The Ghoul Next Door

chapter Five

The next morning after kissing Callahan goodbye, I made my way through the living room toward the kitchen. Mr. Fine sat on my sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

“What’s with all the toss pillows?” he asked with disdain. “A little excessive, don’t you think?”

“What’s with all the cigarettes?” I smirked. “A little excessive don't you think?”

He blew out a ring of smoke that circled his head like a halo. He was no angel though.

“I don’t allow smoking in my house. I have an allergy,” I warned.

He blew out another ring of smoke, but didn’t offer a response. It looked exactly like a ghostly mist floating toward the ceiling.

I let out an exasperated breath. Ghosts. You couldn’t live with them and, well, you couldn’t live with them.

“Any time you want to tell me why you are hanging around would be great,” I said over my shoulder as I continued on toward the kitchen. I wasn’t going to let him ruin my corn-flakes.

I’d just sat down with my bowl and milk when a knock sounded at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so the sound caught me off guard. Maybe it was Mindy. All those fitness classes were making her way too chipper in the mornings. She’d started one of those pole fitness studios. Who knew the little old ladies of Magnolia would be so good at working the pole. Anyway, I’d rather attend yet another pole fitness class than deal with another ghost—I prayed she didn’t have another ghost problem. I didn’t want or need another one hanging around my kitchen.

I left my new ghost friend sitting at the kitchen table and made my way back through the living room and to the front door. When I peeked out the side curtain, no one was in sight, just the crisp blue sky and the swaying branches of the trees. Not this again. I unlocked the door and eased it open. I never knew when something might lunge out at me, so I wasn’t taking any chances.

A small brown package sat in front of the door, lost like a little stray kitten. Where had it come from? I reached down and grabbed the box, turning it over in my hands to see if I’d find a clue as to its contents. Nothing gave away what was inside. I glanced around again before returning inside. Once back in the kitchen, I placed the box on the table.

“Special delivery?” Mr. Fine straightened.

“Get your legs down,” I snapped. “Were you raised in a barn?” I’d always wanted to use that expression. It was one of my mother’s favorites.

Great. Another nosy ghost, although I guessed I’d be meddlesome too if I wasn’t able to communicate with the living. The first person who came along who could see me and I’d talk their ear off.

Without answering Mr. Fine’s question, I opened the package and pulled out a blown glass ball that dangled from a clear string. Strands of glass weaved through the interior of the ball in a wild, random pattern. The glass was a beautiful shade of turquoise with streaks of white and yellow mingled through.

I’d seen these ornaments before and heard about the lore associated with them. According to folk tales, a witch’s ball enticed evil spirits with its bright colors. The spirit would go into the ball and the strands inside would capture it, stopping it from escaping. Some rumors claimed that when a witch was killed by a curse, a witch’s ball was always found nearby and believed to be somehow responsible. That thought sent a chill down my spine. But how could something used to guard against evil spirits be involved with something so sinister? Regardless, I didn’t believe any of those tall tales. Or did I? No, no. It was all just silly talk.

“What is it?” Mr. Fine asked from over my shoulder.

When I turned around to glare at him, the cigarette disappeared from his fingers. I had to admit, that was a pretty nifty trick. Nevertheless, I didn’t feel like explaining the whole story to him, so I gave the short answer instead.

“It’s just something pretty to hang in the window. Like a prism.” I studied the ball.

“It looked weird if you ask me.” A scowl spread across his face as he stared at the ball.

“Well, I didn’t ask you, now did I?” I snapped.

Wow, I was grouchy. What had gotten into me? The stress had finally gotten the better of me this time. However, my icy demeanor had no effect on Mr. Fine. He didn’t bat an eyelash at my harsh words.

The thing was pretty, but I had to find out who had sent it. The ball twisted as I twirled the string. The thing had to have a meaning. Why would someone send me a witch’s ball? Something that would capture spirits. Hmm. Maybe it was to help me with all the unwanted spirits. That would be a good thing, but I highly doubted that it would work. It was just an old legend.

Mr. Fine stepped closer to the ball, almost as if hypnotized. Perhaps I should tell him about the mesmerizing quality that the ball was purported to possess. Or I could tell him to look right at it, and then, poof, he’d be gone. Okay, just in case the stories were true, I knew I needed to tell him not to look at it. Damn it.

Mr. Fine had moved beside me now. A little too close actually.

“Personal space, Mr. Fine, personal space.” I motioned for him to back up a few steps. When he moved back a couple inches, I continued, “It’s called a witch’s ball, okay? Some people say it traps spirits, so don’t look at the thing if you don’t want to spend the rest of your days stuck inside a little ball. Understand?”

He cackled, holding his stomach to keep from splitting in half, I supposed. What an annoying laugh. He sounded like a braying donkey that had smoked ten packs a day.

“You actually believe that?” he asked, fending off more laughter.

“Go ahead, if you don’t believe me. Give it a shot.” I stuck the ball in front of his face.

He didn’t laugh this time as he watched the ball moving back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. Finally, he looked up at me, then back to the ball.

“No comment, huh? Who’s laughing now, Mr. Hotshot Ghost?” I taunted him.

Mr. Fine disappeared. Just like that he was gone. I knew he’d be back soon enough.