The Last of Reginald ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp
The Last of Reginald
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~
Wexler Deal had been dead a long time. Since he died while still a child, his spirit-self would always be a child. Despite his naivete, he had experienced all the spirit world had to offer. He had traveled all over the world. He had been at the forefront of memorable hauntings. He had had sterling friends both male and female. Now he was lonely. Now he wanted a home.
He went back to the city of his birth, thinking that was as good a place as any to look for a home, but nothing looked the same. The hospital where he was born had been torn down and an office building stood in its place. The cemetery where he was buried was overgrown and unkempt, with a new highway built uncomfortably close. In the neighborhood where he had lived before he died, all the houses had been torn down and a shopping center built in their place.
Nothing was the same. There were no streetcars anymore. The little shops along Main Street were all gone. He didn’t see any horses anywhere, but there were lots of trucks. There were also lots of annoying people and much noise. He didn’t like the modern world.
“Just how long have you been dead, anyway?” he asked himself.
He sat in the park on a bench, watching living people go by and thinking how he didn’t belong and how he should find someplace else to go. If he was looking for happiness, he wouldn’t find it here.
He was watching a swan glide toward an island in the center of the lake when two people crossed his field of vision, a woman and a boy. The woman, smartly dressed, had soft-looking hair the color of straw. She was leading the boy by the hand. They stopped at the water fountain. The boy felt the fountain with both hands. She turned it on for him while he drank.
Wexler watched them as long as they were in the park and when they left he followed them.
They went home to a two-story brick house with a spacious yard. Wexler was fascinated by the boy who had to feel the water fountain with hands before he took a drink. He was a smart-looking boy just about Wexler’s age. He would make a good brother. The woman would make a good mother. He was sure of it.
The next day, he went back just as the boy and the woman were emerging from the house. He let them go ahead of him and then followed them.
This time they went to the library. The woman sat at a table and pulled a chair close to her for the boy to sit on. She began looking at newspapers. Whenever she went to the rack to get another newspaper, the boy sat quietly with his hands folded across his stomach and lowered his head. He closed his eyes as though he were asleep.
Wexler sat on the other side of the boy. Of course, the boy didn’t see him and didn’t know he was there. This gave Wexler a chance to look closely at the boy. Wexler saw how far the boy’s eyelashes extended from his eyes. His hair was exactly the same color as Wexler’s and, in fact, they looked enough alike to be brothers. The only difference was that Wexler had been dead for decades, but when he died he was about the same age that the boy was now, so, for all intents and purposes, they were the same age.
When they left the library, they stopped on the way home at a restaurant to eat lunch. They sat at a red-upholstered booth and ate tuna-salad sandwiches and drank malteds. Wexler sat beside the boy and watched him eat, mimicking him and imagining what it would be like to take food into his mouth and swallow it. He hadn’t eaten in decades, but he remembered what it was like.
Soon they were back home again. Instead of turning around and walking away when the woman and the boy went inside, Wexler slipped inside with them. The woman closed the door, blissfully unaware that Wexler was there. Being a spirit certainly has its advantages.
The boy went upstairs, while the woman went into the kitchen. Wexler was going to go along with the boy to get better acquainted with him, but instead he wanted to spend some time exploring the house.
It was a big house. The rooms were splendidly furnished and there were a lot of them. These people must certainly have a lot of money, thought Wexler. I wouldn’t mind living in a place like this.
In a little while the woman went into the front room and laid down on the couch. Wexler watched her as she took off her shoes and made herself comfortable. She didn’t have to fix dinner or do any other work, Wexler was soon to discover, because she had a black maid named Ethel to do everything.
When dinner was ready, Ethel brought the food in from the kitchen and put it on the dining room table. The woman rose from the couch, and the boy came down from upstairs. They sat across from each other at the table. The woman put the food on the boy’s plate, and then on her own, and they began eating. Wexler hovered over the table and watched them as they ate. Finally he sat down beside the boy and listened to their conversation.
“Did you straighten your room?” the woman asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you hang up your clothes and put your underwear in the wash?”
“Yes, I did.”
“You’re not helpless, you know.”
“I never said I was.”
“Do you like the roast beef?
“Sure.”
After dinner, the boy went to his room and read a book that was little dots on a page. The woman watched TV while Wexler continued to explore the house, including the basement and attic.
At bedtime, the woman and the boy said their good nights, and the boy went into his room and changed into his pajamas. After he got into bed and was settling down to sleep, Wexler sat in a chair beside the bed and whistled an old tune.
“Who’s there?” the boy asked.
