Author Notes:
“Roar” is a ghost hunter short story. Quiver, Knox College’s genre magazine, published this in its fall 2017 issue (volume 6, issue 1). Initially, I wrote this as an assignment for the course Beginning Fiction Writing (ENG 207). I am proud that I successfully bought this piece from the classroom to publication. After all, publishing is an important process for a professional writer.
Admittingly, this story is more fun than deep, as I depict the day in the life of an older character. I modeled the setting after the house of my late great-grandmother Ann. Specifically, her living room imprinted on me a vivid memory that I wanted to retain, perhaps because of the acclimation of clutter and sensory objects. And the cat? I didn’t want a typical ghost hunter short story.
This short story happens to be the spiritual companion to another story, “What Happened in West County.” That began with a different form in middle school about a ghost hunter. One day, I hope to publish it in another form.
Roar
Henry went with a chapter member to a recently discovered haunting spot. His partner for the night, Stella, lighted the way with a flashlight. At the top of the hill was a suburban ranch stranded in forest and cornfields. A tricycle and a half-broken plastic playhouse lingered in the overgrown front grass. Henry grumbled at the desolation. “I wish this was in Jefferson’s jurisdiction,” he said.
“If it was, we would’ve lost out,” Stella said. It weirded Henry out that she was her daughter’s age. Even more, It weirded him out more he was old enough that the chapter now expected him to drag along a glorified college intern. Especially one who had buzzed her hair blue.
“There’s not enough to lose out on, kiddo.” Henry took a key from his satchel and jiggled the door lock open. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Inside, it took little time for them to spot the haunting. Despite the place having no power, its analog television frizzled with static. Every few seconds, a stray sound and image would blink on, likely from a call-order channel. Nothing looked out of place, although the floral couch sported a few cat scratches and a box of stale saltines lied on a grubby table. The air also dusted up Henry’s throat.
“Search the room for any other signs,” he told Stella as he knelt by the television. He fiddled with the knobs and pulled out the plug. No changes.
He vocalized his observations, for Stella’s sake. “It’s a stubborn one,” Henry said. “While that means it probably won’t spook at the slightest misstep, the spirit won’t necessarily stay stable if we moved it to quarantine.”
“Why do we need to clear out this place?” Stella pulled books from the shelf as if she expected a secret door to swing out. “Couldn’t we leave it alone?”
“This isn’t a ghost tour,” Henry said. “Remember that it’s not a ghost, nor a sapient being. It’s a manifestation, probably of the elderly resident who passed away a few years back.” He poked at the screen with his finger. A shock danced out, but no electrocution. “Furthermore, the current landowners want to tear this house down for a development. Can’t do that while there’s a haunting prone to flipping over bulldozers.”
“I read that story.” Stella peeked behind a bathroom door. She reeled and settled with eyeing the peeled sunflower wallpaper. “Honestly, I don’t think that we needed another coal plant in that location.”
“If you want to be an environmentalist activist,” Henry said, “do it after you clear the area of spiritual disturbances.”
“I am an activist.” Stella clicked her tongue. “You didn’t read my resume?”
“They never handed it to me.” He did hear from Stella that she was majoring in Environmental Science but he didn’t bother making the connection. “Just tell me, is the area clear?”
“The entire room is,” Stella said.
“Let’s contain this beast then.” Henry took out the containment tape and wrapped it around the sides. The television purred but didn’t lash out.
“Are you sure it’s the old lady?” Stella asked.
“Not is,” he said. “A manifestation of. You need to get it out of your head that we’re dealing with specters and ghouls. There are like echoes, bouncing through the ravine.” He taped over the screen. A growl this time. “Although it does look like it’s an imprint from one of the cats. It happens sometimes.”
The growl escalated into a roar and Henry backed off, his fingers frantic. The television rumbled on its legs, and the screen flipped through channels. The nightly news one moment, a lion documentary another. Static electricity wiggled inches off the glass, like a Tesla coil.
“Get back.” Henry stood and dug through his bag. “It’s about to get hostile.” He whipped out his esper gun and loaded in a couple containment bullets. Purple, psychic energy swirled inside the casing. The chapter asked for containment, not extermination, for research purposes, but survival went first.
Before he could shoot the television, Stella called out, “Felix!”
The television’s roar died down to a growl and the channel surfing subdued. Henry looked back. Stella was holding a cotton-candy blue pillow with an orange cat and the name “Felix” embroidered on it. “Your name is Felix?” she said. “You’re a handsome creature.” She approached a television and stroked the top. “You are so shiny and so, um, fierce?”
The spirit purred and the lion documentary faded into static. A few seconds of petting later, the television turned itself off. Henry marveled at the sight. It had been a while since he has seen another agent de-escalate an aggressive spirit.
Stella held up the pillow. “I found this on the couch.” She smiled. “Thank you for the advice, Henry.”
“No, thank you for making my job easier,” Henry said. He inspected the television one more time. The spirit was still within but was dormant. “Now, let’s move this to the car. I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you once we’re back at HQ.”