The Agent - Part 2

Link to Part 1

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2. Negotiations With the Dead

Mary smiled and pulled a brush from her day bag. She dusted herself off, removing what dirt she could and getting rid of the last unearthly traces of spiritual combat. There were a few rogue grass stains that would require professional cleaning, but she was otherwise presentable. First impressions were everything, even with the post-mortal. The living owners still hadn’t arrived, but that left her time to negotiate and discuss with the house’s true residents. She stepped out of her protection circle and quickly brushed the chalk away. Then, she took a deep breath and walked up to the front door.

            The stairs to the porch creaked with every step, but there was no foreboding presence. What Mary did feel was the very real presence of eyes on her from every angle. She reached out and turned the brass doorknob. The door swung open on its own accord and chilly air rushed past her. So, it’s going to be like that.

Mary pulled an ornate crystal bottle from her pocket and put a few spritzes on her shoulders. While it looked like perfume, it was actually holy water purchased from a drunk at the local church. Some spirits lacked religious anchoring, but Mary preferred to be safe rather than sorry. She took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. The balmy summer day disappeared in an instant replaced with a disorienting chill. She pulled out a small tape recorder. “Note: With this property, you almost don’t need air conditioning.” She smiled. People were always bitching about air conditioning in older homes. This place would sell.

The main hallway was short, leading to a darkened set of steps up to the right and a dusty old parlor on the left. Just beyond were the dining room and kitchen. According to the listing, upstairs had two bedrooms, a beautiful rooftop balcony, and a clawfoot tub that said: I like old things. Never mind the fact that clawfoots were notorious for their poor construction and tipping over. It didn’t matter; some tech bro would want it and would pay thousands of dollars to make sure there was internet in every room. Tech bros also, as a rule, did not believe in ghosts.

Mary started with the downstairs assessment. She turned to her left and entered the parlor. Plush chairs lined the room, surrounding a pool table covered in a leather dust jacket. An old painting hung above a fireplace, depicting a younger man in a smoking jacket. His eyes were piercing despite the fading paint. On a hunch, Mary recorded a new voice note: “Pool tables aren’t selling much these days. Let’s take the furniture out of the parlor and turn it into more of an open concept chatting space.”

The pressure change in the room was immediate as if she had suddenly ascended a thousand feet straight up.

“You will do no such thing!” boomed an ethereal voice. There was a sound of a rope cracking, and a spectral body fell through the ceiling to hang in the middle of the parlor. It was more translucent than the woman had been, so likely a bit older. Older meant closer to passing on and more trouble physically messing with the living. Hanging around after death took energy, and the longer spirits did it, the less powerful they were—most of the time.

“Does that usually send people running?” asked Mary.

The hanging corpse looked up at her with confusion and a look of wounded pride. “I am a ghost!” it shouted.

“No shit.” Mary whipped a dust cover off one of the chairs and sat down. “Why don’t you come down from there and we can chat?”

The ghost spun slowly, still imitating what Mary assumed was the exact position it died in.

“Look, you’re not scaring me, and I’ve already dispelled one spirit today. I’m guessing you like living here, so let’s talk.”

The man cricked his neck to the side, doing his best to stand straight and floated to the floor. “You want to… talk?”

“Yes, I’ll record this conversation if that’s alright. Just for my personal files, nothing else.”

“No mortal device can record—”

“Yes, they can, most people just don’t have their settings right. Can we dispense with the all-powerful ghost act? It’s been a long day, and I need a hot bath.” Mary could already feel a crick in her own neck from her tussle with the ghost outside. She was getting too old to be dealing with poltergeists. “Also, while we’re at it, can we make this a house meeting? I don’t want to deal with visions of blood dripping down the walls or whoever drowned in the bath upstairs. None of it will make me leave, and I think you all will want to hear what I have to say.”

The ghost thought about it for a minute and then huffed. “Fine, give me a moment.”

            Mary sat in her chair and plucked a few motes of dust off the arms. In addition to the commission, she could make a fortune at an estate sale. The furniture was old. Some looked as though it might have come from the original house. She made a mental note to evaluate the various pieces in the room, careful not to tip her hand to any potential lingering spirits. Ghosts were not fond of their posessions being sold at auction.