Wexler continued to whistle.
“I know there’s somebody there.”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“How long have you been following me?”
“Just for a couple of days.”
“I knew it! I could feel it!”
“Just between you and me.”
“What?”
“Is that woman your mother?”
“Of course not. She’s my guardian.”
“What happened to your mother?”
“She abandoned me when I was a baby.”
“Why did she do that?”
“Because I was born blind.”
“That’s terrible!”
“As you can see, I get along all right. Now, you’d better tell me who you are and what you want.”
“If I told you my name, it wouldn’t mean anything.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“My name is Wexler Deal.”
“That’s a funny name.”
“What’s yours?”
“Reginald Flinders.”
“I’d shake your hand, but I don’t have a hand.”
“Why not? Have you been in a terrible accident?”
“No, I…That’s a story for another time.”
“Why ‘for another time’?”
“I don’t think you’re ready for the truth about me right now.”
“Why not?”
“Just take my word for it.”
“All right. Now, tell me what you’re doing in my house.”
“I’ve been looking for a brother. When I saw you in the park, I thought you might be him.”
“That sounds suspicious. I think I should tell Grace the whole thing.”
“Who’s Grace?”
“She’s my guardian. She’ll want to know what you’re doing here. She’ll call the police.”
“No need for that.”
“I want to know how you got in without Grace or the maid seeing you.”
“Nobody sees me.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m not really there. Or here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been dead for a long time. I’m a spirit.”
“Yeah, that’s a good one!”
“It’s the absolute truth. The reason Grace and the maid didn’t see me is because I’m not really there. Nobody sees me.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you.”
They talked for hours. They both realized how good it was to have somebody to talk to. Before the night was over, they both ended up asleep, side by side, in Reginald’s bed. In the morning they woke up and began talking again.
Reginald went to a school for the blind. In the morning some people came and picked him up and kept him at school all day, and in the afternoon they brought him back home again. When he wasn’t at school, he spent almost all his time with Wexler. They spoke on every subject imaginable. Reginald told him how he wondered about colors and what a cow looked like, or a chicken.
“One day you’ll see everything,” Wexler said.
“I don’t think so. I’ve always been this way.”
“I’d help you to see if I knew how.”
Another time, Reginald said, “Tell me what you look like. Describe yourself to me.”
“I don’t look like anything,” Wexler said. “I’m not here.”
“If you were here and I could see you, what would you look like?”
“When I had a body and a face, I looked just the way you look now.”
“I’ve never seen myself.”
“My hair is halfway between brown and blond. My nose is large but not too large. My eyes are blue and very handsome. My mouth is in the usual place.”
Despite Wexler’s discomfort, he let Reginald “see” him with his hands: head, ears, eyes, forehead, nose, mouth, chin, neck. When he was finished, he put his arms down and said, “So, that’s what I look like!”
“We’re just like twins,” Wexler said with a laugh.
Time went by quickly. The weeks became months, and it was winter again. Still Wexler stayed by Reginald’s side, with Grace, the guardian, and Ethel, the maid, never knowing there was another person in the house.
Wexler began to think that helping Reginald see was the best thing he could do in the world. He wanted Reginald to see everything he himself had seen all over the world. Unforgettable things like an octopus, a tall mountain, a full moon, a tropical rain forest, a desert, a waterfall, a polar ice cap. The list goes on and on.
He knew a doctor, a man named Gottschalk, currently living in New York. Dr. Gottschalk was a ghoul, hundreds of years old. He wasn’t really alive but was kept alive by artificial means. Wexler had met him socially on several occasions and had sat in on some of his lectures at the University of Vienna.
Wexler flew to New York and called Dr. Gottschalk and made an appointment to see him later in the day. Dr. Gottschalk remembered Wexler fondly.
Dr. Gottschalk hadn’t changed a bit. He was still frightening-looking with his white skin, long face and big teeth, but he was receptive and, as always, willing to help.
“Reginald is my best friend,” Wexler said to Dr. Gottschalk. “He’s alive, not a spirit like me. The problem is he can’t see. He was born that way. I want him to see all the wonders in the world that I’ve seen. I want to show him these things, as a friend.”
“I think I have just the thing,” Dr. Gottschalk said.
He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a little bottle and handed it to Wexler.
“This should do the trick,” he said.
“What is it?” Wexler asked.
“If I told you, you wouldn’t know what I was talking about.”
“Okay.”
“Mix this in with a glass of water and have your little friend drink it before bedtime. Right before.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“In the morning, there’ll be a drastic change for the better.”
