Miss Squaretree's Ghosts

She called and wanted me to check for ghosts in her attic - yet again. Miss Squaretree was almost 90 years old and she had a beehive hairdo and constantly wore the same pea green bathrobe. She was the grandmother of my best friend, Mark. Well, Mark is now my former best friend, I should say.

At first I didn't understand why Miss Squaretree would never called Mark to check for the ghosts in her attic. But after awhile I figured he was just as sick of doing it as I was, and began refusing her requests. I had done it at least twice a week for the past six months and was almost at the breaking point. Occasionally, I felt like I was turning into a darn ghost myself. Mark owed me plenty of favors for doing it, I know that.

Miss Squaretree's fear of ghosts transcended all the normal bounds of paranoia. She was obsessed with them. They were all she talked about and all she read about. She dutifully recorded every program on television she found about ghosts. Once, she had called the police to her house five times in a single day. She had the cops search every square inch of her attic and then her basement for any ghostly evidence. She told them to listen for knocks or moans, look for any kind of light or gasses, anything that might suggest a visitation had taken place. After five times in one day, the police said they'd had enough and were never coming back. She heard one officer mumble "space-cadet" and the other say "fried-out looney" as they stomped out her door.

So, much to my chagrin, I was appointed leader of Miss Squaretree's Ghost Investigation Committee. Usually she called me on Wednesdays and Saturdays. I don't know why those days were special. But the worst part about visiting her was the smell of her house. Five dogs and six cats produce a tremendous amount waste, and she wasn't physically capable of disposing of her creature's charming by-products.

The last time she called was on a Saturday afternoon and I grudgingly drove over to glance around her attic and humor her. I greeted her and cupped my hand over my nose as I entered her door to fight off any stray odors. Since she never paid the least bit of attention to me I wasn't worried about the gesture hurting her feelings. I went into the hall, reached up and opened the attic door and pulled down the unfolding ladder mechanism. I climbed up three steps and nonchalantly peeked around. No ghosts. No ghostly signs. Only a few old paintings, some cookie tins, a skateboard that had belonged to one of her grandkids, and some boxes with yellow papers spilling out.

"No, Miss Squaretree," I announced with exaggerated tones of importance. "No ghosts up here today. I think you're safe. Everything seems to be fine."

She cleared her throat. "No! Everything isn't fine, Mark!"

Her voice was harsh and excited and it sounded like a sputtering Volkswagen with a busted muffler. It startled me and gave me chills. I turned around and ducked my head out of the attic and stared into Miss Squaretree's baggy blue eyes. She had never spoken to me in that manner before and I wondered what it could mean. I also needed to correct her.

"My name is Ted, Miss Squaretree. Not Mark. Mark is your grandson, remember?"

Her lips tightened and a wrinkly box formed on her forehead. "Well, that's nice Mr. Smart Aleck, Because I wouldn't want to do this to my own grandson."

She lifted up a Colt .45 with both hands until it was just below her chin. She aimed it at my chest and stepped forward until her bath robe was billowing out over the first rung of the ladder.

"Get up in that attic, son!" she commanded with real venom in her voice. "You, young man, are gonna be my ghost bait!"

Confusion hit my brain. And the gun made me nervous. "Miss Squaretree, are you all right? What are you doing with that gun?"

She glared at me with fierce Tasmanian devil eyes. "I know what perfectly well what I'm doing. Now get your dumb butt up there and lift that black box. You'll find some handcuffs under it. I want you to cuff yourself to that big four-by-four nailed to the wall."

"You can't be serious." The pitch of my voice rose a little too high.

"But I am serious, you fool. Now do it." Her eyes turned to almost closed slits and she shoved the gun forward with a quick disturbing gesture.

I stepped up one more rung, then paused. "Why are you doing this?"

She didn't answer directly. Miss Squaretree started thinking out loud. And I listened. It seemed like my life now depended on her delusional rambles. "Oh boy," she began. "Everything is going according to my plan. My grandson just installed the new software he wrote for my computer. Programs that search for ghosts. And programs that lure ghosts to my house! One of them is sending out broadcasts right now. I'm going to get me some ghosts for sure today. And this clown is gonna be great bait up here in my attic."

She watched me as I secured the handcuffs. When I was finished, she dropped her arm with the gun to her side, then waved it over her head in a strange gleeful manner. She was fully exhilarated.

"Once the ghosts get here, you're going to be their dinner!" she said.

"Miss Squaretree, do you really think a person can write software that lures ghosts to your house? Do you think ghosts really eat humans? Using me for ghost bait is a ridiculous idea. Please do not do this. Don't trap me up here."

She didn't appreciate my comments. She became a little deranged and unhinged.

"Don't try to clown me sonny-boy! You're not going to manipulate your way out of this one. I warn you to not try any funny business up there because I'm playing for keeps here."

She brought the gun up to her face and stuck the barrel in her mouth.

I gasped.

She started pulling the trigger.

The gun clicked four times with a one-second pause between each one. Then she slid it slowly out of her mouth.

"You'd better not provoke me, son," she said. "You know I'm crazy."

I shuddered and managed to say, "Yes, ma'am."