            Bangs and wails echoed from the second floor but were quickly silenced. Mary fingered her chalk, wondering if drawing a circle would be prudent or if it would start negotiations on a bad foot. She settled on unclasping a small music box in her pocket. When opened, it emitted a song that ghosts couldn’t stand. For humans, it was only mildly annoying. It was also the last trick she had in her coat before she’d have to return to the car for reinforcements. No doubt she could exorcise every last spirit in the place, but it would be exhausting and ultimately less profitable.

            Eventually, the hanging ghost returned, falling through the ceiling the same as the first time. A blue-white mist flowed in from the stairwell, filling the space above one of the other armchairs in the parlor. The door to the basement creaked open and slammed shut as a black shape with glowing red eyes stalked its way across the boards. Finally, a pair of children, still mostly corporeal, dressed in Victorian finery, drifted through the far wall.

            “Wow.” Mary made a mental checklist.

1. Non-corporeal, glowing entity (the mist)
2. Possible demonic presence (basement ghost)
3. Fully-formed corporeal poltergeist—now double deceased (the old woman)
4. Avatar of violent death (the hanging man)
5. Fully-formed corporeal multi-entity (the twins)

“You better have more than wow,” said the hanging ghost.

“NK-TUN-GARAKA!” grated the demonic entity with a timbre that shook the house’s old boards threatening to collapse the whole thing.

“Sorry.” Mary smoothed over any surprise and found her charm. “Usually, I don’t see cohabitation of so many entities in a single space, and it warms my heart.” It chilled her to the bone. The demonic entity alone would have made for a full dance card, plus, she hated seeing dead kids—they were just creepy.

“What happened to Grandmama?” asked the twins in unison.

Mary did her best not to flinch. “I guided Grandmama to an eternal rest beyond this one where she can finally be at peace.” Technically, it might have been true. No one really knew what happened after someone’s spirit was ripped to pieces and scattered to the winds of physics. Mary knew a few people who might be able to work it out, but they were a terrible bore at parties, and she couldn’t be bothered.

The twins looked solemn but didn’t ask a follow-up.

“So, you’re probably wondering why I’ve called you all together,” said Mary.

“The house is for sale,” said the mist-like entity. Its voice was faint as if playing over a distant radio losing batteries.

“Yes, that’s correct, and I’m the agent assigned to sell it.”

“Over my dead body,” said the hanging man.

“Really?” asked Mary. “Now, the way I see it, there are two options. We can compromise, or—” Mary pulled out the music box. “I can turn this on and come back with a proper paranormal team to wipe out any memory of your existence.” So much for tact. Mary didn’t want to admit it, but the demonic entity scared her, and she suspected any sign of weakness might get her into trouble. Plus, she had a dinner date and would need a shower after the fight in the front yard.

“HISS-TAK-GURUNGA!” shouted the demonic entity, floating away from the music box.

“Yes, it is unpleasant when you put it that way.” Mary understood none of what the entity said, but the intonation was clear enough.  

“What do you mean compromise?” asked the hanging man.

“Well, there’s a middle ground between me selling every piece of furniture in this house that belongs in a different century and leaving it exactly as it is.”

The hanged man shifted.

Mary pressed on, knowing every second was an opportunity for the demon to lose it and make a mess. As a realtor, she was responsible for the property’s well-being. If the owners returned to find their home a heap of cinders and blood, they’d charge her estate. “I’m not your typical realtor.”

“That much is obvious,” said the white mist.

“I specialize in houses with entities that have not moved on to the next life—such as yourselves. To the outside world, I'm an exorcist, removing the problem and making the unsellable sellable again.”

There was a general grumble at this point and the demon’s eyes glowed like fading coals.

“But, what I do involves more nuance. I’m here to bargain. You all get to continue living here, but in exchange, you keep things quiet for a bit.”

“Quiet?” asked the twins. “No playtime?”

