Let Them Party to Relieve The Pain (Short Story)

Word count; 1288

“Sweet deal, Dan-O?”  A huge smile spread across Miles’ face.

      Daniel’s expression on the other hand portrayed skepticism. “Yeah, I suppose. Tell me again why this doesn’t smell like an overfilled dumpster?”

     “Because it doesn’t.  Just admit our luck has finally turned the corner? We’re about to move into a 2-bedroom, 3-bath, oversized dining room, awesome house. Best of all, the rent is only $300/month!  I keep wondering how we rolled double six’s. My back pain is already starting to disappear. Yours?”

     “A little. Where’d you meet this woman?”

     “Last Friday at that party, I spread the word we were looking to move. I describe our specs. by saying noise doesn’t bother us since we’re both grad students at USC-Charleston, therefore never around. We’re flexible about letting other people use the place too. I walk into the next room and presto-chango, this woman is standing right in front of me.”

     “Looking right at you?’

     “I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that she wasn’t there when I first walked into the

room.   The lady starts telling me about the sweet logistics.”

     “And you’d never seen her before?  She just begins asking if you’re interested in moving into a Civil-war-era Victorian in town,” Dan-O frowned. “I don’t know, sounds too good to be true.  I keep asking myself what’s the catch.”

     “Quit being a skeptic.  That Dan-O moniker must have something to do with that Area-51, doubting Thomas outlook-on-life of yours,” joked Miles.

     “No sir, my father called me Dan-O because he watched the 70’s version of

Hawaii 5-0.”

     “And you’re sure Dan-O doesn’t imply a paranoid government-conspiracy philosophy? You ever considered funeral home director as a career option?” Miles derived great joy from needling his buddy.

     Dan-O looked disgusted.  “Listen Miles, I’ll sign a lease, but that don’t stop me from being as skeptical as a teetotaler at a fraternity party.”

     “Then it’s settled. We sign on the dotted line tomorrow. Start moving our gear in the front door soon after.  Cool.”

     “I suppose,” said Dan-O, his expression now changing from disgust to mild annoyance, and then outright indifference.

     Dan-O had good reason to feel skeptical. The street address, #666 Dead-Wood Lane fit the place’s outward appearance-typical mid-1800’s Victorian, 3-stories, peeling paint, curtains that looked like they hadn’t been washed since the day they were sewn, and creaking shutters. Other features included a wrought-iron fence, dilapidated gable, run-down widow’s-walk on the roof, and the obligatory unkempt front yard. Basically your typical Poltergeist-type structure. Dan-O and Miles were moving into the sort of house that kids on Halloween dare each other to knock on the front door, and then run. Based of course upon a wager for your better chocolate bars. None of this hard candy garbage, or that health-food crap which sits at the bottom of your bag till mid-January when it’s discarded due to its fragrant aroma.

     Prior to their first night in the house, both boys were experiencing a stabbing pain to their joints. That night they heard various creaks, groans, and sighs of relief. Accompanied by the shuffling of feet to strange musical sounds. Miles thanked his lucky stars the next morning that both of them had just come off a two-day life on three hours of sleep, marathon-cram session for that Native American Antiquities 508 mid-term. Despite the noise, falling into La-La Land was easy.

     Their second night, sleep wasn’t as easy. The same weird noises began to emanate from various corners of the structure. In addition, both guys were greeted by another interesting sound upon waking up at 3:00 am.

      “I’m still stuck in that transition zone between sleep and cognizance. What exactly is that noise?” asked Miles. “The back pain has disappeared though.”

      “No more intense trauma? Dan-O took a guess on the noise. “Sounds like bad Euro-Pop.

     Miles smiled. “Played at ½ speed on an electric bagpipe. That possible?”

     The following morning, after drinking six double-caffeinated lattes, the guys met

Elvira D’Urberville, their mysterious landlord. Elvira was indeed as supernatural in appearance as the house itself.  Tall, slim, with long, flowing black hair streaked in white, and wearing an ankle-length dress that must’ve been salvaged from some hidden corner of the Salvation Army thrift store. 

     As she walked up to the house, Dan-O looked out and thought that it must’ve taken

her at least twenty minutes just to hook up the dress (had buttons even been invented when it was made?). At least two hundred of the things. A fast track to digital-arthritis some day?

     “Ms. D’Urberville,” said Miles opening the door, sorely in need of WD-40. “Glad you could come by to discuss rental details.”

     “How was your first two nights in the domicile?” asked Elvira, Genuine concern showing in her face.

     Dan-O launched into a drawn out description of the oddness. He embellished it by asking if a ghost gathering was taking place.

     “I should be honest,” said Elvira, reluctantly. “Festivities were taking place last night. This house is haunted to a degree.”

     “To a degree?” Dan-O queried. “What the Hell’s that supposed to mean?”

     Ms. D’Urberville hesitated, then spoke haltingly. “#666 Dead-Wood Lane is a vessel for spirits to enter the physical world to enjoy festive occasions. No need to be alarmed. These spirits will not harm you. In fact allowing them to party will alleviate your own physical pains.”

     “Wait a second,” remarked Dan-O. “You got us to sign a lease without mentioning that the place was haunted. Minor detail I suppose, right?”

     “Like I said, they won’t work their evil upon you if they’re ignored.”

     Dan-O tried not to sound skeptical. “Well I’ll sleep better at night knowing that information. How exactly are we supposed to pretend nothings happening?”

     “Do not let the noises disturb you,” said Elvira. “Any pains you experience will

disappear if these spirits are allowed to celebrate.”

     Miles decided to roll with the punches. “Ok, I guess. Makes sense when you think about it. Yeah Dan-O, sort of like those old Twilight Zone episodes we used to watch-accompanied by a Pink Floyd soundtrack. Used to do that a lot in our pot smoking dazes.  How come you don’t live here Ms. D’Urberville?”

     “For years I did, but I discovered I need my beauty sleep in order to perform my tasks as a mystic. I’m sure you understand my reasons for moving out gentlemen.”

     Miles and Dan-O immediately looked at one another. This wasn’t your standard landlord-lessee set-up. Was it also part of your normal graduate school lifestyle? Which it basically was, if you’re a studying to get your Masters degree as a psychic bodyguard?

     “These ghosts won’t hurt us?” asked Miles.

     Elvira chuckled. “As long as they’re allowed to engage in their spiritual festivities. If you stop them from partying, your pains will return.”

     Miles cringed. “Pleasant thought.”

     “You’ll still only charge us $300/month if we keep things hush-hush?” asked Dan-O, always considering the financial bottom line in these matters.

      She smiled,  “Definitely, gentlemen,”

      The meeting closed with Elvira explaining how to arrange creative accents to enhance the Hellhole above the fireplace. Dan-O and Miles were relieved to see her depart and they discussed this new set of options facing them.

     “What should we do?” asked Miles.

     “Nothing,” replied Dan-O. “She did tell us as long as we let these ghouls and goblins party, nothing happens to us. These vicious back pains vanish too.”

      “That a lone is worth it.”

     “Exactly, maybe these ghost-partiers will let us participate in a midnight shindig. Might be interesting.”

     “Fun too, in an X-Files meets The Simpson’s sort of way. Throw in a bottle of pain pills also.”