Her Story

[WP] "I think-- I think I died 12 years ago," the voice on the other end of the line says. It has an echoing, tinny quality, and bursts of static make it difficult to hear. "Can you help me figure out why?"

*****

I'd spent a lot of time as a fake 'Ghostbuster' in New Orleans.

One of the most superstitious places in America, Nee Orleans was the best place to begin this scheme -or scam - of mine. A few years down the line - eight years actually - and I'd seen a lot.

First 2as the controversy, because there was always going to be skeptics. And when my TV show launched, their numbers increased. My methods were those I read from literature on exorcisms and all that, but I didn't believe in the paranormal.

I was just feeding on the irrational fears of the locals here, pretending to record paranormal activity and document it, perform an exorcism, and that would be that. Of course, my clients would always say they felt relieved and they were free, but I knew that it was a 'placebo effect'.

Their problems were psychological, and the presence and actions of a 'renowned Ghostbuster' were enough to put those fears to rest.

Then I had to go to the creepiest locations. Like I mentioned earlier and now reiterate, I do not believe in the paranormal. But that didn't mean I wasn't a bit spooked out by dark, musty cellars, with rotten wood looking like the whole setup could collapse and close in on me at any moment.

Sometimes I heard sounds, saw things - but I chalked it all to be part of 5he work I was doing. After years in the business, there would be times you would get to question your own beliefs, as I did this time. I had to take caution not to be corrupted by superstition while k did what I did.

Anyway, despite all the controversy, the numbers of people, papers and columnists calling me a fraud - which I was, but did not appreciate being called out for - my services were still in high demand.

"Humans..." I missed, smiling tommyself, as I drove in my customised van with my crew to another location. The vehicle was bought and pimped by me three years ago, and I maintained it to serve as the trademark of my company.

The camera and video crew with me had no idea what I was really doing. Some believed me, some thought I was a fraud, but either way, I had never been exposed as being fake because I never involved them in my setup. They just recorded what I saw and heard while I put my manipulation skills to the test.

That day saw me on the road to 133 Kresge Drive.

A family had just moved into their new home a month ago - a four bedroom bungalow, and their nights had been plagued with the sounds of a weeping child, a sound which seemed to come from the walls.

I was more than happy to look into their situation. After all, a few more greenbacks in my pocket wasn't an unwelcome development.

I reached and koncojed on the door as my video crew began filming.

"Who is it?" A female voice asked. It sounded edgy, weary and musical at the same time. If never heard such a confusing tone before, and what was even crazier was that it matched and at the same time did not match the woman who opened the door.

She was wearing a baggy t-shirt and tracksuit joggers, and although the eyebags under her dark eyes were something I'd seen many a time before in former clients, hers looked a little different.

It looked real, deep and haunted.

"Kristofer Simons, Ghostbuster. And you must be Lorraine Emerson."

She nodded weakly. "I should be happy that you're here, but then I've called so many Ghostbusters over the course of the past four weeks. Nothing's changed. You're my last hope."

I actually felt some sympathy for her situation, and it was in moments like this that I convinced myself that I was doing a great deal of good for people when I did this.

"In what room did you first hear the sounds?" I asked, talking out a stethoscope and a rosary. The rosary was blessed, but to me it was still just a gimmick.

"The attic," she said

"How full is that?"

"Mostly just half full."

Great, the creepiest room in the house. So cliché.

"Wait outside here, I'll go confirm.

As.I was climbing up the stairs, I was so lost in thought that I didn't notice what was happening to my rosary. When I saw it,I was shocked. It was wrapped around my heart, but yet the crucifixabd the beads closest to it levitated to point at the attic door.

The camera crew got all of this, their mouths wide open as they watched. They must have wondered what pretty new trick I was using. I was wondering what the hell was happening.

I opened the room and entered. Maybe it was my superstitious side kicking in, but I could feel a weird aura in this place. Somehow,, the atmosphere had changed.

Wrapping the rosary tighter, I placed the chest piece of the stethoscope on one of the walls and said the words I had read up and used for years.

"I address the spirit which resides within this room!

That of the dead, which now plagues the living, I command you to manifest!"

I heard nothing. As I never did. But then I realised my eyes were closed. Opening them, I was face to face with a mirror. And in it, I saw that there was a weeping girl standing next to me, her eyes streaming blood which stained her white dress, her hand tugging at the hem of my shirt.

When she spoke, her voice was loud, not requiring a stethoscope, and yet it sounded like it came from a radio, static slightly impairing audibility. "I think-- I think I died 12 years ago. Can you help.me figure out why?'

*****

I think I've not written anything for the Horror Culture in a while, somI present you with this! Like and comment please, thanks!