“Quiet playtime,” answered Mary, shuddering at the unison speech. God, she hated dealing with dead kids. They were just as petulant as in life, but ten times as unsettling. Why did they always have to speak in tandem?

“How long do we have to keep things quiet?” asked the mist.

“Well, legally, it has to be 90 days, but in practice, it works better if we keep things normal for at least a year.”

“A year?!” asked the hanged man.

“POR-KUN-DAGGAN!” shouted the demon.

The room grew noticeably cooler, which was saying something given the pre-existing frigidity. Mary was ready for this reaction. “Listen, it’s either this or oblivion. I know that he,” she jerked a thumb at the demon, “is wondering why he shouldn’t just rip me apart or scare me so senseless I end up in a mental asylum.”

“BAK-TET.”

“He agrees,” said the twins.

“Well, I’m not the only one in this profession; the others don’t bargain.” Strictly speaking that was true, but the only other practitioner within a hundred miles was Ventner, a notorious drunk who preferred galivanting across the globe in search of monsters. He lacked the tact Mary brought to the table, and those who used Ventner always regretted it in some capacity. “They’ll come in here with an army of priests and other holy persons until they get the right combination to get rid of you all for good.”

The ghosts remained silent. The demon fumed, whisps of black smoke curling off its amorphous body.

“But it’s not all bad news. I’m prepared to offer you the ability to haunt the daylights out of the new owner after that yearlong period.”

“Won’t they just call you back?” asked the mist.

“Eventually, yes, but for the first six months, I’ll be busy. This allows the mystique around the house to grow and means they’ll have no other choice but to consult a professional. You might end up with a few run-of-the-mill demonologists, but nothing you can’t handle.” She flashed a grin toward the demon.

      “BARAK-TET-TET.” The creature’s voice was gravel pouring over shredded concrete, and yet, Mary could tell it was pleased with itself.

      “You can’t expect the children to be completely silent for a year,” said the hanged man folding his arms.

Mary was prepared for that as well. “When the occupants are gone, you can make as much noise as you want.”

“What if they never leave?”

Mary frowned. She didn’t like making concessions, no matter how small. “You can make suspicious noises two times a month, but nothing that leads to a direct confrontation with the owners. People can explain a lot, but if they see a floating vase or a figure in the mirror, they will run.”

The ghosts thought it over. “Allow us a moment for conference. Perhaps you should wait outside?” asked the hanged man.

“Fair enough.” Mary stood. “It’s been a pleasure chatting with you.” She walked back through the main hallway and out the front door. Warm rays of gleaming afternoon sunlight hit her skin and sent prickles up her arms. She sat on the front stoop and stared at the other houses on the block. They were a mixture of old and new. Boxy monsters of metal and glass towered over their Victorian counterparts, stripped of every ounce of personality. Despite the haunted nature, Mary preferred the older homes.

The summer warmth dropped abruptly as a chill settled over her shoulders. “Have you made a decision then?” She stood up and turned around. The hanged man was poking halfway through the door.

“We have. We’ll accept your offer but know this: This house is on a ley line. If you try anything to alter our agreement, we will pass news of your treachery far and wide. Our network knows no bounds. You think we’re simple poltergeists, but you’re lucky N’guntak didn’t rip you into ribbons the second you came in. I calmed him down, you’re welcome.”

“Always a pleasure to not be disemboweled. I am nothing if not a woman of my word.”

The hanging ghost stared at her with piercing eyes. “We’ll see. Now go away.” He receded through the door, leaving Mary alone.  

She allowed herself the slightest of fist pumps and then walked back to her car. She pulled out a cell phone and dialed the sellers.

“Hello, Mary? Sorry, we’re running a bit late.”

“Not to worry, your problem is solved. We’re going to sell this house.”

“Really? What about the uh… problem?”

Mary smiled. “Part of my fee is not asking too many questions. I think you’ll find the property quite vacant upon your return. My office will be in touch.”

“Thank y—”

Mary ended the call and stepped into her car. The engine started automatically, and a soft song played on the radio. She took a last look at Shady Drive. “See you in a few years.”