Post, Ghostie

Posted by: dogwiggle

Some people swore that the house was haunted. Me, I just saw a very old house that was in surprisingly good repair listed way below market value. But Maggie?

“It’ll be an adventure, Joe!” she squealed, writing out the check then and there to the amazement of the realtor. Had he accidently mentioned the ghost business an hour before, the tour would have been unnecessary.

An adventure. Like the time she dragged me to some Inca ruins (Aztec? I can never keep them straight) someplace I could never pronounce properly. To me, it was a big pile of rocks in bug infested jungle; to her, it was an amazing wonder of a lost civilization that she could sense all around her. Same with the cave drawings in France, Easter Island, the Pyramids… This list goes on.

Ironically, that adventurousness was one of the reasons that I married her. Sure, the trips to these wondrous, miserable places did little for me (I’m more the four star hotel, order in room service type), but they invigorated Maggie beyond belief. Just let her get a whiff of the bygone and/or mysterious and she literally quivers with excitement. And that excitement reaches its climax, quite literally, sometimes later, but oftentimes right there in the middle of phantasmagoria. And I suppose my willingness to return her affections in such situations endeared me to her. It made her happy.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, grinning in anticipation of our first night alone in Ghostly Manor.

The house was mostly furnished, and even my untrained eye recognized some truly magnificent antiques, all burled wood and filigreed gold curlicues. Not to my taste, but I recognized extravagant quality… and the money that it represented. The artwork was equally hideous and expensive. The realtor had said that the previous owner had died without family; and as there were no liens on the property, the sale was all inclusive.

It should be mentioned that I also married Maggie for her money. Even with the family fortune acquired by her great-grandfather being divided 100 times amongst subsequent heirs, her net worth was equal to that of the GDP of two or three smallish countries. That allowed us these globetrotting ghoulish adventures, and this spontaneous purchase of the supposed haunted house. Money was not the only reason I married Maggie: she was brilliant, comely and raucously funny, though also turned on by the somewhat creepy. But the fact that she was also rich cinched the deal.

The first night went much as I had hoped. The mustiness of the place certainly put her in an amorous mood, the creeks and groans of the old wood quickened the pace; but I believe the thunderstorm and the brilliant lightning flashes sent her over the top. An auspicious beginning.

As the days and weeks passed, however, Maggie became more and more anxious. She wandered the massive house for hours, lingering in each room, from basement to attic. Several times I heard her speaking imploringly for the spirits in the house to show themselves.

After a month of this, I had had enough. Frankly, I was bored; but I was also worried about Maggie. She had never been prone to moroseness, but she was sinking into a deep depression. Finally, I broached the subject of taking a trip… The irony…

It seems that she had intended to buy a ghost in purchasing this house. Having failed that, she was not above providing the house with a ghost of her own. She pushed; I fell. Nothing was ever the same again after that.

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One Response to “Post, Ghostie”

  1. dogwiggle Says:

    I wrote this as an entry in a NPR 3 minute Fiction contest.

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