Writings of a Distracted Mind

Most of this is more or less exactly how I dreamt it last night. Just had to write it down...

People don't believe in ghosts these days. This is a problem, since they do exist, and it's how I make my living. Unfortunately, a few exorcisms here and there aren't enough to pay the bills, and so here I was, spending this fine Monday morning waiting in line at the temp agency office.

“Skills?” asked the receptionist lazily.

“Uhm... problem solving,” I began (thinking especially of that poltergeist with a penchant for antique Delftware), “public relations,” (arcane magics? my inner voice suggested snidely) “and... I'm good with children?” The woman at the desk typed listlessly into her computer for a few moments. The cheerful sign on her desk informed me that her name was Shirley and she was eager to help me today.

Her voice interrupted my reverie. “I've got a place here at a daycare center just off Prince Avenue,” she drawled. “Pyle House, it says here. Opened up recently, so they're still hiring.” The name sounded familiar, but before I could think further Shirley's voice intruded once more. “You'll need a police check first, of course.”

“Fine,” I said. Children were all right. At least I had a great stock of scary stories to keep them quiet. Shirley pushed some papers and a grubby pen at me.

“Sign here. And there. Great. We'll give you a call in a few days.”

The woman in charge seemed nice enough.

“So pleased to have you on board, Gwen,” she trilled, shaking my hand enthusastically. “It's Marian. I've been fixing this place up since I inherited the property last year-- some areas are, of course, still strictly off-limits.” She led me down the walk, chattering nonstop. “Parking for staff is just down the drive here. It can get a bit dark with the afternoon shadows, but I've got some contractors coming in next week to put in some lighting. Here's the lawn where the children can play-- I've got it fenced in but we've got to keep an eye on them, of course.” We entered the dim house, which opened up into a wide room filled with all of the usual daycare clutter. I nearly tripped over a miniature rocking horse. “Bathrooms to the left-- a staff toilet and one for the kids, no lock on that one of course.” I let her go on about storytime, naptime, and playtime as I looked around.

“Pardon me, Marian-- where does this door go?”

“Ah,” she giggled. It was probably just my imagination that she sounded a bit nervous. “That's just the basement-- it runs all through the house. It's my next project, to make a downstairs playroom for rainy days. For now, I keep the door locked. We wouldn't want any accidents!”

“Of course not.” I smiled.

I brought my car down the drive and backed into a narrow space, almost right up against the wall. As I brushed up against the gray stone the hair rose up on my arms-- just a passing chill, I hoped. I hurried up the driveway into the warm, light nursery.

Everyone was sitting in rows for a game that Marian called duck, duck, goose. I'd never played it this way before. The light coming in from the windows grew even dimmer, and my eyes longed to droop shut to the almost-hypnotic, gentle chanting. Children were running back and forth between two sides. I took a deep breath and noted a sudden mustiness in the air. One little girl got tagged out and started sniffling, so I picked her up, and we walked over to the other side of the room to watch the game. A boy got up to use the bathroom, and I followed his path to the door. I meant to remind him to wash his hands, but the words didn't seem to come out. When I looked back, two rows of kids, including Miss Marian, had vanished.

The mustiness in the air grew stronger and my gaze was drawn to the right. The basement door was open, and I saw an little re-haired girl, following her friends down the stairway. I felt something pulling me towards the door, with swirling gray hypnotic light. I started shivering, my senses tingling.

This was a haunting. A big one. And a malicious one. I couldn't handle this on my own. With the little girl clinging to my neck I slowly dragged myself to the door, like walking through molasses. If I could just get out... get to the car... make it to the main street, call Darcy. Get out, get out, get out, my brain clamored. I threw myself at the door once, twice, as my shoulder ached. The girl in my arm was remarkably silent, at least until the door popped open and we tumbled onto the lawn into bright sunlight. Then, of course, she started crying.

I headed for the driveway but stopped dead in my tracks at the gray miasma of shadow covering my car in shadows. I set the girl down, but she clung to my hand, refusing to let go, so together we walked slowly down the cobblestones. There was a gap in the wall there, a crack opening up where just this morning there had been solidly cemented stone. And, against my better judgment, I looked inside. And then I remembered. Pyle house. William Pyle. Stupid Gwen. Three generations ago, this manor had been his, until he had mysteriously vanished, leaving behind only his daughter and her new husband, who had also been living in the house. They moved shortly thereafter, but always kept the house in the family. No wonder it had fallen into such disrepair-- I certainly wouldn't pay good money to rent the place for a summer holiday.

Inside I saw grey mist and two great, heavy stones. And crumbled bones in between. Pyle's bones. Something was whispering to me, a bloody story of greed, conspiracy, and an unpaid debt. I was looking into the basement, and I couldn't look away. I couldn't pull away. I heard the screams. I saw the son-in-law, dragging a body on top of an old mill-stone, piling stones on top, cementing them together into a mock support pillar. And then, I hear crying. A child. Something pulling at my hand. And I looked down into teary blue eyes and we ran.

“Mrs. Alvin? Yes. Hi, this is Gwen from Sunny Daycare. No, no, Lucy is fine. Miss Pyle is sending the kids home early today-- there's been a bit of a flu outbreak. No, no-- we're at a gas station actually. Trouble with the phones and of course we didn't want Lucy to catch anything. 49 Prince Avenue. Thank you. I'll wait here.”

“Darcy? It's Gwen. We've got a big problem. You know that story about William Pyle? Yeah. Bring everything you've got. 49 Prince Avenue.”

The children stood in a neat line, pressed against the basement wall, staring blankly ahead. “Let them go,” I said calmly, feeling the energy pulsing through the quartz in my hands. “You don't have to take it out on innocent children. Even Marian-- she can't help being related to your murderers. Just let them go, and I'll send you to your rest.”

A horrible whispering laughter rose around me, and Darcy-- still on the floor, drawing an intricate circle spell around the pillar, hissed under her breath.

“You don't understand.... no.... she promised me... promised...”

“What?” I shouted. “Who?” There was no answer. I pressed a crystal to the bone jutting out the cement in front of me.

With a wail, the spirit appeared suddenly, blank gray eyes looking at me. In his arms was a terrified, mute Marian. “She promised me. Souls to pay for my centuries of torment. Crushing. Rotting. And then the house would be hers.”

Darcy stood, signaling that she was done.

“One death, one soul,” I said, staring coldly at the woman. “If you don't let those children go I will bind you forever to this stone. And then I'll throw it into the ocean.” The spirit screamed, deafeningly. The ceiling creaked ominously as small chunks rained down to the floor and I flinched, throwing my free arm over my head. I heard children crying and saw the first boy stumble away from the wall.

“Darcy, get them out of here!” I shouted. I grabbed her book and began to chant. The ghost wailed as threads of light began to wrap around its form. Marian screamed too, suddenly regaining her voice, as she sank into the stone pillar in front of me. I moved into the second part of the spell, reciting the lines for destruction, and the pillar began to crumble into dust. Unfortunately, so did the ceiling, shaking down further pieces of cement and stone. I shouted the final words for cleansing and raised the crystal, its light spreading to penetrate the darkest corners of the basement. And then I ran for it.

The papers said that, after evacuating the children, who had all been afflicted by a strange illness, Miss Pyle had gone back into the building when, unfortunately, there was a structural collapse. She was presumed dead, and with no living family member to pay for repairs, the town council decided to cut their losses and raze the building to the ground.