“Are you certain?”
“It’s never failed yet.”
Wexler tried to pay Dr. Gottschalk, but he wouldn’t accept any payment.
“I already have all the money in the world,” Dr. Gottschalk said. “I like helping my friends!”
“I can’t thank you enough!” Wexler said.
Wexler held onto the bottle for a few days. He didn’t want to administer it before the time was right. He waited until late Friday night. It was snowing out.
He waited until Reginald was snugly in bed. “I have something for you,” he said.
“What is it?”
“It’s something that will make you see.”
“What is it?”
“I have a doctor friend. His name is Dr. Gottschalk. He’s a ghoul, but that doesn’t matter.”
“A ghoul? I like it already!”
“It’s a little bottle of liquid. I’ll mix it in some water and then you’ll drink it.”
“What are we waiting for?”
“It’ll make you see everything, but there’s just one bad thing.”
“What could be bad about seeing everything?”
“Your life as Reginald will end.”
“What are you saying?”
“You’ll die and you’ll be a spirit like me.”
“Oh.”
“No more guardians and no more school for the blind.”
“Will you stay with me? I mean, while I die?”
“Sure, I will.”
“Will it hurt?”
“I don’t think so, but if it does, it will only be for a minute.”
Wexler gave Reginald the chance to postpone the drinking of the liquid for a few days—or indefinitely—but Reginald wanted to go ahead with it. More than anything in the world, he wanted to see with his own eyes.
Wexler went into the bathroom and drew a glass of cold water from the faucet. He set the glass on the sink and carefully poured the bottle of amber liquid into the water. He stirred it with his finger then and held it up to get a better look.
When he took the bottle back into the bedroom, Reginald was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting. He took the glass out of Wexler’s hand.
“Are you scared?” Wexler asked.
“No.”
“Do you want me to get into bed with you?”
“If you want to.”
Reginald drank the amber liquid in the glass and when he was finished, he handed the glass back into Wexler’s hand.
“I guess this is it,” he said.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Wexler said. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp
Miss Wessel ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp
Miss Wessel
~ A Witching Short Story by Allen Kopp ~
Rain had threatened all day but no rain came. Ragged horizontal clouds took on strange shapes in the sky and then merged with other shapes and moved on. The sun showed its face every now and then but mostly kept hidden. A gentle breeze blew into the third-floor classroom like a sigh, ruffling some papers, barely noticed.
It was Friday, the last day of October, Halloween. The children were restless. They wanted to be released from their bondage so they could don their ghost, devil, or cowboy costumes and go out into the world and make mischief and collect enough candy to last them through the winter that was coming.
Their teacher, Miss Wessel, also longed to be released. It was her day. She had been teaching ten-year-olds for decades. She was leaving for good, once and for all, at the end of the day. The time had come for her to fly off and live the rest of her life the way she wanted to live it. The children didn’t know they’d have a new teacher come Monday morning. That was the way Miss Wessel wanted it. Say good-bye to no one.
There was no need on this day to do any work, to put on a good face. She had designated this, her last afternoon, as a time for silent meditation. This meant reading, thinking, looking out the window, or whatever one wanted to do, as long as one did it quietly. If one wanted to sit and doze at one’s desk, so much the better.
All was quiet, but there seemed to be an unwritten rule that says a roomful of ten-year-olds cannot be perfectly still for more than a few minutes at a time, no matter what. An unusually large number asked to be excused to go to the restroom. Miss Wessel was inclined to tell them to hold on to it, but in every case she let them go because she simply didn’t care. If they didn’t come back right away she didn’t get up to go see what was keeping them. If they were wandering around the halls doing things they weren’t supposed to be doing, some other teacher would see them and send them back; if they never came back, that was all right, too.
A boy named Terry Hughie got up to sharpen his pencil and fell on his backside like the clown he was, causing everybody to laugh uproariously, which was exactly the response he was hoping for. A little while later, two boys were scuffling in the back of the room, apparently trying to strangle each other. When Miss Wessel threw a blackboard eraser at them, somehow managing to hit them both, they immediately desisted and sat back down in their seats.
With order restored, Miss Wessel slumped down at her desk and was just about to go to sleep when she heard footsteps approaching and someone standing beside her, breathing audibly. Opening her eyes, she saw Francine Quince standing inches away, looking at her with her strange dark eyes.
“Yes, Francine,” she said. “What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“I need to talk to you,” Francine said.
“What’s stopping you?”
“In private.”
“Can’t it wait until Monday?”
“No.”
