Monsieur Crowley
The snorting, snuffling voice woke me again.
"I have the body of a pig!" Grunt.
I rolled over, pulling the covers up to my chin while making sure my toes were still covered, and look at the clock. 11:00 p.m., same as always. I held my breath for just a moment before bolting to my dad's bedroom and curling up down at his feet.
He shook me awake the next morning. "John. Again?"
"Dad, please call the cops. You have to. I keep hearing the voice."
He grunted and straightened his tie. "No. It's in your head. If anything, I should call the school counselor."
So when he went to work, I found the police station on Google Maps and walked the five blocks alone. The man at the front desk didn't see me until I cleared my throat and bounced up on my tiptoes. "Sir..."
"Mmmm?" he said, peering down at me with an expression that wasn't altogether unfriendly.
"I've been hearing voices in my house. I think there's someone in my room at nights."
Apparently my face and voice convinced him, and he rang up someone to come drive me back to my house and investigate. I sat on the edge of the bed while the two cops scanned the room, and finally one of them sat down next to me and informed me that they couldn't find anything paranormal about the place.
"When do you hear the noise, kid?" the other, taller one asked me.
"Between ten and eleven at night. Usually later."
They exchanged a look, and the taller one shrugged. "We'll stay here until you hear it."
"We can call that ghost man...wots 'is name...Gary! If we do hear something," the shorter one said.
At exactly 10:30 that night, they heard the noise and silently moved to the spot where it was coming from. They discovered that it was emanating from the garbage chute -- the reason it echoed every time I heard it. A quick phone call to Gary, and a short, gangly man arrived carrying a briefcase like a cliché ghost whisperer.
He approached the chute cautiously, carrying a two-button number pad in his hand, which he set near the opening. In a nasally voice, he said, "One for no, two for yes. Can you speak?"
The number two lit up.
"Ahhh!" Gary said, and stowed the pad in his pocket. "In that case. What is your name?"
The grunting, snuffling noise wafted up like a bad smell from the chute. "Monsieur Crowly. I am here to care for my mansion, for I luff her zo. Can you please tell ze boy zat I am not going to cause him harm?"
Gary glanced at me, and I gave a tight nod.
"Will you leave if we promise you this mansion is safe?" Gary asked.
There was a long pause. I thought perhaps the ghost was very angry, but then he spoke.
"I haff guarded zis house since Vorld Var Vone. But if zis boy is going to take good care of zis place, zen I can leaff wiz peaze of mind."
Again, I nodded, but Gary motioned for me to say something.
"I can protect it," I blurted out.
There was a peaceful little sigh, one last oink, and a satisfying pop.
Gary was smiling as he packed everything back into his briefcase. "Does a ghost good, to hear what they were held back for is safe."
