Three Bachelors and Their Brides

So there we were, it was our third fuckin' night in the dark. It was only the middle of October and we had already gotten the first ice storm of the year and the power was out everywhere. I love it when they talk about this global warming shit. We were all, all six of us, staying at Phoebe Gardener's house. It was the third fuckin' night without power. Luckily the house didn't have an electric water pump so we could at least use the shower. No matter how dark it is it still doesn't cover up your stink, and when I say six of us, I mean us three Bachelors and our brides. In other words the brides would have a problem with mine.

And yes, of course, Phoebe Gardener's house was haunted. What else would it be? It was nearly a century and a half old and as far as everyone knew there had been at least three deaths inside it's walls. The most recent case was in 1979 when an old man had been found dead in the cellar. Dean Bonavitch was seventy eight years old when he was found dead in the cellar by his grandson, after he'd shot himself to the head with a revolver. He had been dead for two weeks. Now I won't burden you with the details of the other two deaths, even though Phoebe always burdened them on us and everyone else. That poor girl, she had no choice but to make it all part of her social life too. The voices, the door slamming, the rearranging and levitation of the chairs, plates and silverware in the kitchen were all part of her life in general. The old man's ghost appeared to Phoebe for the first time when Phoebe was seven. She and her cousins were playing with matches in the cellar when the bloody old man appeared to all three of those kids. Dean Bonavitch's ghost was a full blown, solid apparition with it's head and upper body covered in blood. Phoebe only saw Dean's ghost two more times after that, but living in that house, she was always aware of his presence.

It wasn't that the six of us had nothing better to do then hang out in the dark at Phoebe's house, we just wanted to be in each other's company for a while. We were a good click. We didn't just travel together like a band of bums, we always kept each other out of trouble and motivate each other in the right direction. We were three years out of high school but we were still thick as thieves, and you can bet your ass that after this here night, we would all keep in touch until this day.

So there we were, our supply of beer and weed had exhausted the night before and we had to save the rest of our cash for smokes. 10.95 for a pack of USA Golds, fuckin' ridiculous. We were all sitting in the parlor bullshitting and smoking like chimneys. The wind had picked up at mid afternoon and by nightfall it was gusting at forty miles an hour. The house was creaking like an old wooden ship. We thought it was anything but eerie, we thought the sound of the wind was awesome. We were chewing on whatever gossip or small talk that six twenty one year olds will have.

Phoebe started itching at the calf of her leg, "Ugh, I didn't shave this morning." Briana pulled up the leg of her jeans, "Don't worry," she laughed. "Neither did I." 

Phoebe's boyfriend, Steve, asked me a question about Greg Tyler's truck, "He got rid of the Nissan, didn't he?" 

"Yeah," I answered. "He couldn't afford the payments on it, he couldn't mooch enough off of his old lady." 

"He's an asshole," Briana contributed. "That truck was always in her name."  Briana's boyfriend, Devon, interrupted, "They're still fuckin' together, I heard that they moved to Florida last summer."

That interval of talk gave way to more silence until my girlfriend, Sherri, asked Phoebe a question.

"Do you still get activity from the ghost?" 

"Oh yeah," Phoebe replied. "But nothing like it used to be." Phoebe let out a heavy sigh. "How we thank the lord for that." Sherri looked at Phoebe sympathetically as she stroked her back. 

"I'm so glad to hear that, hon." She spoke to her.

"Have you ever tried to communicate with Dean?" I asked Phoebe.