With a sigh Miss Wessel stood and motioned for Francine to follow her into the cloakroom. She turned and faced Francine beside the fire extinguisher, clasping her hands in front of her to resist the urge to slap her. Of all the students in her class, she liked her the least.
“Did one of the boys draw an unflattering picture of you again?” she asked.
“Yes,” Francine said, “but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Standing close to Francine, Miss Wessel realized—and not for the first time, either—what an odd child she was. She was taller than the other children and seemed older in some unidentifiable way; more worldly, somehow, than her years would have allowed her to become. She had a very long neck and pale skin and, in spite of the pinched-up features of her face, enormous dark eyes that were like pinpoints zeroing in on all she saw.
“I’m listening,” Miss Wessel said, when Francine seemed to hesitate.
“I don’t know quite how to say this,” Francine said.
“Did you have a naughty accident? Do you need to go home?”
“No, nothing like that. I just wanted to tell you that I know what you are and I know what you’re going to do at the end of the day today.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Miss Wessel said, mustering as much indignation as she could on such short notice.
“I want you to take me with you.”
“Now why would I take you anywhere?”
“Because I’m one of your kind.”
“And what kind is that?”
Francine laughed her grown-up laugh. “I’ve seen,” she said. “I know.”
“Francine,” Miss Wessel said sternly, not caring if the other children heard, “I don’t have the time or the inclination for this kind of nonsense! Please return to your seat and don’t talk of this again!”
“Everybody who knows me would be glad if I went away and never came back. They’d look for me, of course, because that’s what they’re supposed to do, but after a while when they didn’t find any trace of me they’d figure I ran away or was abducted by aliens or something.”
“Would you like to spend the rest of the day in the principal’s office?” Miss Wessel asked, not knowing what else to say.
“No.”
“Then return to your seat.”
“All right. I will. But I still want you to take me with you.”
The afternoon continued to its inevitable conclusion without further incident. When the bell rang to go home, Miss Wessel stood at the classroom door and handed everybody a paper bag of candy as they left. She made a point of looking them all in the face and calling them by name, as she would never see any of them again, and wishing them all a happy Halloween.
When everybody had left and there was one bag of candy left, Miss Wessel realized that Francine Quince was still in the room with her, sitting quietly at her desk. She had forgotten for the moment about Francine. She held the bag of candy above her head and smiled.
“There’s one bag left, Francine,” she said, “and it’s got your name on it. Happy Halloween!”
“I don’t want it,” Francine said.
“Then take it and give it to your little brother.”
“He doesn’t want it either.”
“Go home, Francine! School is over for the day and it’s time for all of us to leave. Your mother will be expecting you.”
“My mother’s a drunk and a whore who doesn’t even know what day it is.”
“Suit yourself. If you’re still here when the janitor comes in to straighten up, he’ll make you leave.”
“I’m going with you.”
“Francine, do you think I want to be responsible for the disappearance of a young girl? I think that’s a fairly serious charge.”
“It shouldn’t matter to a witch.”
“Witch or not, I have some scruples.”
“I’ll bet you’ve cast many spells on people and turned lots of men into toads!”
“It isn’t like that!”
“Then take me with you so I may know what it’s really like. You can make me your protégé.”
“Francine, I don’t even like you. Why would I want you with me all the time?”
“If you don’t take me with you, I’ll go to the police and tell them everything I know about you.”
“Why should that make any difference? I’ll be so far away they’ll never find me and they wouldn’t even know where to look.”
“Then take me with you.”
“I’m leaving now, Francine, and you’re leaving, too, but not with me.”
“I’ll kill myself if you don’t take me.”
“Do you know what it’s like to fly a broom? It takes skill and coordination, not to mention balance.”
“I can learn. You can teach me.”
“Good-bye, Francine. You have my sincere good wishes.”
Miss Wessel went out of the room, turning off the lights and closing the door. She knew that Francine was still inside, but she didn’t care; she was finished with her. When she walked down the hall to the seldom-used door to the attic, she knew that Francine was right behind her.
“You’re not supposed to be in the building after school hours, Francine,” she said.
She went up the dark, narrow steps to the attic, brushing away cobwebs. Francine was right behind her like a shadow. At the top of the steps, the fluttering of bat wings caused Francine to let out a little scream.
“If a few little bats scare you,” Miss Wessel said, “you’re not really a witch.”
“I just wasn’t expecting them,” Francine said.
“If you’re going to be a witch, you’ll learn to expect anything.”
