The Spirit of Ravenshom House

Chapter 9: How To Whack A Ghost With A Broomstick

The transient she-ghost stared through impenetrably shut-off eyes at Daphne from across the drawing room of Ravenshom House. Jerry was standing on the other side of the room reading aloud the grocery list, doing a final check so that he didn't leave anything out. Jerry was organised that way.

Not wanting to turn her back on the hovering spirit Daphne had assumed an upright position on the sofa forming a triangle between the three of them. The spirit was approaching her steadily, almost dancing her way towards a partner, towards her and all Daphne could do in turn was suddenly be interested in whole grain wheat, trying to ignore the cloudy tufts of the sailing phantom.

Jerry and Daphne had shifted back to Ravenshom nearly two weeks ago. Although initially apprehensive they had eased their way into a comforting and boring routine. No strange events consisting of pig blood water bursts or spectre break-ins had occurred and they were extremely joyous and felt blessed to be in the house. This was what Jerry would have said if anyone were to ask him about their move back.

Daphne wouldn't use the exact same words. In fact she remembered entering the house that awful morning they moved back with Jerry guiding her on the left and the paper white ghost flanking her on the right. And since then, her stay in Ravenshom, if one might try to capture the essence of it in one word, could try and manage with difficulty to fit into the word - surreal.

It was moderately surreal to watch a ghost enthusiastically arise out the kitchen floor as you made your morning coffee as if the ghost too were in need of a caramel latte. It was extremely surreal to find a spirit melting away from the dining table as you shared an apple pie with your future husband. It was extravagantly surreal to see a ghost thin out from the middle of the stairs as you attempted to go out for a walk only to be dashed through her three steps away from the front door. It was annoyingly surreal to be constantly reminded of the presence of the ghost gawking at you as you tried to read "A wrinkle in time" only to realize an hour later that the reason you might not have been able to read the book other than the obvious paranormal disturbance was because you had been holding it upside down. The damn ghost was every which where she turned.

Fear loomed above Daphne like a sharp-edged scythe attached to her back, its end high above her, pointing towards her scalp for eternity. She couldn't sit, or eat, nor sleep, nor breathe, without either the presence or thought of the phantom. Life had become a constant game of hide and seek with a ghost that materialized at her own will taking no care whatsoever for Daphne's mental well-being. Her heartbeat fluctuated between super-speed and complete halts and her body had perfected the art of breaking out into cold shivers at a second's notice multiple number of times a day.

Her days had converted into nightmares, and she found solace only in the little hours of sleep that she scraped and fought to achieve simply because she had exhausted herself looking out for the spirit gowned in moonlight to jump out at her any given time. At the very least in the nightmares she was being chased by monsters gory and dark, impractical and animate. They didn't compare to the real thing. Simple and ephemeral, the spirit of Ravenshom elicited a trepidation inside her that couldn't match the mockery of any of her nightmarish demons. Not just because she was seeing her in the day when she wasn't sleeping, but also because the spirit in her very effortlessness was unnerving and disheartening. An itch at the back of her head that she couldn't pick. A word at the tip of her tongue that she couldn't quite get.

Daphne had also given up on searching for another job. She couldn't focus on anything with a ghost accompanying her everywhere at ill and odd times much less get back on track with her career. She had a busy schedule monitoring the comings and goings of the spirit not to mention that her entire attention at present was stockpiled to master the art of keeping a straight face while her insides roiled in apodictic terror at spotting a muffled transparent woman that only she could see.