She took some bullets out of the pocket of her bath robe, glanced at me periodically, and loaded the .45. I waited until she had finished and walked away before I sat down and tried to make myself comfortable. Then her head peaked around the corner and back up at me.

She closed one eye and aimed the .45 at my face. "I'm going back to work on my computer now. My grandson is bringing over my new video camera soon, along with some more ghost monitoring gear. He'll say hello to you. Don't worry."

* * * * * *

So there I was, sitting up in the attic, trying to think of what I had done to deserve being imprisoned by a crazy elderly woman, when Mark stuck his head up through the opening.

"Hey Ted," he said. His voice was cheerful and his black hair perfectly slicked back. His thin mustache looked waxed and he had a new blue suit on. "How is everything up here?" he asked.

I rattled the chain on the handcuffs. "Mark, get me out of here. Your grandmother has gone crazy. She's using me for ghost bait."

He chuckled and licked his lips. "I know. It was my idea."

"What? What did I do?"

He smirked and scratched the side of his head, imitating his hero, Matthew McConaughey. "You shouldn't have slept with Theresa when I was on vacation."

"Huh?" I had no idea what he was talking about. I had never slept with his girlfriend, and actually I found her to be quite unattractive. "I didn't sleep with Theresa!"

"That's not what she told me."

"What did she tell you?"

"It doesn't matter. You'll have plenty of time to think about lying and taking advantage of people's girlfriends while you're sitting up here. Now have fun!"

He shut the attic door.

And I became really confused.

Also, I started feeling terribly thirsty and a little hungry. I waited for Mark or Miss Squaretree to return and bring me some water. But four hours passed and they never brought me a thing.

I started trying to think of a way to escape. I took my time and eventually a plan formed in my mind. I thought everything through carefully several times until the plan seemed perfect. Then I went into action.

Earlier, when Miss Squaretree had watched me secure myself to the four by four with handcuffs, I of course had only pretended to do so. Thus, getting out of the attic was no problem. The hard part would be getting past her Colt .45. But I had noticed a metal bucket in the corner and realized I could use it for an attack. I waited a little longer hoping that Mark had left.

"Miss Squaretree!" I yelled frantically. "Miss Squaretree! A ghost was here! I've had an encounter with a real ghost!"

I screamed as loud as I could hoping she would hear me. I tried to sound totally thrilled, as well as a little frightened.

Finally, I heard her creaking up the ladder and the attic door squeaked open.

"You'd better not be lying to me boy!"

That was all she managed to say. I had my foot positioned behind the metal bucket. When she stuck her head through the hole I let loose and kicked the bucket with every ounce of strength I had. It flew and hit her square in the nose. She tumbled down the ladder to the ground below. I got up and tossed the handcuffs aside, then bent over and started walking toward the ladder. I was going to climb down and take her gun and make my escape.

But then I heard something moaning behind me.

It was sort of a purring sound.

Not human at all.

I didn't want to turn around.

But I knew I had to.

Two masses of white gass with sparkling beams of yellow light flickering out were hovering at the far end of the attic. They had clearly delineated white heads with subtle facial features atop their ethereal bodies. They continued their ominous moaning and purring sounds as they hovered before me. I took the ghostly data in and heard Miss Squaretree groaning down below. I was glad I had not killed her. I watched both of the apparition's round eyes protrude out when they heard her moans.

Then one of them spoke to me with perfect pronunciation: "Did you signal us to come?"

"Yes," I said, hardly believing what I was saying. "Well, I mean the elderly lady below signalled you with her computer."

After that, all I remember is the apparitions transforming into a giant ball of green gas with red lasers shooting out in all directions, then the ball moved toward me and encompassed my entire body.

And I felt my mind dissolve.

* * * * * *

Now I am in a large mansion much too luxurious to describe. Well, it's difficult to describe anything really, because of my new form.

I am a ghost now.

I'm here with the two apparitions that appeared in the attic. They tell me that we are haunting this old mansion and that we will live here forever. But that is all the information they will give me.

I guess Mark's software really did work. The programs he wrote actually located ghosts and lured them to Miss Squaretree's home. I never realized he was such a good programmer.

The ghosts are very nice to me and this mansion is a wonderful place to live. I'm much happier now than I ever was when I was a human being. It's kind of fun scaring the residents here too.

Sometimes the ghosts even allow me to communicate with the living, as I am doing with you now. The ghosts are very good-natured entities and I understand now why Miss Squaretree wanted to contact them. I think I will try to convince my two ghostly friends to go back and get Miss Squaretree. She would probably like haunting this mansion here with us.

-end-

Jason Earls is the author of the books Cocoon of Terror, Red Zen, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Heartless Bast*rd In Ecstasy, If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); } and 0.136101521283655... all available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover's books, Neometropolis, Wretched & Violent, Mathworld, Chiaroscuro, Switchblade, Dogmatika, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG's Speculative Fiction, AlienSkin, Escaping Elsewhere, Werewolf, Recreational and Educational Computing, Thirteen, Theatre of Decay, Nocturnal Ooze, Prime Curios, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Swallow's Tail, and other publications. He currently resides in Texas with his wife, Christine.