Miss Wessel changed into a long, flowing black dress. After she had fastened all the buttons and smoothed the dress over her bony hips, she put on a black pointed hat with a wide brim. Her face, at that moment, took on a different look. Her nose and chin became more pointed, more prominent; her skin, always the color of ivory, took on a greenish tint. The wart on her chin that was barely visible before became enormous, complete with a tuft of bristling hair.
With her preparations complete, Miss Wessel pointed a long index finger at Francine and laughed a cackling laugh. “Are you quite sure you want to do this, my dear?” she asked.
Francine, in spite of herself, drew back. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said.
“Then follow me.”
She picked up her broom and climbed the ladder that was built into the attic wall and pushed open the trap door that led to the roof. After they had both gone through the trap door and were standing on the roof, Miss Wessel let the door slam back into place. Then, with Francine watching her closely, she straddled the broom with her legs.
“Get on,” she said, “and hold on. I would advise you not to look down until you get used to flying.”
Francine got onto the broom behind Miss Wessel and wrapped her arms around Miss Wessel’s waist.
“Are you ready?” Miss Wessel asked.
“Yes,” Francine said.
“Do you want me to put a curse on your mother before we go?”
“No. Her life is already cursed enough.”
“Very well, then. We’re off!”
The broom lifted, carrying its two passengers. Miss Wessel flew in a broad sweep over the school and the town so they could take one last look at the place that had been their home for so many years. Then, with the full moon as a backdrop, they flew away to points unknown, never to be seen or heard from again.
Copyright © 2024 by Allen Kopp
Haunt, Part 2 (All the Spirits in the Place) ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp
Haunt, Part 2 (All the Spirits in the Place)
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~
I always liked staying in a good hotel, even one that was falling apart and hadn’t seen a paying guest in fifty years. The Hotel Argyle was on the riverfront, in a cluster of other derelict buildings. It was twenty stories tall and could be seen from a long way off because the hotel name had been painted in huge letters on the side of the building. It stood as a symbol of urban blight. There’s nothing spirits love more than urban blight.
I walked into the lobby of the Argyle and was surprised to see a ghostly apparition at the registration desk. He seemed to be made of purple-and-green smoke. He gestured to the registration book and I knew what to do. It must have been somebody’s idea of a joke because spirits don’t use the names they had when they were alive. I made a little mark on the book. That seemed to satisfy him because he smiled his grotesque smile and gestured for me to take the stairs.
There were many vacancies at the Argyle. I would venture to guess that I could pick almost any room, on any floor, and it would be vacant. I went all the way to the top floor, the twentieth, and found the room I wanted at the end of the hall. It showed no signs of occupancy, so I took it as my own.
I was a tired old spook. I had traveled a long way to get here. I needed a rest, so I was happy for that reason that the hotel was quiet. The other spirits in residence were probably sleeping, since it was the middle of the day and the sun was shining brightly. If there’s anything a spirit hates, it’s bright sunlight.
I stared out the window at the skyline of the city for a while and then, hovering near the ceiling, I went into a trancelike state, which was as near as I ever came to sleeping. As long as I’m not disturbed, I can stay in this state for years at a time, but, of course, when you’re a spirit, a year means nothing. We think in terms of eternity. Time has no meaning.
In this trancelike state, I thought of—dreamed of—many things. I had been in the spirit world now for eighty years. I was only thirty-five when I crossed over. I had two wives when I was alive. I regret that I wasn’t very kind to either of them. I had a drinking problem. Luckily there were no children. I would have been a terrible father.
After my divorce, I had no job and no money, so I went back home to live with my mother. She and I never understood each other. We fought constantly. I should have known better, even if she didn’t. She nagged me about my drinking; she thought I could stop if I only tried. She wanted me to go to church with her the way I did as a child. She thought if I just read my Bible I’d be the kind of man God wanted me to be.
I got a part-time job driving a truck. I was never that keen on driving. I hated it. All my organs were pickled in alcohol. One hot July afternoon, my hundred-proof heart stopped when I was parked on a street downtown. I took off my shoes, put them side by side, laid down on the seat, and died. I knew I was dying and I didn’t care. I thought it was the best thing that could happen to me.
When I found myself in the spirit world, I was surprised there was any kind of existence after death. I thought it was punishment for all the bad things I had done. Everybody else went to heaven, I thought, but not me. That, of course, wasn’t true. The spirit world is teeming with spirits who never made it to heaven.
That night I met two of them. I was going out for a little city night life when I met them in the lobby of the hotel. I remembered them from before, a long time ago, in another incarnation. They went by the names Jocko and Howdy. They recognized me immediately and I them.
“We heard you were here,” Jocko said. “When did you get in?”
