The Internet’s Most Haunted Influencer
Page 11
The ghost stood in the foyer and listened to the nothing and he felt immensely satisfied.
No, that was a lie.
He should have felt satisfied, but he didn’t.
He drifted to the sitting room window and looked out at the empty drive. Empty because he’d chased the intruders away.
That was good. That was his purpose.
Wasn’t it?
He turned away from the window and crossed through the wall into the dining room. The old chandelier hung above him. He’d tried to knock it down once, years ago. Months ago. He couldn’t remember when, exactly. Time didn’t move in a straight line anymore. It pooled and eddied and sometimes he surfaced from what felt like a long blink to find the light different, the dust thicker, another season passed without his participation.
He thought about the medium writing things in his stupid notebook. Words about him.
Haunting: inconsistent physical influence.
The ghost scoffed.
What gave that arrogant medium the right…
He looked at the pocket door. He gathered everything he had — the cold, the pressure, the fury that anchored him to this world— and shoved.
The door rattled.
It did not slam.
He shoved again.
The door slid another inch, and stopped.
The ghost stood in the dining room and stared at the pocket door and uttered several curses so bad they would have made sailors blush. He used to be able to do this.
He was sure he used to be able to do this.
He remembered doors obeying him. He remembered a time when the cold came easy and the house answered when he called. The memory was more feeling than fact, but it was real.
The sound of a car stopped him in his tracks.
Someone was on the road. Moving toward the property.
Headlights swept across the foyer ceiling.
No.
The car stopped in front of the house.
No.
The ghost looked out the window.
The medium was back.
Why was the medium back?
The ghost watched him cross the gravel and then the doorknob rattled.
Oh no, not on his watch!
