Mitchell took a step back.

“I think I’d know if I was Derrick,” said Mitchell. “I’m not a big dummy.”

The ghost smirked. “Are you sure you’re not Derrick, just pulling a trick on me somehow?” she said. She was hovering around the room now, attempting to clean up the debris that had been strewn about. Yet, wherever she hovered, a chilly air blew the debris from beneath her.

“Not again,” she muttered, under her breath. “Fool me nine times, shame on you. But, ten times?”

Mitchell crossed his eyes. All of those stories, and this was what was in the house? He went back down the hall, for the main entrance. If he could get out of here with his head, it would be an achievement.

“Where are you going?” the ghost said.

“I want to go home.” Mitchell’s mind was already alit with the thought of resuming his videogames. He’d been about to beat one of them. “Sorry to break into your house and stuff, Miss… Miss Ghost. It was an accident, really.”

He tried breaking into a sprint, but the carpet moved away beneath him. Worse, a cramp cut into his side.

“Excuse me?” the ghost said, her voice raising.

The ceiling quaked, with flakes of dust falling everywhere. Mitchell rubbed his hair; he was going to look like he had worse dandruff than he already did.

“What kind of manners are those?” The ghost had hovered her way back in front of Mitchell. “You break into my house, and you think you can walk out without even giving me your name?”

Mitchell shrugged. “I’m not supposed to give my name to strangers.”

Especially strange strangers, he thought.

“I could’ve called the cops on you,” said the ghost.

“Technically, you don’t own this house anymore.”

“The afterlife doesn’t care about technicalities!”

Calling the police actually didn’t sound half bad. Mitchell looked around. There were no phones, from what he could tell. The electricity probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.

“It’s Mitchell,” he said, relenting.

“Thank you.” The ghost made a smirk. “Also, my name isn’t Miss Ghost. It’s Maddy.”

Maddy. That fit. Mitchell puckered his lips and fought to keep himself from snorting.

“So, can I go now?” Mitchell asked.

“No.”

Maddy nudged Mitchell back away from the door, and toward the kitchen. Wincing, Mitchell scoured the house for windows to jump out of.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for a snack?” Maddy asked. Mitchell shook his head, but Maddy was already rifling through the cupboards. “Trust me, it’s no trouble. Believe it or not, regretting the sins of one’s past life gets dull after a spell. You have no idea how hard it is to live here for forty years, without a person to talk to, or anything to do.”

That last bit sounded like a dream to Mitchell. He wrote “become a ghost” in his mental bucket list.

Maddy raised her hands in despair. “I can’t even eat anything!”

Mitchell scratched it out.

Maddy floated to Mitchell, with a fossilized biscuit. Sheepishly, Mitchell took the biscuit and pretended to take a bite. It was a stone.

“So, who’s Derrick?” Mitchell said, more to distract Maddy’s attention than anything.

Maddy looked to the ceiling, with a wistful look in her eye. Mitchell tossed his biscuit, as she did.

“A selfish, no good, cheating piece of—,” Maddy stopped herself. “How old are you?”

“Twelve.”

“He was a very no good man.”

Mitchell nodded. “I see.”

“There are a lot of regrets I have,” Maddy said, with a sigh. “But, no matter. How’s your world getting by?”

Mitchell paused. Nobody ever asked him how his life was going; not really.

“It’s good mostly, I guess,” said Mitchell. “School sucks. I don’t like my teachers. Or my classmates. The weather is bad, also. Too hot. But, it’s nice in my room. You’d probably like it outside, better than in here.”

“The world outside definitely sounds familiar.” Maddy was smiling now. The blue was beginning to fade from her body. “So, if you like being in your room so much, what brought you here?”

Mitchell itched his arms. The wood’s thorns had created a bit of a rash along them.

“Barney,” he said. “Well, actually, my mom made me go outside. He was out there. He made his friends throw rocks and chase me, for one of my cards.”

Mitchell stopped, and cleared his throat. His face was blotching, and his eyes were starting to burn. He’d had just about enough of this stupid haunted house.

“It gets better,” Maddy said.

Mitchell didn’t buy it and wasn’t sure if she bought it either.

“What about you?” Mitchell asked. “If life turns out so great, why did you wind up as a ghost?”

“Before I died… Well, I vowed to prove whether there are any more good men on Earth,” she said. “A fair enough statement, I guess. Unfortunately, it’s not the sort of vow you should give before you die.”

Mitchell laughed. “I’m glad that I’ve never died while making any of my dumb promises.”

“Promises are definitely dumb.”

Mitchell shook his head. “Not all promises,” he said. “A good promise just depends on who and what. You just put your best foot forward.”

Maddy’s eyes widened, in a sort of awe. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I made a promise that I could hang upside down for ten minutes, once. They all laughed. Really didn’t think I could. I did.”

A bit more of the blue from Maddy faded. She had dark hair, and her eyes were an intense green. Yet, as the blue faded, Maddy seemed to be fading too.

“These boys… Do they bother you a lot?” Maddy asked.

Mitchell shrugged. “Mostly when Barney is around. He always gets them to gang up on me. I could probably take him if I really tried, though.”

“Probably not easy, I imagine.”

“Definitely not easy. My mom keeps telling me to just kill them with kindness. I’ve tried. Really. But, it just… It doesn’t really work.”

“Stay strong. Stay above it.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Mitchell said. He gestured at Maddy’s feet. “You’re always up in the air.”

“More than you even know…” Maddy muttered. She cleared her throat. “Whatever you do Mitchell, don’t stop being who you are. Do that, and they’ll eventually learn to accept you. You’re a good person.”

Mitchell looked back to the main entrance. It all sounded great, but pulling that sort of thing off was another thing entirely.

“You said they were chasing you over a card?” Maddy asked. Mitchell nodded. “Could I see it?”

Mitchell dug in his pocket and handed the “Iceblaster” card over.

Maddy looked it at it, and chuckled. Then, the last of the blue faded from Maddy’s fingertips. It leapt into the card. She handed it back.

“See that glow?” Maddy asked.

“Yeah. It’s awesome.”

“If anybody asks, tell them the truth: you spoke with me, a ghost. I cursed the card. Nobody will want to mess with that. They won’t want to mess with you, either.”

Turning over the card, Mitchell gave a smile. He looked up. “Is there any way that you can also haunt Barney? It doesn’t have to be a month or anything. Just, like, a week?”

Maddy shook her head. “Even if I could, I really can’t.”

She waved one of her hands in the air. Yet, even as she did, the hand disappeared. Her legs were gone. The fade was making its way up her body.

“I thought — I thought that you were stuck here.”

Maddy shook her head. “Only until I could prove whether there are still good men in this world. Looks like there are.”

Mitchell’s chest swelled. Then, it dropped. “Technically I’m only twelve, though. Do I really count?”

Maddy smirked. “The afterlife doesn’t care about technicalities.”

With that, she was gone. The only trace remaining was the unearthly glow, in Mitchell’s playing card.

He laughed and walked toward the house’s main entrance. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Barney’s face.

End