“A few days ago. I’ve been resting up in my room on the top floor.”
“We were just going out to do the town,” Howdy said. “Why don’t you join us for old time’s sake?”
“I’ll go if you promise not to scare me too much,” I said.
“Hah-hah-hah!”
On our way downtown, Jocko, Howdy and I walked side by side, as if we were living instead of dead. Howdy made a show of knocking people out of the way but, of course, they didn’t know he was there because he was invisible to them and, also, they were solid and he wasn’t. It’s only fair to mention that we met a few other spirits, but they were mostly in haughty groups and didn’t pay any attention to us. Howdy would get into a brawl with some of them if he could. He was a brawler and a mischief-maker.
On the way downtown, I asked Jocko and Howdy if the Hotel Argyle was a good place for a spook to live.
“It’s dead most of the time,” Jocko said.
“What do you mean?”
“Not much action there, man,” Howdy said.
“It seems perfect to me,” I said. “An abandoned hotel on the riverfront of a major city. Doesn’t it abound with ghosts?”
“Yeah, but ghosts are boring if they’re not doing anything,” Jocko said.
“So, you’re saying the ghosts in the hotel are all retired?”
“Well, something like that.”
“Don’t they like to scare little girls? Make them scream?”
“Yeah, but that’s the point. There aren’t any little girls to scare. What’s the fun of having the ability to scare people if there aren’t any people to scare?”
“You have to find out where the people are and scare them where they live,” I said.
“The people who own the hotel should turn it into a haunted-house attraction for Halloween,” Jocko said. “A lot of people would pay good money to tour a vintage hotel full of real ghosts instead of fake ones.”
“The people who own the hotel are dead,” Howdy said.
“The city owns the hotel,” Jocko said. “They’re just waiting for the right time to bring in the wrecking balls.”
“If they tear it down, they’re going to put a lot of ghosts out of a home,” I said.
“Not so many. Most of the spirits moved on a long time ago. Only losers stay at the Argyle now.”
“I was just beginning to like the atmosphere,” I said. “I had to leave my last home because a vengeful witch started throwing fireballs and burned the place down.”
“You have to watch out for those fireball-throwing witches!” Howdy said.
“The best way to deal with them is to cut off their heads and then burn their bodies,” Jocko said. “You have to be sure to remember to burn their bodies because some of them can go on living without a head.”
“Here, now!” Howdy said. “Let’s stop talking about witches and have some fun!”
Howdy was one of those spirits who engage in mayhem. He caused two cars to collide and then doubled over with laughter. When I asked him how he did it, he said it was a secret he learned during the war.
“What war was that?” I asked, but he didn’t answer me.
We couldn’t go to a bar or a restaurant and sit at a table the way other fellows do, so we walked all over downtown. We went into a movie theatre and watched part of the movie that was playing.
“I don’t like this movie!” Jocko said after a while. He then caused the projection equipment to break down when the movie was halfway through.
“That’s the way it’s done,” he said, laughing hysterically.
We entered a library and did some moaning and then we pulled down some shelves of books. Pretty tame stuff, but spirits have to make their own kind of fun.
Next we went to a dance hall where men buy tickets and use them to dance with weary-looking dames. It was a sorry-looking spectacle. I don’t know which was worse, the men or the women. What fools these mortals be.
We stood apart from the crowd against the wall. Knowing we were watching him, Howdy made as if to cut in on certain dancing couples, but he only brushed up against the ladies. They could feel it, of course, but not see it, so they were confused about what was happening to them. Some of them thought somebody was playing a trick on them. Maybe some of them knew it was spirits, but I doubt if any of them were smart enough to figure that out.
After the dance hall, we went to the oldest and biggest cemetery in the city. There were some really old corpses there—Civil War and before. The place needed some livening up. We built a small fire and joined hands and danced around it. We moaned and sang and chanted. Soon we had a couple of dozen spirits gathered around. They were delighted we were there. They were happy to join in any kind of foolishness. They danced and sang and were happy.
Howdy, always the smooth operator, found himself a lady spirit. She was wearing a long, flowing white dress and a tiara on her head. She looked like a queen. She made eyes at Howdy, he made eyes at her, and then they joined hands and went off together into the darkness.
“How will we find him when it’s time to go?” I said to Jocko.
“Don’t worry about Howdy. He’ll make short work of her.”
We made merry in the cemetery until the first traces of dawn began to light up the eastern sky. Then the spirits reluctantly began to drift back to wherever they came from. Surprised that the night had passed so quickly, Jocko, Howdy, and I went back to the Argyle. It had been a most enjoyable evening.
We returned often to the cemetery, where we made some good friends. The spirits there were always happy to see us. We brought the good times with us. I had never had so much fun before.
I began spending all my evenings with Jocko and Howdy, resting in my room at the Argyle during the daylight hours. We took in all the attractions that the city had to offer. We spooked people left and right, sometimes causing them to doubt their own sanity. Howdy was a spirit who enjoyed mayhem, such as causing traffic lights to malfunction or streets to flood for no reason. Because we were with him, Jocko and I were more often than not willing to go along with him.
In the winter we had some excitement at the humdrum Argyle. A team of paranormal investigators set up shop in the old ballroom on the tenth floor. They were investigating the existence of life after death. It gave us all a good laugh.
All the spirits in the hotel were excited at the prospect of proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they had lived and that they went right on living after they died.
The psychic investigators (or ghost-hunters as they came to be called) had ultra-sensitive sound-recording equipment that would pick up the sound of a mouse breathing. They all left to go home at night but left their sound-recording equipment running to pick up every infinitesimal (ghostly) sound. In the mornings when they returned, they listened to what had been recorded during the night.
From the first night, all the spirits went to the ballroom with messages for the ghost-hunters. Some of them sang songs or recited poetry. Others laughed, moaned, or gave out with nonsense words of their own devising. Some of the spirits swore or made farting sounds. It was a lot of fun for everybody and a way to express our disdain for the living.
Regardless of what they said about the Argyle, I was beginning to like to and to think of it as home. And then something bad happened, and it wasn’t the wrecking balls, either. A fire started on one of the lower floors and soon spread to every floor. When all the spirits in the place realized what was happening, they all escaped out the windows. We all gathered outside and watched the place burn like a torch and collapse in on itself, all twenty stories. Whatever the cause of the fire, it saved the city a lot of trouble.
Jocko, Howdy and I bucked up the other spirits and urged them not to be downhearted. We had a plan.
We took them all, a procession of two hundred spirits or more (like a parade of the dead), to the cemetery, where we had been made to feel welcome before. All the spirits in the cemetery were delighted we had returned and had brought along lots of new friends. Everybody was welcome. The old cemetery had everything a spirit could want, and more.
Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp
Haunt ~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp
Haunt
~ A Short Story by Allen Kopp ~
A spirit needs a house to haunt. I’ve haunted a church, a theatre, a department store and a graveyard, but there’s nothing like a house. A house is where people have lived. Where things have happened. Where tears have been shed. Where people have been born and people have died. A spirit can feel all of it and more.
After looking at thirty or forty houses, I found one I liked. It was large, with many rooms, three floors, built in the old style. It was abandoned, in an advanced state of neglect, but still plenty sturdy. The cellar was like a dungeon with chains hanging from the beams. Behind the house was an old cemetery. All in all, the house had much to recommend it.
As a spirit, all I needed to do to claim a house as my own was to move in and take possession. If anybody else was haunting it, all I had to do was kick them out.
I soon discovered other spirits in residence. There was a woman who committed suicide every night at midnight, with piercing shrieks, by hanging herself from the upstairs banister. I don’t know why she did it every night since she was already dead, but I suppose she enjoyed the drama. One night, just before midnight, I grabbed her by the throat and threw her out of the house. She didn’t see me, not knowing of the existence of other spirits, and didn’t know what had happened to her. She wandered around on the outside of the house, not knowing how to get back in. Finally she flew up into the trees, and as far as I know she’s still there.
Then I found an eight-year-old female spirit haunting the attic. When she was alive, her cruel mother locked her in the attic with the mice and spiders to punish her. She was deathly afraid of the dark. While locked in the attic and unable to free herself, her mother was stabbed to death in a quarrel with her young lover. The girl never knew what happened to her mother. She starved to death, waiting for her dinner.
The girl in the attic wasn’t as annoying as the woman who hanged herself every night. I didn’t know what to do about her. I didn’t think it was right to just throw her out. I opened the attic door so she could come out if she wanted to, but she stayed where she was. She had been in the attic so long it was all she knew.
The spirit of a very old man haunted the cellar. He owned the house when he was alive. After he died, he didn’t want anybody else living in the house. He rattled chains and moaned at night to try to keep anybody away, living or dead. He didn’t scare anybody except maybe himself. He was the kind of spirit other spirits laughed at.
There were two boys, twins, who haunted the whole house but most especially the upstairs rooms. They had both died there of scarlet fever. They didn’t know yet that they were dead, even though it had been over a hundred years. They were constantly playing tricks, trying to scare each other. I heard them laughing all the time. Anytime they saw me, they ran as if we were playing a game. I wanted to grab one of them in each hand and throw them out of the house.
I was an old spirit; I had been in the spirit world for eighty years or more. I had seen everything and done everything a spirit could do. Now I longed for the quiet, pastoral life, and I didn’t want a lot of other spirits around me. I came to this house hoping to escape the clamor of the spirit world, hoping to be alone.
At night when I tried to rest instead of haunt, I could hear the old spirit in the cellar kicking up a fuss. He knew there were other spirits in the house besides himself and he wanted to scare them away. He thought the louder he became, the scarier he would be. He didn’t scare me, though. He did annoy me, however, and I wanted him gone.
Through most of the night, I could hear the twins laughing and running up and down the stairs. I wondered why they never slept. Then I realized they slept during the daylight hours. That would be the best time to catch them and run them out of the house, but first I’d have to find out where they slept. Even though they were children, they had been in the spirit world longer than I had and they knew all the ways to protect themselves.
Then I started finding dead, rotting bodies all over the house. Some were only skeletons and others still wore part of their human bodies. All were long dead. I knew right away they were from the graveyard behind the house. Many of them still wore remnants of the fine clothes they had been buried in: men in white-tie-and-tails and women in ball gowns or wedding dresses. Oh, what a world!
First there were one or two bodies and then eight or ten and then dozens and then hundreds. Finally they filled the downstairs parlor from floor to ceiling. I was past the point of pretending they weren’t there. Even though I was a spirit myself, I didn’t like dead bodies. They were part of the physical world that I left behind long ago. A rotting body was an affront to me. Hundreds of rotting bodies were an abomination!
After two or three days of observation, I discovered the twins sleeping during the daylight hours in a barely noticeable niche in the wall of their bedroom. I stormed in on them, waking them from a stupor, and was able to grab each of them by the neck. Before they knew what was happening, I clapped their heads together like cymbals. While they were stunned and nearly immobile, I threw them out of the house.
While I was brushing my hands off and congratulating myself on a job well done, I realized somebody was standing on the stairs looking at me. It was the little starveling girl from the attic. Her face was a glowing white and her eyes completely engulfed in black circles. She surprised me by speaking.
“It wasn’t them,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
“They weren’t the ones who brought the bodies from the graveyard into the house.”
“Who was it, then?”
She mimed hanging herself, and I knew right away what she meant.
Every night there were more bodies in the downstairs rooms. I could hardly go into any of these rooms without becoming ill. I had seen many vile things during my existence, but now I had seen the worst.
I waited until the middle of the night, three hours past midnight and three hours before sunup. I went quietly downstairs at this unholy hour and, standing on the stairs about halfway down, I saw her come in from outside, dragging her burden of dead bodies, as many as she could manage at one time. It was the hanging woman. I wanted to throttle her. I wanted to finish her off. I wanted to make sure she was gone for good and would never come back.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” I said, although it was obvious.
“It’s you!” she said. “What do I have to do to get you to leave my house?”
“Leave it yourself! It’s my house now! And make sure you clean up this mess before you go!”
She came at me then, teeth bared, but I was able to sidestep her. She hit her head on the banister with a crack that split the wood, but, without missing a beat, she got up and came at me again. Again I sidestepped her.
“You’re wasting your time!” I said. “I’m younger than you, stronger and smarter. You’re just a worn-out old hag of a spook. I think you were in your prime about the time of the Revolutionary War!”
“I’ll show you!” she said.
She hurled an unexpected fireball at me. I hadn’t counted on her being a witch, in addition to everything else.
The fireball was directed at my face and chest, but I was able to get out of the way just in time. It hit the wall behind me and set fire to it.
“You’re going to have to do better than that!” I said.
Next came a barrage of fireballs, more fireballs than I could count. Soon the wall and stairway behind me were a wall of fire. With her out-of-control emotions, she had set fire to the entire house in just a few seconds. All I could do was get out.
“Now look what you’ve done, you horrible old witch!” I said as I ran past her for the front door. “Now it’s nobody’s house!”
I went out to the road and watched the house as it burned all the way down to the foundation. I figured the hanging woman burned up in the house because I didn’t see her come out. Nobody can blame that one on me.
I stayed and haunted the cemetery for a few days, not knowing what else to do. Then I went to the city again and took up residence in a waterfront hotel. I had some friends there that I had known before. It was a good time for me.
Copyright © 2026 by Allen Kopp
